A
955,552
kit


Ex Libris
.
ORMA F. BUTLER
THE UNIT
NIVERS
THE UN
MICHIGA
L•LIBR
RARIES


828
M3647



E
1 8170
LUL
POTRDIENTI
STOIHIN
ARTES
SCIENTIA
LIBRARY VERITAS OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHI
E MICHIGAN
BSCOSSORODOS LOS
MATUTUL MISSOUPRANUIT LUTHW
COLORES
TUEBOR
SU
PUERIS PENINSULAM
M
CIRCUMSPICE
MUISTITISA
M
RELLUTHENTARERITUDINEM
m
MMMMMM
WHITNUTIUU
JUNION
h
TINIUM
INI MITSUNUNULMU
e
BEQUEST OF
ORMA FITCH BUTLER, PH.D., '07
PROFESSOR OF LATIN
TOODUDDA
U
OPB
UTITTATIOTTI


THE MYSTERY OP
REDMARSH FARM


By ARCHIBALD MARSHALL
The House of Merrilees
Richard Baldock
Exton Manor
The Squire's Daughter
The Eldest Son
The Honour of the Clintons
The Greatest of These
The Old Order Changeth
Watermeads
Upsidonia
Abington Abbey
The Graftons
The Clintons, and Others
Sir Harry
Many Junes
A Spring Walk in Provence
Peggy in Toyland
The Hall and the Grange
Peter Binney
Big Peter
Pippin
The Clinton Twins
Audacious Ann
Anthony Dare
The Education of Anthony Dare
Anthony Dare's Progress
The Mystery of Redmarsh Farm


THE MYSTERY
OF
REDMARSH FARM
BY
ARCHIBALD MARSHALL
AUTHOR OF "TID HONOUR OF THE CLINTONS," "EXTON XANOA,"
"THE HOUSE OF MERRILEES,"
BTA,

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1925


Published in u. s. a.. 1925.
By DODD; MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.
Published April, 1025
Second Printing, May, 1925
Third Printing, May, 1925
Fourth Printing, July, 1925
Fifth Printing, August, 1925
PRINTED IN THK U. S. A. BY
ttbc &aura A jBobrn Company
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
RAHWA\ NEW JERSEY


To
NANCY





S- 23-31
THE MYSTERY
OF REDMARSH FARM
CHAPTER I
"D ARB Alt A CLAYTON was sitting under an apple tree
in a corner of the lawn sewing. A fresh wind blew
soft white clouds across the blue sky, but in this old garden,
surrounded by a high brick wall against which peaches and
nectarines were getting ready to blossom, there was no wind
to be felt.
This enclosed garden was a very haunt of peace. Bees
were droning in a patch of sweet alyssum in one of the borders,
and getting inside the bright cups of the May-flowering tulips,
and from the farmyard on the other side of the house came
every now and then a sign of life; but otherwise there was
only the sound of the wind among the trees, which sometimes
shook down upon Barbara, sitting in her basket-chair, a little
shower of pink blossom.
The garden was bounded on one side by the house, over-
grown by a giant wistaria which framed the latticed windows
and climbed right up one of the chimney stacks. This was
the prettiest part of the old house. In front of it was a flagged
pavement and then the smooth green of the lawn. On the
other three sides of the garden was the wall against which the
fruit trees were trained, and in one of them an archway led
into the larger kitchen-garden. This little garden was given
up entirely to the lawn and the flower-beds and blossoming
trees. It was a garden for pleasure only, and the garden
beyond was for use.
i


6 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
Barbara was dressed in a summer gown of pale lilac colour 5
she wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, with a scarf of the same
colour wound round it, and looked up every now and then
from beneath its shadow to where her little brother was
playing on the grass, gathering daisies, which he brought to
her from time to time in his fat little hand and deposited on
her lap, telling her to take great care of them. She was a
pretty girl, about twenty years of age, with dark, rather
serious eyes and a well-shaped mouth, which broke into a
tender smile whenever she looked at the child. He was
between three and four, Just at that age when children are
most lovable, before they have lost all their baby ways and
baby speech, when they are beginning to act and to think for
themselves, and are always showing new signs of the character
that is beginning to develop in them.
He was a fine sturdy child, his little fat legs showing plenty
of strength underneath his tiny knickerbockers and his blue
print overall as he ran to and fro. His shady straw hat did
not altogether hide his thick mop of yellow curls, and his
eyes as he raised them to his sister's face when he brought
his offerings were like her own, wide and serious, with the
delightful seriousness of a child's eyes, so easily changed to
merriment.
This little boy had never known his mother, who had left
the world when he had been ushered into it. But his sister,
young as she was, had given him a mother's care, and was
the chief person in his little world.
It was early in the afternoon. When the child was tired of
picking daisies he came and sat on Barbara's knee, and she
made him a daisy chain. When it was finished and he had
hung it round her neck he asked if he might go and talk to
Weldon. Weldon was the gardener and a great friend of his;
as was every member of the household except his father, who
hardly ever spoke to him. Weldon was in the kitchen-garden
behind the wall, and the little boy slipped down off his sister's
knee and ran off to find him.
Barbara was not left alone for long. Through the open
door of the house came a young man in riding kit and ad-
vanced across the lawn to whore she was sitting. He was a
good-looking young man of about eight-and-twenty, old
enough to be able to walk the length of the lawn under hei


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 7
eye with an air of assurance, but not too old to blush slightly
as he did so. She also blushed, and laid aside her work and
rose rather hurriedly to greet him.
"Oh, Mr. Knightly," she said, " do you want to see father?
He did not come in at dinner-time, and nobody knows where
he is."
"I wrote to say that I was coming to see him at three
o'clock," he said, "about the rifle club."
"Yes, I know he expected you. I don't suppose he will
be long."
"I thought I would come out here and talk to you till he
came. I saw you through the window, and you looked
delightfully cool and comfortable."
Edward Knightly lived at Cliffthorpe Hall with his mother.
He was the Squire of Cliffthorpe, and had succeeded to a
good property on the death of his father five years before.
The Knightlys had owned Cliffthorpe for many generations,
but not so long as the Claytons, of whom Barbara's father
was now the head, had owned Redmarsh Farm, and the
acres of marshland that went with it. The Claytons
were one of those fast disappearing families of yeoman
farmers, men of good stock and good education, long rooted
in the soil, and connected both with the country gentry,
who lived around them, and with the more homely farming
class. It depended largely upon the kind of marriage the
owner of Redmarsh Farm for the time being had made
whether he and his family associated mostly with the one or
the other. John Clayton, Barbara's father, had married
the daughter of a neighbouring clergyman, and his mother
had been the daughter of a tenant farmer in Yorkshire.
He had been to a public school, and his two younger brothers
had been at Cambridge. Nevertheless, he mixed more with
the farmers around him than with the country gentry. He
was more at his ease in their society. He was a farmer above
everything, and known all round as the best farmer in the
district.
Tony came running in from the other garden directly
he saw his friend, and rifled his pockets, laughing merrily
all the time, until he found the box of chocolates that Edward
had brought for him. Then he ran off into the house with
them. He must give one, he said, to Mrs. Barrow, who was


8 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
the housekeeper and had been Barbara's nurse, and one to
Emma, the housemaid.
"I hope he won't be ill," said Barbara. "Uncle William
gave him a big box yesterday. He is very fond of Tony."
"Everybody is who knows him," said Edward. "Has
William Clayton gone?"
"Yes, he went this morning. I wish he had been able
to stay longer."
"He's a cheerful soul," said Edward, " one of those people
who brighten everybody up. Even your father is less silent
when he's here, isn't he?"
"Yes, he is," said Barbara. "They have always been
great friends, although they live such different lives: father
living always on the farm and Uncle William busy in London."
There was a slight pause. "I remember your father sa
very different when I was a boy," said Edward. "He was
never merry and talkative, like your Uncle William, but he
always seemed to be quite contented and happy."
"So he was," said Barbara, her eyes filling with tears.
"Dear mother made him so, and he seems to be lost without
her, even now. In fact, he has been more gloomy and silent
than ever lately, and he sits brooding, with that dark frown
on his face, and never smiles even at me. I am sure he is
worried and anxious about something. A few months ago
I felt much happier about him—and about darling little Tony.
He seemed beginning to take some notice of him. He would
sometimes look at him when he was playing, which he had
never done before, and I thought his face seemed softer.
I hoped all that bad feeling was passing away, and that
Tony would find a place for himself in his heart, with all his
sweet little ways. He is a dear little child, isn't he, Edward?
It isn't only because he is my brother and I love him that
I think so."
"He is the dearest little chap in the world," he said;
"nobody could help loving him. What do you think your
father is worried about?"
She laid her needlework down on her lap and looked over
the grass, dappled with sunspots from the apple trees. She
didn't reply immediately to his question, but asked another.
"Do you remember my Uncle Frank ?" she asked.
"Oh, yes," he said, "quite well."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 9
She looked at him in surprise. "You have never mentioned
his name to me," she said.
"Well," he replied, in some embarrassment, "I didn't
know you knew anything about him."
"I didn't," she said, "until quite a short time ago. I
was looking over a box of photographs of Mrs. Barrow's.
She was father's nurse, you know, as well as mine, and she
had some photographs of him as a boy, as well as other old
family ones. Among them was one of two boys of about
fifteen and sixteen. I knew one of them was Uncle William,
and the other younger one was so much like him that when
I asked her who he was, and pressed her for an answer, she
had to say that he was father's third brother, and his name
was Frank. I had never known that father had another
brother, and, of course, at first I thought he must be dead.
But she had been so unwilling to say who he was, that I knew
there must be some story about him. However, she wouldn't
tell me what it was, and wouldn't say any more about him
at all."
"Did you ask your father?"
"No, I couldn't do that. He had never spoken of him
to me. But I asked Uncle William, and he told me not to
tell father that I knew, or to speak about him to anyone else.
But, of course, you are different, and you won't say anything
outside."
"Oh, no," he said, reJoiced at her confidence in him.
"Did he tell you what the story was?"
"Yes; do you know it too ?" she asked.
"I knew he did something wrong," he replied, "many
years ago, and disappeared, and nobody has ever heard of
him since."
"That is what Uncle William told me," she said. "It
was a long time ago, when they were both very young men.
He didn't tell me what it was that he had done."
"Did he tell you where he was now?"
"I asked if he were dead, and he said he didn't know.
He hadn't heard of him for years. He didn't want to talk
about him at all. I could see that he was sorry I had found
out anything."
"Why did you ask if I knew about him T"
"Because I can't get it out of my head somehow, that it


10 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
has something to do with him—father being so worried.
Every now and then he has had letters from Australia;
I have seen them lying on the hall table, always addressed
in the same writing; and after he has received one of them
he is always more silent and depressed than before."
"And you think that they may be from your Uncle
Frank?"
"Don't you think it is likely?"
"I think it is possible. Has he had one lately?"
"I haven't seen one for a month or two. But I shouldn't
always see them. Father sometimes takes in the letters
himself."
He thought for a minute or so, absently plucking the
daisies from the turf on which he was lying. "I don't see
exactly what could worry him, supposing it were as you think,"
he said. "It might worry him if your uncle were coming
back here again. I do remember my father saying once that
Frank Clayton could never come back to England."
"Do you know what it was that he did?" she asked.
"Was it anything very dreadful? He had a nice face in
that old photograph, very like Uncle William's. He didn't
look as if he would do anything very wrong."
He hesitated for a moment to reply, and she broke in again
before he could do so. "No, don't tell me," she said, "I
would rather not know. I will try not to think of it."
"That's right; put it out of your mind," he said kindly.
"It happened many years ago, and it is almost completely
forgotten now. I don't think it can possibly be worrying
your father in any way. Is there any other way in which
he has been different lately?"
Again she answered his question with another. "I don't
know whether I ought to ask you this," she said, " but haven't
you always thought that father was quite well off?"
"Oh, yes," he replied readily. "Redmarsh is a good
property, and he has been doing exceptionally well with his
farming for years. Everybody knows that. He is the best
farmer in the county. See how he sticks to it! He never
seems to think about anything else. I should say he must
be a rich man."
"Well," she said slowly, "he isn't. At leasts-well, I
won't go into details, but money has been scarce lately for


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 11
things that I know about—things that there used to be plenty
for, as a matter of course. Perhaps that is what is worrying
him. In fact, I am sure it is—one of the things. He told me
—quite kindly—the other day, that if I could do without my
last quarter's dress allowance for another month it would
be a great convenience to him, but he said that he hated
having to ask me."
Edward was surprised at this piece of news, for certainly
a man in the position of John Clayton, who worked hard
and with notorious success, and lived simply, ought not to
be pushed for the few pounds he allowed his daughter for
her clothes. But he did not express his surprise to Barbara.
He wanted to relieve her of her anxiety.
"Well, I dare say it's a bit awkward for you," he said, with
a smile, "but as far as he is concerned, I don't think you
need worry about that in the least. No doubt your father
invests his surplus money, and that may always mean being
pinched for a week or two, especially in the large way in which
he farms, when a good deal of money may be wanted for
something or other, and it may be some time before it comes
back. By the by, I happen to know that he is going to buy
a large flock of sheep at Rede market to-morrow, and will
have to pay out two or three hundred pounds for that alone.
So you see there's one thing that may keep him short for a
bit, and there may be others we don't know of."
"Yes," she said, a little doubtfully. The keeping back
of her quarter's allowance was not the only thing that she
had in her mind. Still, he had relieved her of some of her
fears, and they went on to talk about other things, and spoke
no more of the disquiet that was gaining lodgment in her
mind, and that he had for the moment dispelled. They were
such good friends that they always had plenty to talk about,
and the shadow of the apple trees had moved a long way
across the grass before he looked at his watch and sprang up.
"By Jove!" he said. "It is four o'clock, and there is
someone coming to see me at home at half-past."
"I can't think where father can be," she said. "He didn't
Bay he was going away anywhere."
"Well, I'm afraid I can't wait any longer. He said three
o'clock; he must have forgotten. Tell him, will you, that I
will come and see him to-morrow afternoon at three—no,


12 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
it's market day. I'll ride down early, before breakfast,
and perhaps you'll ask me to stay and have some."
He looked down at her with a smile. She had now risen
and stood beside him, and a very handsome pair they made.
She smiled at him too. "I ask you now," she said, "I will
come in with you. I must find Tony."
They went into the house together, and her clear young
voice could have been heard calling, "Tony! Tony!" aa
they disappeared.
But there was no answer.
CHAPTER II
"PDWARD KNIGHTLY got his horse from the stable,
and rode out of the yard. As he came to where the road
divided he saw John Clayton coming towards him from the
direction of the castle, and went forward to meet him. "Here
you are at last," he cried, Just before he reached him.
John Clayton made no answer. He was a tall, dark man,
dressed in the everyday clothes of a prosperous farmer.
He came forward with his head bent, walking quickly, and
looked up at the young man with an expression that was
nearer to a scowl than a frown. "I can't talk to you now,"
he said shortly. "I'll come and see you some other
time."
He walked on quickly towards the house with no further
words, leaving Edward staring after him in utter bewilder-
ment. What was the matter with the man? He looked
completely disordered, as if something dreadful had happened
to him. Edward sat on his horse and watched him until he
had disappeared behind the heavy gate pillars in front of
the house, and then rode off homewards with a shrug of his
shoulders. His heart was heavy for the sake of Barbara,
for it seemed as if she might have some extra trouble to bear
with her father in this mood. He had often seen him silent
and morose, but not with this gloomy disorder of mind.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 18
John Clayton went into the house by the front door, which
always stood open in summer-time, the sun shining in on the
stone flags of the hall. He went into his own room, half
study, half office, and shut the door behind him.
In the meantime Barbara had been calling the name of
the child all over the house. Mrs. Barrow, a stout, com-
fortable-looking old lady, dressed for the afternoon in a black
gown with a white cap and collar, was sitting by the window
in her own little room off the great kitchen, busy at her needle-
work, her spectacles perched on her nose. It was the quiet
time of the day for her, but she was always busy with some-
thing.
"No, miss, he hasn't been in here, bless his little heart,"
she said, when Barbara asked her if she had seen Tony.
"Likely he's with the maids in the dairy dipping his fingers
in the cream."
So Barbara went out across the yard into the cool dusk
of the dairy, where the pans of cream were set all round on
the stone slabs. But the maids had finished their work there
and it was empty.
She came out into the sunshine again and called "Tony!
Tony !" but there was no answer, and nobody but the stable-
man was about at that hour in the afternoon, and he had
seen nothing of the child.
Perhaps he had gone out on to the marsh with Bob, the
head man. He was allowed to go with him sometimes, but
not without asking. She went to the gate of the yard, and
looked out over the sun-steeped expanse, but there was no
sign of him anywhere that she could see. However, it was not
much that she could see from here. There were a good many
trees, and a few arable fields surrounded by hedges imme-
diately round the farm. She thought she would go to the upper
floor of the house, from the windows of which she could see
further.
As she entered the front hall her father burst open the
door of his room and called for Mrs. Barrow loudly. She
stopped in surprise, for his voice was angry and he looked
greatly upset.
Directly he saw her he said, " Who has been into my room?
My bureau has been broken open and money taken—a great
deal of money."


14 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
Mrs. Barrow came hurrying into the hall, and he said,
"There's been a thief in the house. Someone has broken
open my bureau and taken over two hundred pounds in
gold."
"Oh, dear, dear!" said Mrs. Barrow, greatly concerned.
"Are you quite sure, sir?"
"Sure? Of course I'm sure," he said impatiently. "Come
in here."
Barbara and Mrs. Barrow followed him into the room.
In a corner by the window stood a heavy, old-fashioned
oak bureau. The lock of the desk was broken, also the
smaller lock of a little cupboard inside, which was quite
empty, with the door standing open.
"That's where I put it," he said, and began to open the
drawers one by one feverishly, knowing all the time that he
would find nothing in them. He seemed to be half-wild with
his loss, and even accused Mrs. Barrow of tampering with
the desk and hiding the money.
"As if I should do a thing like that, sir!" she said indig-
nantly. "Somebody must have come in when I was upstairs.
I'll go and call the maids, and ask them if they've seen any-
body about," and she bustled out of the room.
Barbara suddenly remembered that Tony was missing,
which she had forgotten for the moment. "Oh, father,"
she cried, "I can't find Tony anywhere. Can the thief
have carried him off? I've been looking everywhere for
him."
She stood with her hands clasped, now terribly frightened.
"No, of course not," he said roughly. "He must be
about with some of the men. Don't worry me about a little
thing like that now." Then he began to cry out about his
loss, and to say that the thief must be someone in the house.
No one could have got in without being seen.
Presently Mrs. Barrow came back with the two maids,
who looked thoroughly frightened, but declared that they
had seen no stranger about the house at all.
"Mrs. Barrow," their master said harshly, "see that
neither of them speaks to anyone outside till Fve called
the police in. And none of the men are to come into the
house. See to that. I'm going off to Rede now to fetch the
police."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 15
He pushed out of the room before them and out of the
house, and presently the hoofs of his powerful horse could
be heard on the stones of the yard as he mounted and rode
off hotly to the town.
But before that Barbara had forgotten all about the theft,
which only remained in the background of her mind as an
additional cause of trouble: for she was now seriously
alarmed at the disappearance of her little brother, who had
been missing for nearly two hours. She sent the maids out
to look, unmindful of her father's instructions, and, leaving
Mrs. Barrow alone in the house, went out herself, and sent
the gardener and the stableman to search too. And, by and
by, all the farm hands anywhere near the house knew of the
child's disappearance, but none of them had seen any sign
of him.
They heard of the theft too, and when John Clayton
came riding back an hour after he had set out, he found the
whole place in a ferment. Barbara was half beside herself,
running here and there, and calling all the time. Bob, the
head man, had been found among the sheep a mile or more
away from the house, but he had seen nothing of the child,
and he had Just come in with a serious face to see about
setting in hand some more systematic search.
John Clayton, the frown on his face more marked than
ever, sat for a moment on his horse listening to Barbara's
story, which she poured out, looking up at him with a
frightened, appealing face. He glowered round at the faces
of the men and the maids who were gathered together in the
yard, and then got off his horse, which had been hard ridden,
and handed the reins to the stableman.
"The child must be hiding," he said. "And you are all
making a great deal of fuss about nothing. Now I want to
know if anybody has seen any suspicious characters about.
You've heard that I have been robbed of a large sum of
money. The police will be here directly, and you had all
better wait and tell them what you know."
There was a pause, and then Bob stepped forward. He
was a grizzled old man, with sharp twinkling eyes, which
were serious enough now. "Begging your pardon, sir," he
said, "little Master Tony has been lost sight of for three
hours, and nobody's set eyes on him. What we've got to do


16 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
first is to set out on all sides and find him. If so be as you've
lost something, that can wait till afterwards."
There were murmurs of approval from all sides, and John
Clayton looked round at them angrily. Barbara cried,
"Oh, yes, father! We can't think of anything else till we
have found Tony. Let us begin to search everywhere. Tell
everybody where to go."
Later on, when the searchers had begun to scatter away
from the farm, and her father had ridden off to go from one
to another, and to see that no yard of ground was left un-
visited, she went into the house and called through all the
rooms, and along the old crooked stairs and corridors, and then
threw herself on her bed and wept bitterly.
But she could not lie there for long doing nothing with
this terrible anxiety on her. She rose and went to the window.
It was now quite dark except for the faint light of the stars,
and a thin mist was beginning to come up from the sea and
to spread itself over the dark levels. She could see lights
flashing here and there, and through the open window could
hear voices calling the name of her little brother who was more
dear to her than anyone in the world, and was out there
somewhere in the dark and the cold, perhaps crying for her
in his baby speech, perhaps unable to cry at all.
She could not stay in the house. She must go and look for
him herself.
She did not take a light; she had known every foot of the
marsh near the house since childhood. She went along by the
river, but soon lost her way, for the mist began to get thicker,
and soon she could only tell by the feel of the ground whether
she was on a path or on the grass. Sometimes she found herself
on the edge of a dyke or on the slope of the river-bank,
but she had no fear of really losing herself, for the lights were
never far away, and she only had to call to bring someone
to her.
She went on and on, not knowing where she was going,
but always calling, " Tony! Tony!"
After a long time she felt rather than saw that there was
something solid in front of her. She put out her hands and
groped, and presently came up against the rough trunk of
a tree.
At first she was completely puzzled. In the direction


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 17
in which she thought she had been going there were no trees
anywhere, and she thought she must have got round near
the house again.
Then she suddenly realised where she was. She had come
much farther than she had thought, and there were now
no lights anywhere near her. These were the trees growing
round Redo Castle, which stood grim and lonely in the middle
of the marsh.
She had a moment of terror. She had always as a child
been afraid of this frowning, mysterious pile, where so many
dreadful things had happened in days gone by, and which
still bore the reputation of being haunted, if not by ghosts,
then by evil characters who sometimes used its secret hiding-
places for their own bad purposes. Supposing little Tony
had been enticed here, and was in the power of wicked men
in its dark and hidden recesses!
She put her own terror away from her and thought only of
him. She groped her way through the belt of trees and felt
along the rough walls till she came to the entrance. Then,
calling " Tony! Tony !" in a loud voice, she stepped bravely
into the stifling darkness.
She went forward as quietly as she could, feeling her way
round the walls, and listening with all her senses stretched
for some sign of life or movement.
There were places where an unwary step might throw her
down, perhaps, to her death on the stones below. There
was a rotten ladder, with rungs missing here and there,
which led to an upper chamber, still almost intact, and if
she should make a mistake there, or the ladder should not
hold, then she must fall and hurt herself, although, perhaps,
not so seriously. Nevertheless, she went on and up, for in
this high chamber, if anywhere, she had made up her mind
that she might find what she was looking for.
The ladder stood in a corner of an upper chamber, or rather
gallery, which ran round a yawning space, quite unprotected.
She kept to the wall, knowing that the pavement here was
sound, and put her hand on the woodwork. Then, not
stopping to listen, she began to climb very slowly and care-
fully, testing every rung as she did so. She was about ten feet
from the ground when she came where one was missing. The
rung above it seemed safe, and she climbed up to it, over the


18 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
gap. Just as she had taken one of her feet off it to get to the
next it gave way. If there had been another rung immediately
below, she might have saved herself. As it was, the weight
of her fall tore her hands from the sides of the ladder, and
with a cry she fell heavily on to the floor below, and lay there
without a sound or a movement.
CHAPTER III
"PDWARD KNIGHTLY had been reading late in his
library. He liked these quiet hours of the night, when
the house was quite still and all its inmates except himself
were in bed. He was fond of books, but fond also of the open
air and all the activities of life, and seldom found time to read
except in the evenings.
The clock struck one, and he laid aside his book and went
to the window which had been left open to the mild night
air. The stars shone brightly; the mist which had covered
the marsh for a time had not reached this higher ground.
The sloping lawn, with its backing of dark shrubs and massive
cedars, was white with dew; the scent of honeysuckle,
growing up the wall Just outside the room, greeted his nostrils
sweetly. He stepped out under the sky. He had been
absorbed in his book, but the invitation of the warm night
was stronger than that of books and stronger than the call
of bed, for winch he had thought himself quite ready a
minute before.
Once outside the house he did not want to go in again.
He thought he would go to the edge of the cliff and enJoy
that wonderful view of the marsh and the sea stretched out
under the spangled canopy of night. And perhaps he wanted
Just a glimpse of Redmarsh Farm, where Barbara would be
sleeping, all unconscious of the fact that he was awake and
would be looking down on the roof that sheltered her.
Cliffthorpe Hall stood not far from the edge of the cliff,
and from the front of the house the sea could be seen between


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 19
the trees, but it was too far back to get a view of the marsh.
That, however, could be gained from a terrace at the end
of the garden, and to this Edward made his way.
When he had got there he leaned on the parapet, prepared
to gaze over a scene empty of all signs of human life. But he
quickly sprang upright again. Redmarsh Farm, so far from
lying in darkness, showed lights at many of its windows,
and lights were flickering all about it, on the marsh, and were
congregated especially at one spot where the river showed a
white bend. Something was happening down there, and he
very quickly decided to go and see what that something
was.
He went back into the house for a cap and a light overcoat,
and, turning out the lights and shutting the window of his
room, hurried off down the drive and down the steep road
which led from the cliff to the marsh, and more particularly
to Redmarsh Farm. But when he had nearly reached it
he turned aside by the river-bank, to where the lights now
showed a group of people on either side doing something in
the water. They were dragging the river for what they could
find there.
Clayton, who looked ghastly white, told him of what had
happened. "We found this here," he said. "One of the
maids said she saw him with it Just before he was first missed."
He held up the chocolate-box, which Edward himself had
given him that afternoon in the garden. It had been found
on the bank Just above the water.
"Where is Barbara ?" Edward asked.
"In the house," said her father curtly. "She ought not
to have let the child out of her sight." Then he turned
away.
The dragging went on slowly and methodically, farther
and farther down the river. Edward watched it with a fearful
fascination. Every time the gruesome apparatus was drawn
out of the water he expected to see the dead form of the little
child, of whom he had been very fond, and his heart was heavy
for the sake of the girl who had loved him more dearly than
she loved anything on earth.
He looked out over the marsh. The scattered lights were
now fewer. After that significant discovery it seemed useless
to look farther away, and John Clayton no longer directed


20 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
the search. Most of the men engaged in it had Joined the
group by the river-side.
A faint glimmer of approaching dawn showed in the
eastern sky, although it was nearly two hours before the sun
would be up. Edward walked on along the river-bank,
searching for some further sign, and was soon some distance
from the close, intent group. It was still very dark, and he
could only Just distinguish the path at the top of the bank,
but something, he could not tell what, seemed to impel him
to go on.
By and by he seemed to be quite alone on the marsh,
alone with its mystery and its secrets, and still he went on.
There was a stir all about him, and suddenly, as it seemed
to him, the air was filled with the music of the larks rising
on every hand to greet another coming of the sun. It was
as if they had been afraid that the darkness would last for
ever, and they would never see the sun again, and were
overJoyed that their fears had been set at rest.
Now, in the stealthy approach of the light, he knew where
he was going to. It was the castle, whose heavy tower could
Just be descried looming out of the trees that surrounded it.
When he got inside the heavy doorway, and stood in the
great keep of the castle, his inspiration seemed to fail him.
What should he do now he had got there?
The oncoming light had not chased away the shadows
here, and looking up to the sky he could still see the stars,
which had faded away outside. With an idea of looking out
over the marsh from the top of the tower, he began to climb
his way up the stone stairs. He came to the lower gallery,
and stood still. He did not know his ground so well as
Barbara had done, and it was so dark here that he was afraid
of stumbling, and falling into that yawning pit, if he went
on to the ladder in the corner. After all, he was wasting time
here, when he might be of use elsewhere. Little Tony could
hardly have come so far as this.
He was Just about to retrace his steps when a glimmer of
Eght, coming through a narrow crack of window above his
head, now that his eyes were more used to the darkness,
showed him something white in the corner by the ladder.
He peered at it, and tried to make out what it was, but could
distinguish nothing. He began to feel his way along the wall.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 21
planting his steps carefully, and keeping as far away as
possible from the cavity on his left.
Now he could see that it was someone lying there, then
that it was a woman, and when he had knelt down beside
her, with a shock of surprise he recognised Barbara herself,
of whom his thoughts had been full.
He lit a match, and its light showed him that she was
deadly pale, with blood on her forehead, and quite uncon-
scious.
There was Just a flicker of the eyelids; or was it only the
flickering of the match? But that was all, and when he had
lit another match, and tried again to call her to some sign
of life, she still remained in her death-like swoon.
He left her lying there, and went down to find water.
He filled his cap from the river, and with what he could keep
in it sprinkled her face. Soon her eyelids flickered again,
and a faint tinge of colour began to creep over her white face.
He made another Journey for water, and by and by her eyes
opened, and after a long time he could see signs that con-
sciousness was returning to her.
She came fully to herself with a dreadful cry of pain, and
tried to raise herself, but fell back on his arm. He asked her
where she was hurt, but it was not bodily pain that had forced
that cry from her. Remembrance had come with her awaken-
ing. "Where is he ?" she said. "He was here. He was
calling me."
He looked round him in the light that was slowly driving
the shadows away from this grim place, but there was no sign
of any human occupation except their own, and he thought
she was still not fully conscious of her surroundings. "There
is no one here but ourselves," he said. "Can you move,
or shall I try to carry you down?"
She did not answer him. "He was here," she said. "I
fell from the ladder and hurt myself, and I must have fainted.
But Just before I lost consciousness I heard voices—men's
voices—and then I heard my little Tony crying out my name.
It was in here, in this very place."
Again he looked round him, half convinced by the earnest-
ness of her tone, but there was nothing. And now Barbara,
trying to rise, had fainted again, and he was at his wits' eni
to know what to do.


82 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
Once more he left her to get water from the river, and
directly he got outside called with all the force of his lungs
for help.
He called three times, and at last heard an answering
shout, and two of the farm men came running up to him.
They carried Barbara down the tortuous, unsafe stairs,
and laid her on the grass in front of the castle. Again Edward,
kneeling at her side, tried to bring her to consciousness,
while one of the men hurried back to the farm for more
help.
She came to herself at last, revived by the cool morning
air, and when she found that she had been brought down
from the tower wanted to go back again. But her ankle was
either broken or badly sprained, and the pain from that
and from her head scarcely permitted her to move. In a faint
voice she asked Edward to go up again and search.
In a corner of the gallery chamber was a doorway into a
sort of narrow cell, which in the darkness he had not seen.
It was empty, but here, if anywhere, the child must have been,
if Barbara had really heard him call her name, which he now
began to doubt, in spite of her vehemence. He looked care-
fully about the stone floor, but could find not the smallest
trace of anyone having been there. More than ever convinced
that she had deceived herself, he prepared to go down, but
first, with a sudden impulse, clambered up the broken ladder
into the chamber above.
This was as empty as the other had been. He went out
on to the platform, and could see the man running towards
the farm a long way off, and poor Barbara lying on the grass
at the foot of the tower below him. He was sure now that
she had made a mistake, and that if any discovery at all
had been made it had been by those whom he had left on
the river-bank. They were gone now. In all that wide
expanse, now coldly clear in the sad light of the coming dawn,
there was only one human figure—that of the distant runner,
who was nearing the gates of the farm.
If they had left the river-bank, then they must have found
something—that dreadful something that they had been
looking for. With a heart as heavy as lead Edward Knightly
made his way down the stairs to where Barbara was lying.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 28
CHAPTER IV
OTHING had been brought to light by the dragging of
^ the river. There was the little pictured box on the bank,
half hidden by the grass, to show that the child had been there,
but of the child himself there had been no further trace.
Edward Knightly, looking from the tower, had thought that
they had left the river because their work had been done;
but they had only gone to the farm, on John Clayton's orders,
for some food, because they had been out all night, and many
of them since the evening before, and in spite of anxiety
man must eat and rest.
There was a bustle and running to and fro in the great
kitchen of the farm, where the long table under the rows
of hams hanging from the roof was being set for a large
company; and savoury smells from the kitchen-range
brought some sense of comfort, even to those who were most
concerned at the disappearance of their master's child.
Life and work must go on, and human nature will take
pleasure in trifles, whatever disaster threatens it.
John Clayton was in his room. Alice, the maid, came to
the door and said that breakfast was ready. She looked
frightened and very tired, for, like the rest, she had been up
all night.
"Is Miss Barbara down ?" asked Clayton, rising from his
chair.
"Miss Barbara isn't in her room, sir," said Alice. "She
can't have come in."
Clayton frowned. "She wasn't out," he said. "At least,
I never saw her. Surely she can't have disappeared too!"
Just at that moment old Mrs. Barrow came bustling in,
greatly distressed. The man whom Edward Knightly had
sent from the castle had Just come in and brought the news
of Barbara lying there hurt.
When John Clayton heard the story he ordered a pony-
carriage to be got ready at once, and, saddling his own horse,
rode off hotly to the castle.
He found Barbara more herself than he had feared from
the man's story, but terribly distressed at what she had


24 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
thought she had heard in the night. She sobbed it all out
on his shoulder, and he was tender enough to her, kneeling
at her side with his arm round her. She implored him to
search again all through the ruins, although Edward had
twice been over them, at her earnest entreaty, since they
had sent to the farm for help.
John Clayton went up at her bidding, and Edward went
with him, to ask if they had made any discovery in the
river. His heart lightened when he was told that nothing had
been found, and he went out again to Barbara, while Clayton
went by himself through the ruins. He was away from them
for quite a long time, but when he came out again, the dark
frown still on his face, and Barbara appealed to him, he told
her curtly that there was nothing there, and no sign of any-
one having been there, and she must have been mistaken.
Barbara was driven back to the house, and old Mrs. Barrow
helped her to get to bed. The old nurse drew down the
blinds, and, with a glance at her lying with her eyes closed
on the cool pillow, crept out of the room.
When she went downstairs again she found herself in the
middle of a further disturbance and bewilderment.
Emma Slade, one of the maids, was missing. Alice, the
other one, told her master so when she came in to clear the
breakfast-table. "We can't find Emma, sir," she said.
"Nobody's seen her since last night, when she was looking
through the barns with all the rest of us."
John Clayton looked up sharply.
"She was very much upset, sir," said the girl, now speaking
volubly. "She was very fond of little Master Tony, sir.
She thought he might be drownded in the river, and was in
a terrible taking over it. She went out to the river herself,
and"
"Stop that!" said Clayton sharply. "When was she last
seen?"
"I was going to tell you, sir. She come back, and was
more upset than ever. We was all looking round the barns
and that, and she come with us, and searched too, but more
by herself, like. Then nobody seen her any more."
Further examination—of Alice, of Mrs. Barrow, of other
women summoned to tell what they could—elicited nothing
more, or only this: that Emma's outdoor clothes were missing


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 25
from the room she shared with Alice, and she had been gone
from the house for some hours.
He would go and make inquiries, at once. Within a few
minutes he was driving off to Rede.
The inquiries revealed that Emma had gone up to London
by the 11.30. One of the porters knew her, and had shut
her into a third-class—non-smoking. They hadn't heard
at the station at that time what had happened at Redmarsh
Farm, or they might have stopped her. She had been crying
—looked upset, like.
Then wires were set to work. But it was too late. It was
easy enough to trace an insignificant servant-girl as far
as a place like Rede, where there were sure to be those who
knew her by sight, but it was a different thing at a great
London terminus, let alone the other London stations at
which she might have got out. No satisfaction came from
the London police. Emma, if she had taken away some guilty
knowledge with her, had effectually buried it, with herself,
in that great human hive where secrets were so many and so
baffling.
Edward Knightly, when he had seen Barbara safely inside
the house, had gone home, but had returned a few hours
later.
Edward was a magistrate, the youngest on the bench at
Rede, and he had very little opinion of the abilities of the
local police. So he had taken the matter in hand himself,
and now gave Sergeant Primmet, who had the case in hand,
the result of his inquiries.
Mrs. Barrow had given Emma the character of a good
and willing worker, and had told him of other good points
in her. She was very fond of little children and little animals.
Master Tony had been her special pet, and there was not the
slightest doubt of her being fond of him and having been more
upset than anybody except Miss Barbara and herself when
he had been missed. She had always seemed quite happy,
so Mrs. Barrow said, in playing with the children of the men
on the farm who had cottages near by—in her spare time,
that was—or with the young things—little pigs, little ducks,
little chickens, kittens, lambs, calves—that were always
making their appearance. That was the best side of her;
but, to use Mrs. Barrow's expression, "directly a pair of


26 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
trousers came along "—well, she was a different girl altogether
Now, hadn't Mr. Knightly noticed that himself? He wa*
often at the house.
Well, Mr. Knightly had noticed it, although he didn't say
so to Mrs. Barrow. The girl had bold eyes. She had exer-
cised them on him, somewhat to his surprise, when she had
opened the door to him. Then he came straight to the point.
Who were the men who had been specially friendly with
her? Whom had she seen quite lately?
He questioned not only Mrs. Barrow, but Alice, and any-
body else who could be expected to throw light on the question.
After a long inquiry, during which the names of various
young men on the farm, and tradesmen's assistants from
Rede, had been mentioned, and their owners, as far as possible,
interrogated, it came out that she had been seen talking
once or twice to Jude Kelly from the Harbour, that she had
been down to the Harbour certainly two or three times within
the last few months, and probably more, and, finally, that
Jude Kelly had been up to see Mr. Clayton the morning
before, and that she had slipped out and stood talking to
him for quite a long time round the corner by the cow-shed.
Bob Smith had seen her, and sent her packing indoors, with
a flea in her ear; told Kelly, too, that he ought to be ashamed
of himself, and sent him off with a flea in his ear, as a worthless
reprobate who'd no call to be coming interfering with re-
spectable girls.
That was about all, but it was enough. "If there's any
rascality going on at the Harbour, you'll find Jude Kelly
concerned in it," said Knightly. "You had better go down
there, Primmet, as soon as possible, and find out what he's
been up to since yesterday. I think you ought to have gone
before."
So Primmet went down. This Jude Kelly was a man of
about fifty, a bad character without a doubt. He had been
in prison several times. He couldn't keep his hands off his
neighbour's property, or at least off the property of his richer
neighbours, for the poorer ones he left mostly alone in that
respect. It doesn't do to be unsociable. The men of Rede
Harbour had no particular obJection to Kelly's dishonesties,
bo long as they weren't exercised on themselves. Sometimes
he spent money in the Sailmakers' Arms, and they never felt


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 27
it necessary to ask where it came from. But if he had been
Buspected of levying toll on them, they would not have treated
him with such careless good-nature. They were a strong
lot, and some of them were very rough.
Jude Kelly lived in a wooden erection on the outskirts
of the settlement, one of several black-tarred huts which
he used for various purposes. There was a bit of ground
attached to them, where he grew a few vegetables. There
was an old horse in a tumble-down shelter, and an older
cart under a bit of galvanised iron nailed on to it, and a pig
in a rough sty, and some leggy hens scratching up a bare
living on the shingly ground. So far the owner's pursuits
seemed to be of the land. But there were fishing-nets hanging
over a rail, a pair of oars and some spars leaning up against
one of the huts, and a general sense of tar scattered over the
whole collection of incongruities, which betokened Him to be
also of the sea. He was, in fact, one of those amphibious
waterside characters who pick up a living, and sometimes
a pretty good one, by tackling any Job that comes to hand,
either ashore or afloat. He called himself a merchant, but
he might Just as well have called himself a carrier or a fisher-
man. He was everything that it suited him to be, and nobody
could tell what he would turn to next.
The last that had been seen of him was in the Sailmakers'
Arms the evening before—not late—say about ten o'clock—
when he had made more free than usual with his money,
and had been, from all accounts, in one of those moods of rough
Joviality with which he varied his more frequent moods of
sulky secrecy. At that time he had gone off, and no one
had seen him since, and his hut had been shut and locked all
day long.
Here, then, was corroboration. Kelly had gone up to
Redmarsh Farm in the morning to ask Mr. Clayton for money.
That much Mr. Clayton had told Sergeant Primmet, though
he had declined to give any reason for the demand. Kelly
had not got any money. But in the evening he was spending
money freely. Then he had gone off, nobody knew where,
and had not since returned.


28 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
CHAPTER V
TyiLLIAM CLAYTON and his wife—they had no children
* * —lived in a flat near Victoria. William was a member
of the Stock Exchange, and had other irons in the Are besides,
and if the appointments of his flat were any sign, he
managed to keep those irons fairly hot.
He sometimes said that he didn't care about being sur-
rounded by all that luxury; he had been brought up on a
farm, and he preferred the simple farm life. But Mrs. Clayton
had not been brought up on a farm. She had, as a matter of
fact, been brought up in a rather poor country vicarage, but
she had an uncle who was a baronet, and she never forgot
that fact, and seldom allowed others to forget it. It was
for her that the luxury was kept up, for William was an easy
man and found it difficult to deny her anything that she
asked for.
Mrs. Clayton spent a great deal of money, but as long as
she didn't ask her husband to leave his own pursuits and
spend it with her, he provided her with what she wanted,
with only an occasional grumble.
William Clayton always had his letters and the morning
papers brought to his room. He was a fairly early riser for
a Londoner, and on Saturday morning he was already half
dressed when they arrived together.
He was a good-looking man, getting on for forty. Like
his brother as to height and figure, but with fair hair instead
of dark.
He opened a paper first;—a financial one—and what he
saw there seemed to cause him surprise and some gratification,
although the gratification was not wholly unalloyed, for all
he said was, " If I'd only bought twice as many!
He did not spend long over the paper, but turned to his
letters, and picked out one which bore the Rede postmark.
A few minutes afterwards he knocked at the door of his wife's
room, and went in without waiting for her to answer.
Flora Clayton had been in a sweet sleep. So she told him
in a voice that expressed annoyance. She had been up
very late the night before, and if she could not be allowed
to have her sleep out in the morning she really didn't know


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 29
how she could be expected to go through with the arduous
life she led. She wished he wouldn't be so inconsiderate as to
disturb her at such an unearthly hour.
"Oh, never mind all that," said William impatiently.
"You'll have to get up now, and we must catch the ten
o'clock train to Rede. I've Just had this letter from John"
"Go to Rede !" she cried. "What can you be thinking
of, William? The season only Just beginning, and engage-
ments for almost every hour of the day!"
"Oh, bother the season!" said William. "Dreadful
things have been happening at Rede, and John wants us
to go down there at once."
"What has happened ?" asked Mrs. Clayton. "Show me
John's letter."
"Better get up at once and pack," he said. "I can stay
till Monday, at any rate, and you may have to be there
some time. I'm sorry about Barbara." His face was very
Berious as he told her the news.
Mrs. Clayton no longer obJected, but when she had ex-
pressed her consternation at what she had heard, she
grumbled a good deal. "Of course I'm sorry for Barbara,
too," she said. " But if she's as ill as that John ought to
get a hospital nurse. I'm not fit to take charge of her. I
should wear myself to death."
"I don't suppose you'll do that," said William, rather
contemptuously, and left the room to attend to his own
packing.
An hour or two later they were in the train together,
travelling down to Rede.
John Clayton was waiting for them at Rede Station. Even
Flora, who did not as a rule think of anybody but herself,
was shocked at his appearance. He looked ill and haggard
and years older than when she had last seen him. He shook
hands with her and with his brother, without smiling.
Flora asked him how Barbara was. "Much about
the same," he said. "She won't get better till we've found
Anthony. But she's not in any immediate danger."
Then he turned to his brother. "They've found Jude
Kelly," he said. "He came back last night."
"Oh, well!" said William, cheerfully, "if he came back
of his own accord it looks as if he'd had nothing to do with it."


80 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"They found a large sum of money hidden away in his
cottage," replied John, "and he wouldn't say where he got
it from, or where he has been since Wednesday night. They
have arrested him and he is coming before the bench "—he
looked at his watch—" in a few minutes. I thought you
and I would go to the police-court, William, and Flora could
go down to the farm now."
So Flora drove off in the wagonette, and John and William
Clayton made their way through the streets of the old town
and into the police-court.
The rather narrow court was crowded as the brothers
pushed their way in. Everyone in the neighbourhood now
knew of what had happened, and there was very little doubt
anywhere but that the culprit had been found at last.
That Kelly had stolen the money seemed to admit of no
doubt whatever. It had been whispered about that nearly
fifty pounds in gold had been found in a bag under his mat-
tress, and how could he have got hold of such a sum if not
dishonestly?
Whether he was responsible also for the disappearance,
and possibly the murder, of the little child was what had
brought all these people thronging to the police-court. They
expected sensational developments. No doubt, by this time,
the police had discovered fresh evidence, which would be
disclosed in the course of the inquiry.
There was a full bench of magistrates, and as the Claytons
entered the court they were whispering together, their heads
about that of the white-haired chairman, Colonel Church,
who shook his head once or twice as if he were obJecting to
something that was being pressed on him. At last, however,
he seemed to give way, and the five magistrates arranged
themselves in their row of seats facing the court. Edward
Knightly sat at the end, and his face was very grave.
The prisoner was called and was brought into the dock.
He was a tall, dark man, with the remains of what had been
in his youth a kind of evil good looks.
He was anything but good-looking now, as he stood in
bis dirty working clothes, unshaven, his black shock of hair
unbrushed, and his eyes bloodshot, as if from drink. He
looked furiously angry, too, and began to say something in
A guttural voice directly he was brought before the bench,


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 31
but was sharply rebuked by a constable, and with a shrug
of his broad shoulders kept silence until the preliminaries
were gone through.
He was charged with breaking into a certain house on a
certain day and stealing two hundred pounds in gold.
John Clayton was called. His evidence was that he had
brought two hundred pounds in gold from the bank on Tuesday
afternoon—had locked it up in the bureau; that he had
counted it soon after twelve o'clock on Wednesday morning,
and locked it up again, and had then left the house and not
returned until about four o'clock, when he had found the
bureau broken open and the money gone. Kelly had been
to see him soon after nine o'clock in the morning, and had
been with him a very short time—not more than a quarter
of an hour.
That seemed to be all. The case was astonishingly weak
so far, and nothing had been said about the missing child.
There was a slight pause when Clayton had finished speak-
ing, and a slight murmuring in the crowded court. Surely
no man could be convicted on that evidence.
But now the chairman asked John Clayton what the
nature of the business was on which Kelly had been to see
him on the morning of the robbery.
Clayton answered readily enough, "He wanted me to
give him money," and then added: "A good many years
ago he did me a service, and I paid him well for it. Sometimes
since then he has reminded me of it, and I have given him
money from time to time. On Wednesday he asked me for
more, and I refused to give it him."
The explanation was straightforward as far as it went, but
it left a good deal unexplained. What was the service that
such a man as Kelly could give to such a man as Clayton
that emboldened him to come and ask for money ever after-
wards, and sometimes to get it?
"Was his demand in the nature of blackmail, Mr. Clay-
ton?" The question was asked by one of the magistrates,
a man of a different appearance from his brother Justices.
He was a retired solicitor, living on a little property near
Rede, a man with a sharp, clever face, now well on in
years.
Clayton hesitated for a moment. "If he had tried to


82 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
blackmail me," he said, "I should either have given him
what he asked for, or else given him in charge."
The magistrate made no comment on this reply, and asked
no further question.
"Have you any more witnesses to call ?" the chairman
asked of Sergeant Primmet.
Yes. Sergeant Primmet was not done with yet. He
called various witnesses, who testified as to Kelly's move-
ments both on the evening of Wednesday and the previous
evening, on which he had walked into the Sailmakers' Arms
and professed to be greatly astonished to hear of what had
happened during his absence. He had given no explanation
of where he had been in the meantime. He had "splashed
money about," treating everybody to drink and drinking a
great deal himself. He had talked a great deal in a boastful
way of what he would do if anyone interfered with him, and
had got noisy and quarrelsome, but had let out nothing
which could be taken hold of.
Then Sergeant Primmet called Robert Thatcher.
Robert Thatcher was an assistant at Robinson's Inter-
national Stores, High Street, Rede, an athletic-looking young
man, who told the magistrates that he was in training for a
Marathon race; that on Wednesday night he had gone for
a long training run on the road that led from Rede to Rede
Harbour, but branched off before it got there, and ran along
the marsh near the sea to Brightling, five miles away. He
was coming back, and at about half-past ten, as near as he
could Judge, he had turned a corner where the high bank of
a dyke concealed the road in front of him, and had come
full upon a man crossing it. He was startled, because he
had not expected to meet anybody on the marsh road at
that time of night, and had looked to see who it was. II
was Kelly, the prisoner.
The court waited for more.
Kelly had sworn at him, and then, turning his face away,
had made off in the direction of Rede Harbour. But he had
not been going that way when he came upon him. He had
been going the opposite way, and was crossing the road at a
point where he would have struck a track on the top of a
bank which led to Rede Castle. This behaviour had sur-
prised him, and when he had run on a little further he looked


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 33
back over the marsh to see if he were still in sight. But he
could see nothing of him, although if he had been going to
the Harbour he could not have helped seeing him, as the
marsh was quite open, and there was nothing to hide him.
Was he absolutely convinced that the man he had seen
was the prisoner? Yes, absolutely convinced.
Was he alone? Yes, quite alone.
Was he carrying anything? The witness hesitated. Not
so far as he could remember.
Was he sure of the time—half-past ten? Yes. Because
he had got home at ten minutes to eleven, and it was not
much more than three miles. He gave this answer with a
modest pride, as much as to say: "You couldn't have done
it in twenty minutes, of course, but that's nothing to what /
can do when I try."
"Any questions to ask of the witness?"
Kelly asked his question with less truculence than before.
"You say you saw me crossing the marsh road at 'alf-past
ten on Wednesday evening last?"
"Yes. I did."
"Well, then, you didn't, 'cos I didn't cross the marsh
road at 'alf-past ten, nor at 'alf-past nothing else, nor no
time. I was abed, asleep."
"You can ask the witness questions," said the chairman,
"but you are not to make statements, or merely contradict
him. Have you any more questions to ask him?"
"Yus, sir." He was more polite now.
"You said you saw me going to the castle?"
"Yes, I did."
"An' then you saw me going to the Harbour?"
"Going towards the Harbour. Yes."
"An' then you looked back and didn't see me going to-
wards the Harbour?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, where did you see me going?"
The witness made no reply.
"No, nothing to say!" said Kelly with stern contempt.
"'Cos why? You didn't see me going nowhere."
That was all the evidence that Sergeant Primmet brought.
The chairman asked Kelly if he had anything to say in his
defence.


84 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"Defence? What defence ?" asked the prisoner. "There
ain't nothing to defend. What ain't lies is nothing to do
with me at all, and what is lies ain't nothing to do with me
either. Why shouldn't I go acrost the marsh at 'alf-past ten
if I'd a mind to? Only I wasn't going across the marsh;
I was in bed, as I told you. It's well known when the money
was took, and where it was took from, and it's well known
I wasn't there to take it. An' there's another thing. Nobody
asked Muster Clayton whether the bag my money was in
was the bag his money was in. 'Cos why? You know'd it
wasn't."
"How do you know that?" The question came like a
pistol-crack from the keen-faced old lawyer.
Kelly looked abashed for a moment, and then replied,
"'Cos I've had the bag what the police found my money in,
and hadn't no right to take, for a matter of four or five year,
and I can prove it."
"Where did you get the money from?" The old lawyer
was leaning towards him, looking him full in the face.
"That's my business, guv'nor. I come by it honest in
the way of trade."
"Then if you came by it honestly you can have no obJec-
tion to answering my question. You had better answer it,
for your own sake. There are other more serious things to
be cleared up. If you can give an account of yourself, I
strongly advise you to do so."
He leaned back in his chair again. The allusion to that
other matter, which was in everybody's mind, had caused a
sound like a gasp to go through the crowd of spectators.
Kelly answered with less of his previous impudence. "I
ain't a-going to say nothing about myself," he answered.
"The police 'ave tried that on already, and they didn't get
anything out of me. Nor they won't, neither. What I was
doing is my affair, and where I got my money from is my
affair too."
Kelly was then allowed to call witnesses, who sufficiently
proved that he was on the beach by the nets at the time
when the money was stolen, and that his movements were
known for an hour or more both before and after.
The magistrates conferred together again, and after a time
retired from the bench and stayed away for some time.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 85
They came back into the court after an absence of a quarter
of an hour, and took their seats on the bench.
The prisoner was brought in again. There was a hush of
expectation.
"Remanded," said the chairman shortly.
Kelly's alibi was supported by evidence so strong that it
was impossible to ignore it. He could not have been the
actual thief; but the police had asked for a remand and
got it.
CHAPTER VI
A/fR. CHINNERING, the detective from Scotland Yard,
-"-* was one of the most unobtrusive-looking men to be
seen anywhere. If you had happened to be travelling with
him you might have taken him for a "commercial," one of
the friendly sort, always ready to talk to anybody and very
accommodating in the matter of having the window a little
way up or a little way down, as the case might be. If you
happened to be a commercial yourself you would find him
very interested in whatever line you were travelling in,
and well informed in it, too, whether it were hard goods or
soft goods, or any other sort of goods, and when you had
finished a very pleasant conversation you would have added
to his general stock of information. He would have seen to
that. He would have asked a good many more questions
than he would have answered, but he would have asked
them in such a way as to make it seem a privilege to enlighten
him.
If you had wanted to talk politics, and had avowed yourself
a strong Unionist, you would have found his opinions coincided
on the whole with your own. If you happened to be a Radical,
and argued from that point of view, he would have thought
that there was a good deal in what you said, and you might
have remarked that it was easy to talk to a sensible fellow
like that.
Mr. Chinnering was of medium height and medium age.
He had a medium amount of hair on his head, and his clothes
were of medium cut and colour, neither fashionable noi


86 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
unfashionable, neither very dark nor very light. In fact,
except for the pleasant way he had with him, he was not
noticeable at all—Just an ordinary man going unobtrusively
about his business; and what that business was you would
never have thought of asking.
If Sergeant Primmet disliked the idea of a London detective
coming down to supersede him, and possibly to ride rough-
shod over him, and make himself generally unpleasant
about his failure so far to make anything of the case in hand,
his fears were soon set at rest. Mr. Chinnering asked him
a great many questions, it is true, but he asked them in such
a nice, chatty way that it was a pleasure to answer him.
Mr. Chinnering did not seem to think that he had omitted
to do anything that it had been in his power to do. At least,
he said so.
"You've no cause to blame yourself," he said to the
sergeant.
Mr. Chinnering, after a long talk with the sergeant, carried
out a programme which he had arranged for himself. He
made one of a score or more of people who were scrambling
all over the ruins of Rede Castle in the afternoon, and nobody
could be more ready than he was to listen to all the theories
as to exactly what had happened that the scramblers evolved.
When he had seen enough he walked over the marsh to
Redmarsh Farm, where life, in spite of the terrible shadow
that was hanging over it, was going on much the same as usual
to the outward eye.
John Clayton was in, and received him with an unsmiling
face. After asking him a few questions, Mr. Chinnering chose
William Clayton as his companion for his investigations into
farming matters. He spoke affably to everybody he met,
and asked each of them a few questions about what they
were doing, looking them kindly in the face as they replied.
But he said not a word about any mystery, and they all
thought he was a friend of Mr. William's down from London,
and a pleasant gentleman, although he didn't seem to know
much about the farming business.
At about ten o'clock that night Mr. Chinnering went in
under the arch of Rede Castle and climbed up to the top
of the tower, guiding himself carefully over unsafe places by
the light of a little electric lamp.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 87
The rotten ladder, which had played poor Barbara sc
eorry a trick, needed some activity to surmount, but Mr.
Chinnering had plenty of activity, and soon stood at the top
of it, in the highest chamber of the tower. "Well, at any
rate," he said to himself, as he looked down, "if anybody
tries to come up whose room I'd rather have than his company,
it won't be difficult to persuade him that he'd better stop
where he is."
A shred of new moon was riding high up in the sky, and the
evening star was shining brightly, and other stars were slowly
coming out to keep Mr. Chinnering company in his lonely
vigil. He could see the lights of the Harbour in front of him
a little to the left, and on the right were glimmers from
the windows of Redmarsh Farm.
Mr. Chinnering looked long and earnestly at those lights.
"It's a puzzle," he said to himself at last, "but we'll get
to the bottom of it." Then he gazed at the water flowing
so slowly beneath him that it seemed to be standing still.
"Poor little chap !" he said at last.
He said it with considerable feeling, and, indeed, for a man
of much less sensibility than was possessed by the admirable
Mr. Chinnering, it would have been a moving thought that
beneath those still waters might lie the body of a little child
done foully to death, when the sun and the winds of heaven
and all the Joys of life had played for so short a time about
him. Apparently, from his exclamation of pity, as well as
from his taking the trouble to spend the hours of darkness
in this lonely and possibly dangerous spot, Mr. Chinnering
harboured more than a mere suspicion that the case he had
come to investigate included the crime of murder, and that
he stood on a spot stained with the most innocent of blood.
These thoughts might have been expected somewhat to
daunt hia cheerful spirit, but Mr. Chinnering was not easily
daunted, and settling himself down on the warm stone, in
as comfortable a position as he could obtain in a corner of
the battlements where he had support for his back, but a
clear view over the marsh, both towards Rede Harbour and
Redmarsh Farm, he prepared himself to watch and to listen.
Bats and birds flitted continuously around him, and the
silence was broken every now and then by weird cries, which
did not shake his nerve in the least; for Mr. Chinnering,


88 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
in spite of his agreeable innocence in the matter of farming
and smuggling, which innocence enabled him to ask questions
and to have them answered, had been brought up in the
country, and was not likely to mistake the cry of an owl for
anything more terrifying than it was.
More homely sounds came to him from time to time to
cheer his loneliness and remind him that he was not entirely
cut off, even here, from the warm currents of life. The
cough of a sheep is not in itself a musical sound, but it is a
curiously human one—like an old sick man turning wearily
in his sleep. And where sheep are, men are not very far
away. The distant bark of a dog is also a companionable
sound in such circumstances as Mr. Chinnering was experi-
encing, telling of homes well protected and their occupants
snugly ensconed within. And the rattle of a late train, with
its line of light creeping slowly along until it was lost in the
distance, was more cheering than anything; for a train is
a prosaic thing if you look at it in one way, and effectively
takes away from the feeling of loneliness.
However, as an hour crept slowly by, as lights went out
and dogs ceased barking, an eerie feeling did begin to come
over Mr. Chinnering, which an occasional cough from an old
sheep did nothing to allay. "I half wish I'd brought that
muddle-headed ass along with me for company," he said to
himself, alluding probably to someone he had met in the course
of the day. "I'm always shoving myself into funny places,
and wishing I hadn't. If there was such a thing as a ghost
now, this is Just the sort of place a man might expect to see
one. There's been some dark work put in here in times
gone by, I'll be bound, let alone what's happened lately."
He glanced down at the water, and the thought of what
might be lying beneath it did nothing to raise his spirits.
He rose and took a turn up and down the platform, holding
a silent but sarcastic conversation with himself, as if, by
pretending he was two persons, he could remove the growing
discomfort of one of them.
"You're not losing your nerve by any chance, Johnny
Chinnering, are you? You don't think you'd better give
up your present Job and go into the public-house line, or
anything of that sort, do you? You'd get plenty of company
there, you know. You've only got to say the word—Johnny


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 88
Chinnering don't like sleeping out of his comfortable bed at
nights; he wants to stroke the cat, and hear the kettle
humming—and I dare say they'd let you go. Of course,
they'd think Just as much of you as ever. Oh, yes! They
do think all the world of blooming funks in our service,
don't they? It isn't much of a service, is it? Doesn't give
you half as much chance of distinguishing yourself as the
public-house line, and feeling proud of yourself when you've
put through a good piece of work and haven't shirked any-
thing! Oh, you go and tell them you're a funk and can't
stick it. They'll let you go all right; plenty to take your
place."
This uncompromising address had a satisfactory effect,
which was increased by a little light refreshment with which
Mr. Chinnering had provided himself. "Face your funk and
you'll drive it away," was one of his pet sayings, and often
upheld him when he had something unpleasant to go through.
He addressed himself with a last word, "I don't mind your
being a funk—you can't help that—as long as you don't
act like one." After that he felt better, and fell back upon
his second line of defence, when he had time to pass away.
This was to say over some of the poetry he had learned
many years ago at school. He began with Gray's "Elegy,"
and got through it comfortably, keeping an eye all the time
on the river, and especially on the path that led from Rede
Harbour, and then began on "John Gilpin."
He had only got so far as to where that hero threw the
wash about on both sides of the way, when he was startled
by a sound below him, and immediately forgot all about the
famous train-band captain, and sat still with all his faculties
on the stretch. It was a sound as of a footstep striking on
stone, but no one had come along the path by the river,
or across it. He had been watching all the time, and the
disagreeable impression came over him of having been over-
heard when he had thought he was quite alone, although
his poetical exercises had been done in complete silence, and
he had been sitting quite still for some time. He peered over
the parapet, and saw the dark figure of a man standing on
the narrow pathway immediately below him, though how he
had got there he could not at first imagine. Then he remem-
bered that there was a way out from the floor of the castle


40 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
on to this sort of stone-paved quay which overlooked the
river. The man, whoever he was, must have come through
the castle, and it was probable that he had come from Rede,
for the entrance was towards that quarter, and that way of
getting to the quay would not naturally have been taken
by anyone coming either from Redmarsh Farm or from the
harbour. So thought Mr. Chinnering, who had examined his
ground carefully in the afternoon, and since he could not look
in all directions at once, from any point of vantage, had left
out of account that one.
It was dark, but not very dark. He made out that the man
wore a soft felt hat, and a dark suit of clothes, but he could
see nothing more, as he was standing immediately below
him.
The man stood for a long time immovable, looking over
the water, and Mr. Chinnering crouched like a cat, watching
him. He stood in the shadow of the tower, with his hat
pulled down well over his face, and hardly expected that he
could be seen, even if the man he was watching should look
up.
And presently he did look up, scanning the high, battered
walls as if measuring them for a purpose. What purpose
Mr. Chinnering did not speculate on, for when he saw the
man's face, dimly, in the faint light of moon and stars,
he gave a little gasp of astonishment, and forgot even that,
although in shadow, he was in the direct line of the gazer's
vision.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said to himself. Then he put
his mouth into the shape for whistling, but emitted no sound.
"Well, now we know where to begin from. If you come up
here!"
The man was gone. He had disappeared by the way he had
come. Mr. Chinnering crept stealthily into the chamber
and stood at the end of the ladder, waiting and watching.
But the man did not come up. He could hear his footsteps
down below, going to and fro for a little while; then there
was silence. He had gone away.
Mr. Chinnering made no effort to follow him, but presently
made his own way back to Rede, across the marsh, thinking
deeply all the time.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 41
CHAPTER VII
|"T was more than a week since Barbara had been brought
home, wounded in body and terribly wounded in mind.
Her youth and her splendid health had fought hard for her,
and had saved her almost in spite of herself, for she had done
nothing to help them. In her pain and weakness and despair
she would willingly have died, but she was too young and
too strong. Nature held out against her and insisted upon
her living, although sleep was a nightmare to her and every
waking an agony.
Her aunt nursed her admirably. Although she hadn't
half the character or even ability of Mrs. Barrow, who loved
Barbara as if she had been her own child, she had a better
influence over her than the old nurse. Mrs. Barrow was so
deeply distressed herself at what had happened, that she had
no power to keep her own grief down when Barbara talked
about it. And Barbara would talk about nothing else, and
asked her a hundred times a day if she thought that there
was any hope left. Mrs. Barrow thought there was none,
and could not keep that conviction out of the tone in which
she tried to reassure her patient.
But Flora Clayton was too feather-headed and too
interested in her own pursuits to be able to keep her mind for
long on something that had no direct bearing on herself.
She was shocked at the disappearance of little Tony, but it
was not in her to keep up an attitude of grief when once she
had got used to the idea of it. She wouldn't let Barbara
talk about it at all. She talked herself about her life in London,
about all the people that she knew, and about the people
she wanted to know, about plays and music and books
and what she read every morning in the papers; and although
Barbara could not be induced to take the smallest interest
in any one of these subJects, and wished wearily that her
aunt would leave her alone to her own sad thoughts, still,
it was the best thing for her not to be left alone to brood
(ta them, and she got slowly better in spite of herself.
Her father came up every day to see her, but he was living
in an atmosphere of deep gloom, and seemed incapable of
making an effort to throw it off, even when he sat by his


42 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
daughter's bed. Flora Clayton cut his visits as short aa she
could. Barbara was always more upset when he had been
to see her, and more difficult to manage.
William Clayton had a better effect on her. She liked
talking to him better than anyone. He was deeply sympa-
thetic, but made no effort to persuade her that little Tony
would be found. He never tried to prevent her talking about
him, even encouraged her to do so. He was always ready
to recall the happy memories that had grown up round the
little child, reminding her of this and that, and hearing
fresh tales of his pretty, merry little ways. But he spoke as
if they were recalling to each other the much-loved per-
sonality of a dead child, encouraging tender and healing
memories, but never encouraging hope.
"Don't you think there is any hope of his being found,
Uncle William ?" she would ask piteously.
He never replied that he thought there was no hope, but
he helped her to none all the same.
"Why don't you say the poor little fellow will be found?"
his shallow wife would ask of him indignantly. "I say it
every time she asks me, poor girl! It keeps her up."
"No, it doesn't," William replied. "She doesn't believe
you. If he is found the Joy won't kill her. That's all nonsense.
And if they find his body, the less hope she has now the better
she'll get over the shock."
Edward Knightly called daily to inquire, and Flora, who
scented a romance, took him up to see Barbara when she had
been lying there for a week. But she would not let him repeat
the visit. Barbara had been reproachful to him for doing
nothing. What could he have done? It did him no good
with her to have gently to excuse himself against her un-
reasonable charges of indifference. "Poor fellow! U he
could clear up the mystery for her, I don't fancy he would
spare himself," said Flora.
Mr. Chinnering, who had made himself thoroughly at home
on the farm and knew everybody by name, and a great deal
more than they suspected about every one of them, was
brought up to see her towards the end of the week. He,
apparently, did not think it wrong to encourage her to hope.
"Now, you try and remember, miss, what sort of voices
it was exactly that you heard, and whether there was more


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 48
than one of them. That might put us on the track. If they'd
been meaning to do away with the poor little fellow they
wouldn't have waited all that time, and in a place so near
where everybody was searching. What you heard may
Just help us to go straight and find him, if you can remember
and make no mistakes about it."
Thus encouraged, Barbara said that she thought there
had been more than one voice beside the child's. She couldn't
recall anything that may have been said. With that piteous
cry ringing in her ears, the rest was only a confused murmur.
But she thought they were the voices of two men.
Mr. Chinnering let her think, looking hard at her all the
time. "Were the voices like any voices you know ?" he asked
presently. "That might give us something to go on. Like
this man Kelly's, let's say?"
No, Barbara could not say that. It was Just a growl of
two men's voices.
"Well, like anyone's that couldn't have been there, let's
say—like my voice, or your uncle's voice, or—or—your
father's voice?"
But no. Barbara couldn't say they were like any particular
voice.
lHEY have found the body. Poor Barbara no longer
A asks pitifully if there is any hope, but lies in a state
which almost inclines those who love her to ask if there is
any hope for her.
They do not tell her until after the burial in the quiet church-
yard at Cliffthorpe, which is not at all quiet on that fair
June afternoon, when crowds from all parts invade it, trample
on grass and on graves, and peer and scramble to gain one
glimpse of the tiny coffin and the tall, haggard man who
drops the earth on to it at the appointed time.
"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." What
can his thoughts be as he listens to the words of the burial
service over the little son whom he has never loved *
CHAPTER VIII


44 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
It is impossible to say from his face. He sheds never a
tear, and speaks no word that he can avoid, walks always
by himself unless he is forced to meet others, and then shirks
nothing, but wears always the same haggard, inscrutable face,
not open to sympathy, repelling even kindness. "He takes
it hard, John Clayton," said his neighbours. "Likely enough
he's thinking that if he'd taken more notice of the poor little
chap when he was alive it wouldn't fall so heavy on him now.
I wouldn't have his thoughts to keep me company."
The body had been found in the river, under the walls
of Rede Castle. At the end of the week, Mr. Chinnering had
come to John Clayton and told him that he had given the
police instructions to drag at this spot.
"At eleven o'clock to-night," he said. "I'm keeping it
a secret. We don't want more gapers than we can help."
"I've been thinking that ought to be done," said Clayton,
with his dark frown.
"You needn't be there unless you like," said Mr. Chinnering,
but Clayton said that he would be there, and said no more.
The poor little drowned body was unrecognisable, except
for the draggled yellow hair. They kept a lock of it for Barbara
when she should have been told, and Mrs. Barrow, sobbing
bitterly all the time, washed out and ironed the little shirt,
which was all that the body had been wrapped in, and put
it away with the rest of the clothes, which would not be worn
again. It had been marked by Barbara's own hand, but she
did not want her to know which one it was. Let her tears
fall over all the little garments in which she had so often
dressed him for his play in the sunshine, not on the one in
which he had lain cold and still at the bottom of the cruel
river.
There were no signs of violence, but they could hardly have
found them if there had been, unless they had been of a more
terrible nature than need have accounted for the death of
a baby. The inquest was adJourned. The father identified
the body. The police offered no evidence. They were investi-
gating the case; there was a strong suspicion of murder,
but they were not ready to bring a charge yet.
Rumours grew. John Clayton had always been respected
by his neighbours, but he had never been popular with them.
He was too reserved, and of late he had been more than


46 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
in prison had paled his face, accustomed to the sun and wind
and rain of the free open air, and he looked thinner. But no
one could have told from his expression whether shame or
anger or hope or despair filled his mind. For the most part
he kept his eyes down, but when he had come in he had keenly
eyed the face of the Judge who was to try him, and he bent
the same penetrating look on the counsel who opened the
case for the Crown, as if to estimate the quality of a dangerous
enemy. When he answered "Not guilty" to the solemn
charge, he spoke in a clear voice, with no sign of emotion.
A strong, self-reliant man he looked, and whether his attitude,
which seemed to amount to indifference as the case proceeded,
arose out of a full consciousness of innocence or a deter-
mination to show no sign of guilt in face of the accusers who
were lying in wait for him, no one could have said.
As for Kelly, no one took much interest in him. He was
a bad character, and was known as such, and his appearance
as he stood in the dock by the side of his fellow-prisoner said
nothing in his favour.
Mr. Edward Eoddon, k.o., opened the case for the Crown.
He was a short, rather stout man, with heavy brows and a
fleshy face. He looked sleepy, but those who were deceived
by his appearance of indifference were apt to be rudely
awakened when he warmed to his work. He began now in
a slow, serious voice, as if he felt the full gravity of the accu-
sation he had to make, and was, if anything, rather reluctant
to make it.
He said that the case was a painful one. All trials for a
capital offence must be so. But where a man of good position
and good education was charged with the murder of a little
child, and that child his only son—that was a very grave
case indeed, and it was incumbent on the prosecution to
bring forward a strong chain of evidence, in order that so
unnatural a crime should receive the punishment it deserved.
In the case of the prisoner Clayton, he would have no diffi-
culty in laying such evidence before the Jury—evidence that
he and no other had planned out the crime that had been
committed, and that he and no other could benefit by it.
As for the other prisoner, the evidence was equally strong
against him that he had been told of the prisoner's intention,
had connived at it, and had disposed of the body.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 47
Counsel then described how the child had been playing in
the garden of Redmarsh Farm in the company of his sister
and afterwards of a gentleman, Edward Knightly, who had
brought him a present of a box of chocolates. He had run
into the house with them at about three o'clock, and after
that he had been seen alive by only one person. That person
he would call as a witness, and he would tell them that he
had seen the prisoner Clayton leading the child by the hand
along the bank of the river which flowed near Redmarsh Farm,
and in the direction of Rede Castle, where his body was after-
wards found.
There was a stir of surprise at this statement, and Mr.
Howard Minors, K.O., who was leading for the defence, was
instantly on his feet.
"My lord," he exclaimed, in a voice of scandalised surprise,
"this is the first we have heard of any such evidence. It
is not in the depositions."
"The witness has only come forward within the last few
days, m'lud," said Mr. Loddon; and there was a wrangle
between the two counsel, the Judge occasionally intervening,
which ended in Mr. Minors resuming his seat with an ex-
pression of indignant protest, and Mr. Loddon going on with
his speech.
He said that this evidence completed a chain which would
have been strong enough without it to convict the prisoner
of the murder, but it completed it in a very convincing way.
He described the openness of the mile or more of marsh land
which lay between Redmarsh Farm and Rede Castle, but
contended that it was not so unlikely as it seemed that a
man leading a child should have passed quite unseen. The
more cultivated land of Redmarsh Farm, where the hands
were working, lay on the other side of the house, and this
part of the marsh was given over to sheep, and only one man
was known to have been there at the time—namely, the
shepherd, who had been interrogated but had seen nothing.
And the road which ran through the marsh was little fre-
quented. Therefore the prisoner, taking advantage of any
cover, such as the banks of the dykes and an occasional
line of willows, might well have thought that he had passed
unseen.
Counsel then related that the prisoner had been missing


48 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
from his house from soon after twelve o'clock until four
o'clock, that he had been seen at one o'clock walking on the
seashore in an apparently excited state of mind, and had
not been seen again until an hour after the child had dis-
appeared, when he had returned to his house in such a state
as a man would be in who had Just committed a terrible crime
—a man, that is, who was not so wicked or so used to crime
as to be able to hide the horror that possessed him.
The prisoner Kelly had been with the prisoner Clayton
at about nine o'clock in the morning, and part of a con-
versation between them had been overheard which pointed
to their having been plotting together the details of the crime.
The gist of it was that if Kelly would help him to get rid of
his burden—that was the word he had used—he would give
him money. And a large sum of money, of which he had
been able to give no account, was afterwards found in Kelly's
possession.
There had formerly been a collusion between Clayton and
Kelly—this was admitted—over a matter which both of
them had refused to explain, and Clayton had admitted
that he had given Kelly money from time to time because of
it; or perhaps it would be more correct to say that Kelly
had got money out of Clayton by threats to reveal the secret.
They would have a witness before them who had knowledge
of this collusion and what it arose from, and they would be
able to Judge whether it was an innocent secret or not.
When Clayton had returned to his house in the perturbed
state of mind already described, he had immediately raised
a hue and cry over an alleged theft of a sum of two hundred
pounds which he had undoubtedly had in the house, but which
the prosecution had reason to believe had never been stolen
at all. Why had he done this? Obviously to draw attention
from the disappearance of the child, and to cover up any
strangeness that he might not be able to disguise in his own
manner.
He had gone off to fetch the police, and been away an
hour. When he came back the alarm had been raised about
the child. "What did he do? You will hear that he at first
refused to take any notice of it, and then, when the indignation
of his own servants compelled him, he had reluctantly in-
stituted a search, and a bogus search."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 49
Counsel paused, and then added slowly, "He instructed
those who went out to look for the child not to go far away
from the house without his instructions; and he rode from
one to the other, and saw that they obeyed his instructions,
and that nobody went anywhere near the place where he
knew the child to be."
After describing the finding of the body and its identifi-
cation by the prisoner, Mr. Loddon said that that was the
evidence he should rely on to prove that the prisoner Clayton
had committed the crime laid to his charge.
"But," he continued, "we could hardly expect to bring
borne to Clayton the murder of his own child, even on this
strong evidence, unless we were prepared to show that he
bad a motive for committing so unnatural a crime. The evi-
dence of that motive will be placed before you, gentlemen."
Witnesses would say that the prisoner had shown aversion
to his child. There would be strong proof of that. But that
would be not enough in itself. They must take their minds
back to the word the prisoner himself had used to bis accom-
plice Kelly. The child was a burden on him. Why? Because
his life stood in the way of Clayton getting the money he
wanted to get, and had tried to get. Yes: it was the desire
for money that was at the bottom of this crime, as it was at
the bottom of so n any.
Clayton was the tanant for life of an entailed property
of considerable value. Redmarsh Farm, with about seven
hundred acres of land attached to it, had been in his family
for many generations, and until a few years ago it had sup-
ported him and his family in comparative wealth. He was
a skilled and experienced farmer. He had lived a life some-
thing between that of a country gentleman and an ordinary
tenant farmer. That is to say, while keeping up a better
establishment than most working farmers, he had lived simply,
and had not spent money in the way that men of his edu-
cation and standing generally did spend it. His interests
were on his land. He had lived on his farm and by his farm
year in and year out. Therefore it was not surprising that he
should be considered a comparatively wealthy man, who was
not spending anything like his income, and must have put by a
considerable amount of money.
But it would be shown that so far from that being the case,


50 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
about a year ago Clayton had tried to raise money on the
security of his farm, and he had been unable to do so. Why?
Because his property was entailed, and he could not charge
it without consent of the next heir. And that heir, of course,
was his own son, who could not give his consent because
he was a minor.
It would also be shown that, even in the short time that
had elapsed between the death of his son and his arrest on the
charge of murder, he had contemplated reopening those
negotiations for the raising of money, the obstacle now being
removed.
"So there, gentlemen," said Mr. Loddon, "you have the
'burden ' got rid of, and you have the motive for its riddance,
and I say that there was never stronger connection between
cause and effect.
"That is the case against the prisoner Clayton. The case
against the prisoner Kelly for the scarcely less serious offence
with which he is charged, stands or falls with it, but we have
additional evidenoe, which applies to him alone, but inci-
dentally strengthens the case against Clayton."
Mr. Loddon then recounted the evidence to be brought
forward against Kelly—of his having been seen going towards
Rede Castle, and having endeavoured to conceal his intention
of going there; of his complete disappearance for two days
and a night; of the money found in his possession, and his
inability to give any account of where he got it from.
"There are elements of mystery in this case," he con-
cluded, "which we have not cleared up. The probable
participation in the crime of the woman, Emma Slade, who
is known to have been in conversation with Kelly after he
had left Clayton in the morning, and who mysteriously dis-
appeared on that evening, is one of those elements of mystery.
If she is found and brought here—and every effort has been,
and is being, made to find her—then we may have an explana-
tion as to the methods by which this crime was planned and
carried out, which we have not now. But the methods are
not material. We shall bring evidence before you, strong
enough to leave no doubt in your minds that both of the
prisoners planned this crime, that one of them carried it out,
and that the other took steps—ineffectual steps, as it turned
out—to conceal it."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 61
Counsel sat down and wiped his brow. A low buzz of com-
ment went through the court, which was instantly suppressed.
The indictment had been a strong one, and, as is so often
the case where people inexperienced in the movements of
the law are concerned, many of those who had heard it now
entertained no doubt of the prisoner's guilt. So they whispered
to one another, and looked anxiously at the prisoner, who
made no sign, but stood there with a sort of grim and sullen
patience—like a man listening to a bungled story which he
alone knew how to tell, but of which he alone would take
no part in the telling.
But now they were calling witnesses to prove the truth
of their story, and for hours, and perhaps for days, he must
stand there and listen to what was said to him—listen to men
he had thought his friends anxious to tell evil of him; listen
to others he knew to be his friends unwillingly substantiating
the case of his accusers; listen to this that seemed to be so
Important, and to that that he had thought could never be
told to the world.
And when it should be over for the day, and all those who
were trying him and those who were watching him, should
go out into the free air, and to whatever comfort or pleasure
should await them, he would be led back to his solitary cell,
there to spend the long hours of the night waiting for the end,
whatever the end should be.
Barbara was called as a witness at an early stage.
She was dressed in deepest black. She was thin and very
pale and weak from her long illness, and she was allowed to
sit the whole time she was under examination. When she
came into court she looked at her father with a long gaze
of affection and confidence, and he met her look and then
turned away his eyes, as if he could not bear her to see him
in that dreadful position. She took the oath in a low un-
certain voice, but faced Mr. Loddon, who had risen to examine
her, with steady eyes, nerving herself for what lay before
her.
There was nothing to complain of in Mr. Loddon's manner,
as he expressed his regret that it was necessary to put her
in this painful position, and then asked her to tell the Jury
what had happened within her knowledge on the afternoon
in question.


52 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
Her voice was well under control and gained in strength
as she told of how she was sitting in the garden with her little
brother playing about her, of Edward Knightly coming in
to see her father and giving the child his present, and of the
child running into the house with it.
Mr. Loddon suddenly sat down, causing some surprise,
for he had asked Barbara no questions as to her adventure
in the castle.
Mr. Minors, however, went straight to that point, and drew
from her the story of her wandering out into the night, and
finding herself at the castle and of her accident. The story
was listened to with breathless interest, and many eyes were
wet when she described the voice of her little brother crying
out to her, "Barb-ar! Barb-ar!" And she broke down
herself at this point and wept, but dried her tears and answered
further questions as to whether her father had been expected
home.
Then Mr. Loddon re-examined her, and was very clever
in making it appear, from the questions he asked her, that she
had been in such a state, when she had thought she heard the
child calling her, that it must have been an hallucination;
and yet, at the same time, that it was likely that she had heard
some voices—or a voice—probably that of a man.
Perhaps he was a little too clever in this, or perhaps he was
not quite clever enough; for at the end of her long and trying
ordeal Barbara plucked up her courage and said, looking
full at him with her head held high, " I did hear my brother
calling me quite plainly, and I heard other voices too." Mr.
Loddon sat down again with a shrug of his shoulders, and there
was a slight movement as of applause in the court, instantly
suppressed by the scandalised, but not altogether unsympa-
thetic usher.
Edward Knightly was the next witness to be called. He
told the Jury about his going down, late at night, to where
they were dragging the river at the place where the box had
been found, and was examined closely as to the prisoner's
manner at that time. He said that his manner was Just what
would have been expected from a man who feared that his
child had been drowned; but again Mr. Loddon dragged
from him the admission that it might also have been tha
manner of a man who had drowned his child himself.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 58
'HERE was a stir in court when Mr. Loddon called Alfred
1 Kingston.
The name was unknown to those present. This must be
the new witness who professed to have seen Clayton leading
the child towards the castle.
There stepped into the witness-box a dapper young man,
with fair hair and a little moustache waxed at the ends.
He seemed to be suffering from nervousness, but partly re-
covered as Mr. Loddon took him gently and kindly through
his story.
He was a Junior clerk in a large shipping office in London,
and it had fallen to his lot to take his yearly holiday early.
He had spent part of it in a tour on his motor-bicycle, and
on the afternoon of the day in question he had stopped
for a rest at a point of the cliff about midway between Rede
and Cliffthorpe.
He had a pair of field-glasses with him, and he was
sweeping the marsh with them. He saw a man leading a little
boy along the bank of the river towards Rede Castle, and
followed them with the glasses until they got inside.
At one point the man carried the child for some distance.
They did not follow the path on the top of the river-bank,
but took the lower ground, except where they had to cross
a dyke, and then they went up on the bank. This had struck
him as rather curious, and he had wondered what they were
going to the castle for. He had waited some time to see
if they would come out, but had ridden away without seeing
them again.
He had since identified the man who led the child as the
prisoner Clayton. He was sure it was the prisoner. His
glasses were very fine ones—of Zeiss make, with a magnifi-
cation of 12. He had bought them and his motor-bicycle
out of a small legacy left him by an uncle.
Mr. Alfred Kingston had quite recovered his confidence
when Mr. Loddon, k.c, sat down, and Mr. Minors, k.c, go*
up. Mr. Loddon seemed to have been very pleased with him,
and with the way in which he had answered his questions.
CHAPTER X


54 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
He had heard rumours of Mr. Loddon's bullying manner
with witnesses and had somewhat dreaded his ordeal;
but, after all, if you stuck to the truth and answered plainly
the questions that were put to you, there did not seem to
be anything much to dread when you were called as an
important witness in an important case. It was rather
gratifying to be called as an important witness, and get
your picture in the papers and hear all the world talking
about you.
And surely, this other quiet, rather subdued-mannered
counsel, with his long thin face and round spectacles, who was
rising to ask him a few more questions, was still less to be
feared than the harsh-voiced, beetle-browed Edward Loddon.
Mr. Alfred Kingston fingered his little wax moustache, and
adJusted the set of his new one-and-elevenpenny tie, and then
helped Mr. Minors to fix the exact spot on an ordnance map
where he had rested on the cliff-top.
The cross-examination went on. At the end of it Mr.
Kingston was feeling very uncomfortable. He had committed
himself to the statement that the man was dark, and yet said
he wouldn't be surprised to hear that he was wearing a hat
with a brim wide enough to hide all his hair, and to other
statements equally contradictory.
"Are you quite sure," asked counsel, " that you remember
anything about him at all? Are you sure you haven't come
here simply with the idea of drawing a little attention to
yourself ? *'
Yes, Mr. Kingston was quite sure, but he left the witness-
box with the conviction that he would never be sure of
anything again, and that if he was so unfortunate as to be
concerned in a criminal trial for a second time, he would think
twice before he came forward to volunteer his evidence.
With this witness the court adJourned until the following
day. And what a flood of talk was set loose, as those who
had heard the case flowed out into the streets of the old assize
town, and the reports, telegraphed all over the country,
filtered through the Press, and were eagerly read by thousands
and thousands who had known nothing of the prisoners! The
country was followingthis case,and could not read enoughabout
it. A father had murdered his own helpless child. So the public,
which does not wait to pronounce a verdict of guilty until


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 55
it has had all the facts before it, had, for the most part,
decided, and Kingston's evidence, weakened as it had been
by the defence, had yet been strong enough to strengthen
the general opinion of Clayton's guilt. Who else could have
done it? Where was the motive? Clayton's motive was
plain enough, and would probably be made plainer still
when the prosecution came to deal with it. True, nobody
had seen him commit the murder; but most cases of murder
rested on circumstantial evidence, and it was seldom stronger
than it was here.
So argued one half of the world, while the other half made
tests with its own field-glasses, of various makes, and pro-
nounced it to be preposterous that Kingston could have
recognised anybody at the distance of a mile and half; made
much of Barbara's insistence on the fact that she had heard
the child cry to her, and made little of the prisoner's alleged
indifference to the murdered child; and generally gave it as
their opinion that Clayton would not only be acquitted, but
triumphantly acquitted.
At an early stage of the proceedings on the following
day, Alice Fenner, the housemaid, was called. She entered
the box, becomingly attired in a pink blouse, and a hat
trimmed with scarlet geraniums. She had been resting
since she had left her place at Redmarsh Farm, and looked
all the better for it.
Her testimony was that, as she was going to and fro clearing
away breakfast, she had overheard Kelly say to Mr. Clayton
that "he must have money or he would split." Clayton
had replied, "IU give you no more money unless you do as
I tell you. I'm determined to get rid of this burden."
The two men had been in Clayton's room with the door
shut, and in cross-examination the witness had to admit
that she had stayed outside to listen.
William Clayton was then called. He was in mourning,
and with his spruce, gentleman-like air cut a very different
figure from the haggard, carelessly dressed man in the dock.
"It's difficult to believe they are brothers," said a lady
in the gallery of the court. It won't do the prisoner any
good to be contrasted with him."
Mr. Loddon's examination of William directed itself
almost immediately to the secret that existed between


56 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
John Clayton and Kfcily. He was reminded that he had told
a police-officer that he knew what it was, and invited to take
the court into his confidence.
William threw a glance at the prisoner standing with bowed
head in the dock. "Eighteen years ago," he said, " a younger
brother of ours did something disgraceful, and Kelly helped
us to get him out of the country."
A movement went through the court. There were those
there who remembered Frank Clayton, and at the time of his
disappearance there had been much conJecture about him.
But it had died down, and for many years his name had been
forgotten.
"Was the act that your brother committed something
that might have brought him within reach of the law?
asked Mr. Loddon.
"I obJect, m*lud," said Mr. Minors.
"I submit, mind," pleaded Mr. Loddon, "that it is of
the utmost importance to have that question answered.
If it were so, both prisoners would be guilty of conniving at
a breach of the law."
"So would the witness," said his lordship. "He has said
that he also helped to get his brother out of the country.
You cannot ask him to incriminate himself in that way."
"I bow to that, m'lud," said Mr. Loddon, " but we ought
to have evidence of what the prisoner Kelly did for the
prisoner Clayton. Whatever it was it put Clayton into his
power, to the extent of making him give Kelly money for
eighteen years."
"I obJect altogether, mind," said Mr. Minors. "The
prosecution is not entitled to go into anything but the present
case.
The Judge thought he must uphold the obJection. The
court now had before them the fact that the prisoner Clayton
had given the prisoner Kelly money from time to time,
and that it was for services that Kelly had rendered to him.
What those services were they might perhaps ask of either
of the prisoners themselves, if they elected to go into the
witness-box, but they could not ask of the present witness.
So this old story, which had been forgotten for years,
and had suddenly leapt into prominence again, was buried
for the time under a legal technicality; but the mention of it


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 57
had whetted the ears of those who had known the Claytons,
and gave rise to endless talk.
The questions that Mr. Loddon now asked of William
Clayton concentrated themselves on the time of his departure
from Redmarsh Farm and the demeanour of the prisoner
when he had last seen him.
William gave his evidence reluctantly. He said that he
and his brother had had a tiff, and they had not parted good
friends. The fault had been entirely his, and he had written
the next day to put matters right. His brother had replied
in perfect friendliness, and had told him at the same time
of the theft of his money and the disappearance of his child.
He had gone down at once and done all he could for his brother,
and the terms on which they had then been were of the
friendliest.
They had fallen out about money. He had asked his
brother to invest in a certain company in which he was
interested, and he had refused. He had not asked for any
specific sum. William had been annoyed at his refusal,
as the investment he had suggested had been an excellent
one, and he had thought that his brother might have taken
his word for it.
Was that all that had passed between them—all that they
had quarrelled about?
It had hardly amounted to a quarrel. They were both
men of quick temper, and had frequently fallen out in this
way, but had always been good friends again immediately
they had both had time to think it over.
"Had you quarrelled about money before?"
"In the same sort of way, yes."
"Were you in the habit of investing money for the
prisoner 1'
"I had done so frequently."
"With favourable results?"
"Not entirely, I'm afraid."
William then spent a rather bad quarter of an hour. He
bad had a good deal of money from his brother, something like
two thousand five hundred pounds within the last eight or ten
years, and most of it had been sunk in enterprises that had not
proved productive. His brother had always refused to speculate
for the rise or fall of the market, but had been willing to put


58 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
his money into somewhat speculative concerns, and William
admitted that he had advised him badly—had been unfor-
tunate in advising him—in nearly all such investments.
That was what they had really fallen out about, more than
once. He was annoyed with himself for having lost his
brother's money, and annoyed with his brother for not allowing
him to use money in a way in which, with his knowledge of
stock markets, he could have made it for him, as he had done
for himself.
The evidence was somewhat damaging to William as a
business man, and it was evident that he felt that. But,
although he tried to hedge over some of the questions which
affected his own reputation, he was frank enough in taking
the blame where his dealings on behalf of his brother were
concerned, and no caJolery on the part of Mr. Loddon could
induce him to show them in an unfavourable light for the
prisoner.
Mr. Minors, in cross-examination, strengthened this im-
pression, and then asked him to repeat the words he and his
brother had used in parting from one another. William,
after thinking for a moment, said that his own words had
been, "Then you won't do it?" His brother had said,
"No, I won't," and he had then left him.
Then Mr. Minors asked him if the prisoner had said any-
thing to him of his previous interview with Kelly, and William
said he had told him that he was tired of Kelly's extortions
and was determined to end them. He had told Kelly that if
he would sign a paper saying that he had rendered certain
services, and had received payment for them in full, he would
give him money, and that Kelly had refused. He had been
very much upset over the whole matter, and was so at the
time. His annoyance was quite strong enough to have led
him to behave in the way in which he was afterwards described
as behaving.
This statement made an obvious effect. If William was not
only making up a story to shield his brother, it destroyed much
of the damaging suspicion that had surrounded the prisoner's
movements.
William had also been asked if his brother had told him
anything of his having tried to raise money by mortgaging
the farm, and had replied that he had not. He had had no


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 59
idea until afterwards that the prisoner was not still very
well off.
The next evidence of importance was that of a member
of a London firm of auctioneers and land agents, who proved
that the prisoner Clayton had written to them a year ago
with a proposal to raise a mortgage on Redmarsh Farm.
They had looked into the proposal and had discovered that,
the property being in strict entail and the next heir a
minor, it could not be carried out, unless the borrower
intended to spend the sum raised for the benefit of
the property itself. They had communicated to this
effect with the prisoner, and the matter had dropped for
the time.
The witness was a youngish man, with a hard, clean-shaven
face, who seemed to be anxious to exhibit himself as a purely
business connection of the prisoner's, and to prove that he
had acted in the most correct and business-like manner
throughout.
The reason for this was apparent when it was next brought
out that, after the death of the prisoner's son had been
proved, the firm had approached him themselves with a
view of reopening the matter.
The prisoner's written reply to their letter was read by
Mr. Loddon:
"Dear Sms,
"I have your letter of yesterday. I cannot do any-
thing in the matter you mention at present, but may com-
municate with you later on.
"Yours truly,
"John Clayton."
That was all that was elicited from this witness, but his
evidence had impressed the Jury, and in view of the prisoner's
own communication, Mr. Minors could do nothing by cross-
examination to remove the impression.
An elderly fisherman from Rede Harbour was called
to prove that he had seen the prisoner walking by the sea-
shore, gesticulating and acting as if he were arguing with
somebody, though he was quite alone. This would be about
one o'clock. He did not think the prisoner had seen him.


60 THE MYSTERY OP REDMARSH FARM
He was walking higher up on the shingle and was partly
concealed.
Many witnesses from the farm and elsewhere were called
to testify as to the prisoner's aversion to the child, but under
cross-examination no single fact was produced to support
the assertion. Not one of them had ever seen him do anything
or heard him say anything unkind to the child.
Witnesses, also from the farm, told how he had received
the news of the disappearance of the child, making light of it,
and trying to turn attention to the robbery, and how he had
instructed them not to go far from the house except under
his orders.
Mr. Chinnering, of course, was called, and created an im-
pression by his description of his night vigil at Rede Castle,
and his recognition of the prisoner, and other witnesses were
called, important and unimportant, including those who had
something to say of Kelly's mysterious movements. These
were quite capably cross-examined by Mr. Eldon Tilehurst,
a clever young Junior who had been briefed in Kelly's defence.
But there was nothing fresh to be told about Kelly, and
Mr. Loddon was far from pressing the evidence against him
as he did in the case of Clayton. It was generally thought
that Kelly had been charged on the chance of fresh evidence
coming to light, especially that which might be given if
Emma Slade were discovered, and that the Crown would
probably not press for a conviction.
The last evidence of note was that of the manager of the
Grassford Bank, called to testify as to Clayton's account.
He said that according to their books the prisoner had
always kept a balance with them, although latterly it had
been a small one. He had never asked for an overdraft.
If he had—this was elicited by Mr. Minors—they would
certainly have granted it to a client of such long standing
and good reputation.
Up to a point three or four years before there had been
various large payments to William Clayton. But since that
time several heavy cheques had been drawn in the name of
Watson, and these payments accounted for the consistently
low state of the balance. This name, Watson, appeared
earlier in the accounts, but not for such large amounts.
The witness could give no information as to who Watson


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 61
was. Cheques were returned to customers when they had
passed through their hands.
Thus ended the case for the Crown, at the close of the second
day's hearing.
CHAPTER XI
TVAITH a cheerful bustle the court filled to proceed with the
*' trial on the third morning. The crowds had besieged
it since an early hour, and long before the time for the opening
every seat was packed, except those reserved for the actors
in the drama.
The spectators would not have missed what was coming
for anything. What mattered an early rising, a scamped
breakfast, a wait outside the doors, a crush and a crowd,
and the prospect of an uncomfortable sitting of some hours
in the sweltering heat of an August day, when the second act
of the play was now to be performed? The first had yielded
many thrills—more, indeed, owing to the interpolated evidence
than such a trial usually affords, where surprises have been
discounted by a full hearing at a police-court. The second
act might be expected to yield more still. Both prisoners
had reserved their defence. That looked bad for them.
Would they go into the witness-box? Would they dare to?
If so, there might be a turning of the tables. Clayton might
explain, if he could, many things that were terribly against
him. What had he done with his money? Who was this
Watson to whom he had paid large sums? What had been
on his mind when he had spent those hours by the sea—if
it was not he who had led the child to his death in the castle?
What was the secret between him and Kelly? Kelly might
let that out, if it would help him to save his own skin.
So buzzed the house—stalls, pit, and gallery full, while
the stage was yet empty of performers. It was exactly like
a scene before the performance of a play, eagerly awaited.
And a man's life hung in the balance, and the happiness of
a beautiful young girl already deeply overwhelmed with loss
and sorrow.


62 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
Mr. Howard Minors, k.c, opened the case for the defence
of the prisoner Clayton. He said that he should not address
the Jury at length, but leave what he had to say as to the
case put forward by the Crown for a later opportunity.
He might, however, say now that, notwithstanding the number
of witnesses called by the prosecution, and the great length
of time occupied over the evidence, the case was as weak a
one as a case of so serious a nature could be. Neither did he
propose to call any witnesses at all except the prisoner him-
self, who would go into the box, and would answer in detail
the numerous side questions which had been brought in to
preJudice him in the eyes of the Jury, very few of which had
any connection with the charge upon which he was unfor-
tunately standing there.
John Clayton took the oath. His low, rather harsh voice,
heard for the first time since he had stood up before his
accusers, created the impression of a man benumbed by the
situation in which he found himself, but it gained in con-
fidence as he was taken through his story, point by point,
and became the voice of a man resolutely determined to do
the best for himself that he could, but determined also to
do it in his own way.
On the morning in question, after he had parted from his
brother, he had gone over the money in his desk, and had then
gone down to the shore. He had remained there the whole
time until he had returned to the house at four o'clock.
Sometimes he had walked up and down by the sea, at others
he had lain in a hollow of the beach by a breakwater. He had
purposely avoided being seen, and that part of the beach was
lonely, and few people had passed. He had been worried
about money for a long time, and the disputes with Kelly
and his brother had brought his troubles to a head. He
wanted to be by himself, to think it all over and to decide
what to do. For a long time he had slept—he thought for
nearly two hours. He had been sleeping badly at nights
lately. When he awoke he was surprised to find how late it
was, and hurried back to the house. As he had neared the
house his difficulties had filled his thoughts once more, and he
had been annoyed at being interrupted by Edward Knightly,
and had felt Unable to stop and talk to him about ordinary
matters.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 68
He had been short of money for a long time. The un-
profitable investments he had made on the advice of his
brother had been partly responsible for that, but other invest-
ments he had made in another quarter had still further
involved him, and by that time he was fearful lest he should
be short of money to carry on his business of farming in the
way it had always been carried on. That had worried him
more than anything. He took a great pride in his farm;
it was the only business that he really understood, and he
could not face with equanimity the prospect of reducing
his farming operations.
When he had found his desk broken open and his money
gone, he had been so upset that he had not at first realised
the seriousness of the child's disappearance, or he would not
have spoken of it as he had. He admitted that he had never
taken much notice of his child; he was not one of those men
who were taken up with very little children. But he had
never felt anything approaching aversion to him, and the
loss of his only son would have been a severe blow to him,
even if it had come about through less tragic circumstances.
The property to which his child was heir had descended from
father to son for nine generations, and he had always been
proud of that fact. As for his instructions for the search
—he had not thought it possible that the child could have
Btrayed far, and wanted to make sure that every inch of
ground was gone over.
When he had been seen by Chinnering standing under the
walls of Rede Castle, he had been wandering along the river-
bank for hours. Nothing in particular had drawn him to
that spot. He had afterwards gone back to his house.
It was true he had tried to raise money by a mortgage
on his property; he had not known that that could not be
done without the consent of the next heir; he had not gone
to his own solicitor, because he had not wanted anyone
he knew to hear that he had done so; he knew very little of
business outside farming; it had not occurred to him until
he had heard from the auctioneers that, by the removal
of his son, the obstacle to his raising money on the farm
was at an end if he could secure his brother's consent; he
had not even mentioned it to his brother. When his attention
had been drawn to the fact he had other things to think of,


64 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
but, now his son was dead, he should not obJect to charging
his property, if he could do so.
His brother's account of their interview was substantially
true, and he had nothing to add to it. He still refused to say
what the business had been between himself and Kelly;
he would not corroborate his brother's statement nor deny it.
Was that because of the oath his brother stated that they
had all three taken? He refused to say anything about it.
With the exception of the last reservation, and of his
omitting to give any account of the money that had passed
from him to the mysterious Watson, John Clayton's account
of himself had been straightforward, and had been given in
such a way as to impress those who heard it somewhat in
his favour.
The man was an enigma. His uncompromising manner,
even in face of the terrible fate hanging over his head, might
mean that he held everything light except the truth. His
refusal to back up William Clayton's story, if it were true that
he had taken an oath never to reveal what had happened,
seemed to show that. On the other hand, his attitude might
have been taken up and kept Just to produce that very effect
of uncompromising truthfulness, and so to bolster up an
improbable tale. If it were so, then he had carried it through
magnificently, and there was a feeling among the spectators
that he had made a great fight and deserved to win.
But his fight was not over yet. He had Mr. Loddon's
cross-examination to go through, and Mr. Loddon fastened
like a ferret upon the weak places in his story, and drew every
ounce of likelihood out of his statements.
The prisoner still refused to give any account of his previous
dealings with Kelly, and would say nothing of his later dealings
with the Watson whose name appeared in his pass-book.
Under Mr. Minors' examination these refusals had seemed to
indicate merely the natural dislike of a reserved nature to
let the world into his private business. Under Mr. Loddon's
cross-examination they became guilty secrets which he hugged
even under the shadow of the scaffold.
The two men faced one another, the one harsh, contempt-
uous, and threatening, much more so, said those learned in
criminal trials, than was fitting in a counsel for the Crown 'y
the other, pale, dogged, and determined. And those who


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 65
were watching him closely said afterwards that when he had
been most closely driven there had come into his eyes a look
of despair, as if already he felt himself doomed to a shameful
death.
When Mr. Loddon had finished with him and sat down,
he looked round the court in a half-dazed way; and when
Mr. Minors got up to make his speech for the defence, it was
not for a long time that he seemed to be taking any notice
of what he was saying.
But first Mr. Eldon Tilehurat intimated that he proposed
to call no witnesses on behalf of the prisoner Kelly. "I
submit, m'lud," he said, "that there is no case to answer
against my client, who seems to have been brought here
on the chance of something turning up to his discredit. I
therefore confidently ask your lordship for a verdict."
But the Judge could not see his way to dismissing the
case against Kelly. There was evidence enough to go before
the Jury. And Mr. Tilehurst did not appear to be so bitterly
disappointed with this decision as his expressed confidence
seemed to have indicated.
And now Mr. Minors got up and adJusted his gown and
his wig. He was known to be great on such occasions as
these, and the spectators settled themselves down comfortably
to hear him do his best for the prisoner he was defending.
Nor were they disappointed. All the evidence so laboriously
piled up by the prosecution seemed to melt into mere un-
recognisable suspicion as he dealt with it piece by piece.
Mr. Minors ended his elaborate plea with a reference to Bar-
bara's accident in the castle, and the cry of the child which
she thought she had heard. They had heard her give her
evidence, they had seen how entirely convinced she was
that she was not mistaken. No efforts of his learned friend
had been able to shake that earnest conviction.
"Can you doubt," he concluded, "that this unfortunate
girl, with her senses sharpened by the anguish she was feeling
on behalf of her little brother, did hear what she said she
heard—heard him crying out for her in his baby speech?
If you don't doubt it—and I do not, gentlemen—then thai
disposes at once of the charge against the prisoner. If he
had not murdered the child before that time, then he could
not have murdered him at all.
0


66 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"And if you do doubt it—if you believe that Miss Clayton
was mistaken in thinking she heard the child crying for her
—then still I say that the charge is not only not proven,
but has not been made even plausible. I go further still,
and say that it has disproved itself, and that if I had sat silent
in this court and left the prosecution to deal with its own
witnesses, and never put in a single word to show the weak-
ness of the evidence, you could have returned no other verdict
but one of acquittal of the prisoner. But I have done my best
to clear away the haze of suspicion that has hung over him,
and I confidently await from you the words that will remove
it altogether, and send him away from this court with his
character cleared and as free as he is undoubtedly innocent."
The speech of counsel for the defence had made a marked
impression, and this impression counsel prosecuting for the
Crown had to weaken if he desired to get a verdict.
But first Mr. Eldon Tilehurst had to say something in
defence of Kelly.
He did not say it at any great length. Perhaps he considered
that the less saa for so shady a client the better, especially
&s he had no intention of putting him into the witness-box
to undergo the fire of Mr. Loddon's cross-examination. Kelly's
chances of freedom lay in the failure of the prosecution to
find evidence against him, not in the transparency of his
movements or in the blameless innocence of his past.
What else was there against Kelly? Whether the other
prisoner was found guilty or not of the murder, there was
not a scintilla of evidence to connect the prisoner Kelly
with it, and he confidently awaited the verdict of acquittal,
which was the only one open to the Jury to give.
Having thus, for a second time, expressed his confidence,
Mr. Tilehurst sat down, and Mr. Loddon got up to make his
final attempt to secure a verdict against the prisoners.
He did his best to re-establish the importance of the long
chain of evidence and ended with these words:
"You have to ask yourselves, gentlemen, who but the
prisoner could have committed this crime? What motive
could anyone else have had for the murder of the child so
young that he could have offended nobody? Who but the
prisoner could have had any reason for wishing him out of
the way? It is impossible to find an answer to those questions.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 67
The prisoner Clayton alone stood to gain by his death, and it
has been shown to you—to put it as mildly as it can be put—
that he has since contemplated gaining by it.
"It has also been shown you, apart altogether from any
reason he had for desiring the child's death, that his actions
were such as to bring him under suspicion of having mur-
dered him; and it has been shown you that exactly at tlni
time and in the place where the child met his death th"
prisoner was with him. These three strands of proof taken
together must together make up a certainty that you havo
before you the man who murdered this little child, and I say
that, however painful it may be to you, you have no alter-
native but to pronounce him guilty of the crime."
And now the Judge was getting ready to sum up. What
view would he take of it all? He had sat there throughout
the long hours diligently taking notes, occasionally looking
up out of his wise old eyes to put in a quiet word, sometimes
leaning back in his seat, and with quill-pen held out enteriny
upon a little discussion with one or other of the counsel
in a tone of friendly interest, as if nothing very serious hung
upon their words. He had addressed the prisoner cour-
teously once or twice when he had been making his statement.
No one could have said from his manner whether he had
regarded him as an innocent man or as a double-dyed scoundrel
guilty of the basest kind of crime. He had appeared equally
unmoved by the speech of either counsel, but had listened to
them attentively, rather with the air of a critic, weighing
the manner more than the matter. A wise, kindly, dignified
old man he looked, who would not depart from the strict
path of Justice by so much as a hair-breadth, but would
temper Justice with mercy Just so far as he was able.
There were many in court who watched him anxiously
as he began his summing up, for it rested with him whether
the Jury would retire for their deliberations with minds
influenced in favour of the prisoners or against them.
The Judge carefully weighed the evidence that had been
adduced, and his summing up was slightly in favour of the
prisoner.
Each point he dealt with, putting it fairly before the Jury
and leaving them to decide it. When he came to the case
of Kelly, it became plain that he did not consider the evidence


68 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
strong enough to convict him, although he did not say so
in so many words. And he warned the Jury that whatever
suspicions they might have against Kelly, if they acquitted
Clayton they must acquit him too, because the specific charge
against him was of complicity with Clayton.
He ended with no peroration, but came to the end of his
careful and detailed summing up of the evidence, and with
a glance at the Jury said, " Gentlemen, you will now consider
your verdict."
The Jury, after a short consultation, retired, and then the
Judge retired, and the prisoners were led away below, there
to wait with what patience they might for the fateful words
which would either condemn them to a speedy death or set
them free once more to go in and out among their fellow-men.
The court hummed and buzzed with talk. No one left it,
except those who had been engaged in the case. No one
wanted to leave it. No one could tell what thrill was in
store for them, and as the hand of the clock crept round,
and the sun-patches on the wall shifted a space, conJecture
and argument continued and rose ever higher. Whichever
way it went there would be those who would always assert
Clayton's innocence and others who would always assert his
guilt, unless fresh evidence should some day come to light
which should acquit him unmistakably. The whole body
of the court was sitting in Judgment on him, and as the
evening editions of the newspapers spread through the
country with their late reports of counsel's speeches and Judge's
summing-up, thousands of people outside also sat in Judg-
ment, and told each other which way they would have had
it, if they had been one of that band of twelve men on whom
it rested to acquit or condemn.
An awful responsibility for those twelve men, representing
the average intelligence and the average sense of Justice of
the whole of their fellow-countrymen! If they condemned,
they might be condemning an innocent man; if they acquitted
they might be letting a murderer go free. But condemn or
acquit they must; there was no middle course; and all of
them must agree.
What chance was there of that when no twelve men chosen
at hazard from those who were discussing the case outside
could have been found to agree? Only the sound sense of


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 69
fair give and take of the average Englishman. They were not
lawyers, splitting hairs. They were the honest, fair-minded,
right-loving manhood of England, boiled down into a little
group of twelve. They might make a mistake, but if they
did they would make it honestly. They could not satisfy
everybody, but they would satisfy themselves, if they had to
be shut up all night to do it.
They were away for Just upon an hour, and as they came
back into the box their faces were set as those of men who had
been going through a conflict. Serious, too, as if they fully
understood the gravity of the decision they had come to.
But there was nothing in the face of any of them to show
what that decision was.
The Judge came in from behind the bench, the prisoners
were brought back into the dock. There was a tense hush
of expectation.
The clerk of the court rose and put the question in a matter-
of-fact voice, " Guilty or not guilty?"
The grey-bearded foreman of the Jury rose, and his voice
shook a little as he gave the verdict:
"Not guilty."
Kelly, set free to pursue his old courses, slouched away
from the court, and, attracting as little attention to himself
as possible, made for his queer home at Rede Harbour,
where the roughest of his old-time companions gave him the
cold shoulder. Dishonest practices they weren't too particular
about, but complicity in cold-blooded murder! that was a
different matter. And a verdict of acquittal won through
holding your tongue, and trusting to luck not to bring
suspicious circumstances home to you—they understood the
value of that all right, and they did not place it high.
Within a week Kelly had sold up his effects and had dis-
appeared. No one tried to stop his departure, but an ac-
quaintance of Mr. Chinnering's happened to travel in the
same train as he left Rede by, and also happened to have
business at the fishing village of Baycleft, in Yorkshire, to
which he repaired. His business was at the police-station,
and it became known there that the undesirable-looking new
inhabitant who went by the name of Brown might be worth
keeping an eye on in case of future eventualities.


70 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
There was no one to shake hands with Kelly as he left
the court, but there were many who tried to do so with Clayton.
He did not refuse his hand to some of his old neighbours
as he stepped into the motor-car which his brother had
waiting for him, but his face retained its hard, sombre look
as he acknowledged their congratulations and cut them as
short as possible.
The brothers did not speak to one another as William
steered his car through the crowded streets of the town, nor
until turning away from the main road they went down a
taee-bordered lane and came out on to the marsh.
The sun was setting in a blaze of crimson and gold, the
green levels lay stretched out in front of them, and the
fresh, salty breeze blew straight from the sea and stirred the
grass by the roadside and the rushes in the dykes. Here
was the freedom of wide spaces of land and sea and air, and
the peace of the quiet summer evening.
John Clayton began to say something, but his voice imme-
diately broke in a sob, and for a moment he was quite unable
to control himself.
William looked confused. He took one hand off the steering-
wheel, and laid it on his brother's arm. "Dear old John!"
he said. "It's all over now."
John's face turned deep red and he sat up stifly. No one
had ever seen him break down like that before.
"I would go through it all again," he said, "to have the
man here who killed my child. If I ever find him I will go
through it all again, and the end of it will be different."
And so, with his heart's voice, he echoed that verdict of
Not Guilty.
CHAPTER XII
JOHN CLAYTON was innocent of the dreadful crime
** with which he had been charged, and he had been so
proclaimed before the world, but he was no more of a for-
giving saint than the generality of mankind, and the first
action to which he looked forward when he reached his home


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 71
was one of revenge, or of Justice, whichever way you like to
look at it.
Not quite his first action, though. When they drore up
to the farm, and he saw against the dark background of the
house a square light from the open, welcoming doorway,
he saw another sight still more welcome to a sorely tried man
coming back from loneliness and fear to the warmth and
comfort of home. Barbara came out through the doorway
in her black dress, and with a little cry threw her arms round
her father's neck and kissed him.
"Dear father," she said, in her sweet, feeling voice, and
that was all she said, but the words were like balm to his
wounded spirit.
They went into his room together—that fateful room
in which so much had happened. Barbara had lit a wood
fire on the hearth, for although the days were hot the nights
were cool down on the marsh, with the sea breezes blowing.
And she had put flowers everywhere—the old-fashioned,
homely flowers which had bloomed in the garden for genera-
tions—stocks, phloxes, mignonette, love-in-a-mist, monthly
roses. The lamps shone brightly, the warm curtains were
drawn. She had done as much as she could to take away
from the room its unhappy memories, and to make it seem
as if it were giving its owner greeting.
John Clayton took off his coat and hat, and then turned to
his daughter. Her pale face was very sad, and the smile
which she had on it for him it was difficult for her to keep
there as she looked up into his eyes. It came upon him
that she was more to be pitied than he was, and whatever
doubt there may have been as to his love for his little son
there was none about his love for his fair young daughter,
so like the wife he had lost.
He drew her to him and kissed her. "I was fond of him,
too, Barbara," he said. "It was only my pride that wouldn't
let me acknowledge it sooner."
That brought her tears, but it was the most comforting
thing he could have said to her. Now she could talk to him
about the little brother she had lost. It would have been
dreadful to have felt that she must lock it all up in her own
breast—her love and longing, and the sudden bursts of agony
and horror that came over her as she thought of his terriblo


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 78
Cooper, and Wilson and his wife, and the Toogoods and their
daughter—you'll send them packing off the place before
I set foot out of this house. I won't see them. Men and
women I've used well and who've known me, some of them
for years—they to get up and swear to their lies! They to
Judge me guilty of that wickedness! I don't care what it
costs me; they get out of this place at the first streak of
light to-morrow. You can tell the Wilsons and the Toogoods
that their things shall be sent on after them. If I find them
in their cottages when I como out to-morrow morning I'll
turn every stick out of doors. Tell them it will be better for
them if they keep out of my way. As for the men, pack
them off to-night. I won't sleep under the same roof with
them."
He had spoken with more and more passion. His face
was dark and menacing. His anger was uncontrollable.
Old Bob had tried to speak once or twice, but he might as
well have tried to stop a mountain torrent.
When Clayton came to an end he said with a grim chuckle,
"Bless you, master, don't take on so. Why they was all
packed off a month ago."
"What!" John Clayton stared at him.
"With a few words to show'm what I thought of 'em too,"
he said, "which they won't forget in a hurry. 'You to get
up and testify lies against a good master !' I says. 'You're
the scum of the earth,' I says, ' that's what you are, men and
women both, and not fit to go in and out with honest folk.
Out you get, and don't show your faces here again, or 111
up and lay a stick across your backs.'"
"So they've all gone?"
"Gone! yes. The Wilsons threatened to have the law of
me. I says, 'You can have your bellyful of law, but you'll
go and get it the other side of that door, and if you ain't gone
by the time tide's up,' I says, 'I'll give you something
else to go to law about, and that'll be assault and battery
with a turnip-hoe,' I says. Oh, they went, quiet as lambs.
You'll never see no more of them, master. I've a-took others
on in their places—two respectable lads and two married
men—temporary like. You said I was to act same as if I
was master while you was away. They'll come up afore you
to-morrow, and if they don't suit they can go at the end of


74 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
their month. But Mrs. Perry, she've a wonderful hand with
the butter; best we ever had, I say."
"I'll see them to-morrow. I expect they'll do. Bob!"
"Yes, master?"
"Have you found out anything? Do you suspect
anyone?"
Bob's honest face fell. He had served John Clayton's
father, and had hoped to see his son grow up. Now that hope
was killed, and he wanted to put it all away from him.
Nothing could bring the child back. He would have had
all thoughts of the tragedy buried with him in his grave.
"It was gipsies," he said, rather sulkily. "Gipsies and
Kelly between them, and that good-for-nothing baggage to
help him. Don't you think no more about it, master. The
Lord gave and the Lord took away. The little chap's happy
now up there, and we got to make ourselves happy down here,
as near as we can, and by and by we'll all meet together
again. That's the way I look at it, and it makes your heart
lighter so."
John Clayton turned round and looked into the fire. "Well,
good night, Bob," he said. "We'll cut the four-acre to-
morrow. I shall be out at six o'clock."
"Good night, master, and God bless you, if I may make
so bold as to say so," said Bob, and went out of the room.
John Clayton took up his life again where he had left it,
and was seen early and late on his land. But he left the farm
as little as possible. There he was surrounded by people
who had believed in him through his dark days, or by people
who had not known him then, and treated him as they would
have treated any other new master.
Outside it was different. Ten days after his return he went
to Rede market. Some of his old acquaintances among the
farmers shook him by the hand and behaved to him as usual,
or with a slight increase of cordiality. Others, equally well-
meaning, but blunter in their perceptions, congratulated
him on his acquittal, and this was hard to bear. But there
were those who passed him by and looked the other way,
and as he went in and out among the pens and the stock
there were whispers and nudgings, and curious or cold or
even hostile looks.
He was selling some heifers. Baker, the horsy, rakish


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 75
young farmer who had accused him so loudly at the
ordinary " on another occasion, came lounging up. "That's
a nice beast," he said. "Don't know that I won't make a
bid for her. Who bred her?"
When he was told, he turned his back ostentatiously.
"Oh, I don't buy anything from that party," he said in a
loud voice.
John Clayton heard him, and for a moment he looked
as if he were going for him. But he controlled himself with
an effort. That was the sort of thing he would have to put
up with now, and get used to. No use showing his teeth
at every dog that snarled at him.
Among his other neighbours, not of the farming class, it
was the same. Indeed, the surrounding gentry for the most
part gave him the cold shoulder. He had never been popular
among them. He had few social virtues, and he had kept
a good deal to himself, rather withdrawn himself from the
Bociety of those whom he might have mixed with by reason
of his birth and education, and thrown in his lot with others.
So now they cut him, almost to a man. He had been pro-
nounced not guilty of the crime laid to his charge, but there
were many who did not accept that ruling. His guilt was
patent enough to them, and if he had got off because the
evidence was not strong enough to convict him, all the more
reason for showing that he was not going to escape punish-
ment altogether. Opinion settled down about him. Those
who knew him best would not believe that he was guilty.
But the greater number still thought that he was, or, at
any rate, that he was so involved in a shameful and mysterious
business that he was not a man to have anything more to
do with than could be helped. He was, in fact, boycotted,
and only in his house and on his land could he go about
without meeting cold or suspicious looks.
The world is cruel in such matters as this. It punishes
the innocent with the guilty. Whatever reason his neighbours
may have had for Judging John Clayton unworthy of their
countenance, they had none for avoiding Barbara, but every
reason for showing her the utmost kindness that it was in
them to show.
Barbara was as accomplished and as well born as most
of the young girls who lived in the halls and rectories about


76 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
her, and in character and in beauty she excelled them all.
She was a girl in a thousand—brave, loyal, pure-hearted,
and she was in deep sorrow, and should have drawn all hearts
and all kindness to her. But she must suffer with her father.
She also must be content to live in that cloud of suspicion
and cold avoidance, and to lose those whom she had thought
her friends when they could have done most for her.
The two daughters of a Mrs. Mannering who lived at a house
called Cliffthorpe Lodge—one a little older than she, the other
a little younger—had been her friends, although they were
not her equals either in character or education. On the first
Sunday after her father's release she went to church with
him, and when they came out into the churchyard after the
service, determined now to keep to herself all her secret
sorrow and to face the world courageously and cheerfully,
she went up to these two girls, dressed in her deep mourning,
and smiled a greeting at them. They met her coldly and
confusedly, did not refuse her hand, but immediately turned
from her, and stationed themselves on either side of their
mother. Mrs. Mannering—a thin-lipped, cold-eyed woman—
made no secret of her intention to have nothing further to
do with Barbara at all, but stared at her as if she had never
seen her before, and then with a face all smiles and a back all
curves fastened herself on to Lady Charlotte Knightly, who
was coming out of church Just behind her.
Barbara, sick at heart, Joined her father. She had no wish
to try conclusions with Lady Charlotte, who had always been
rather patronising to her, and had never once sent to inquire
after her when she had been lying almost at the point of death
within a mile of her house. Perhaps she also would now wish
to withdraw whatever intimacy had existed between Cliff-
thorpe Hall and Redmarsh Farm. At any rate, Barbara
would not give her the opportunity of doing so in that public.
place. It was an ordeal which she had anticipated with dread,
to stand up and kneel down in church with the curious eyes
of the whole congregation fixed on her, and to walk out through
them afterwards. It would be far worse than she had thought
if she was to be met with open aversion by those whom she
had known.
Edward Knightly was not there. He had gone up to
Scotland immediately after he had been released from his


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 77
attendance at the trial and would not be back for some time.
He would not have met her with cold looks if he had seen
her for the first time taking up the duties of her life outside
her home. He would have said something which showed
that he knew what it must have cost her; he would have
shown her that at least one friend felt for her, and the
trouble that had come upon her, and would have done all he
could to lighten it for her.
As she went down the hill, with her father walking silent
and gloomy beside her, she thought of Edward Knightly
with a disturbing mixture of feeling. As a child she had adored
him, as little girls adore a kind elder brother. Then she
had not seen him for some years, and when she had returned
home their relationship had altered somewhat. It was he
who seemed to have taken the place that one of two friends
must occupy, and to have sought for her friendship rather
than she for his. But the friendship had stood firm, and he
had done or said nothing to put it on a new basis. Only
insensibly he had glided into the position of a lover. She
would not have acknowledged this even to herself, and he
had never directly or indirectly asked for her love. But
their intimacy had grown, and until the tragedy had come
to pass they had walked along a sunny flowery path, with
ever-increasing happiness in one another's society.
They had reached that point at which almost any occur-
rence might have startled them out of their even way and
brought them face to face with their true feelings for one
another, which in Barbara's case were probably unsuspected.
The shock had come, and now their intimacy must be re-
adJusted. They could never be to one another quite what
they had been before. Barbara, from a happy, light-hearted
girl, had become a grave and saddened woman, with an ex-
perience of suffering that falls to few of her years. Edward also
had come up against some of the hard and terrible facts of life,
and was no longer a young man for whom everything had
always gone well, and who might expect all good things to
fall to his lot without taking much trouble about them.
No; they could not take up their friendship again on its
old basis. Barbara must let him further into the secrets
of her heart as they were moulded by what had taken place,
or he must stand outside altogether. Perhaps, like the rest,


78 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
he would want to stand outside. Perhaps he wouid not wank
to share with her the burden of her deep sorrow, even if she
were willing to admit him to it.
It was that that confused her thoughts about him as she
went down the hill and across the marsh. She could trust his
friendship so far, and it was sweet to her to know that. Could
she trust it farther? Did she want to open the doors of
her heart to him? She was not ready yet to answer that
question.
CHAPTER XIII
TT was a month later. Edward Knightly had done much
-*- execution among other people's grouse in the north, and
had now returned to shoot his own partridges.
He was in his mother's morning-room, standing at the
window with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the
garden, gay with late summer flowers. It is rude to turn
your back on a lady, but a window is always an excuse, and
he didn't want to face his mother while he put a certain
question to her.
Lady Charlotte was pouring out tea. Seated rather stiffly
in her chair, with her white hair and upright figure in its gown
of old-fashioned grey silk, she looked very aristocratic, but
hardly the sort of lady you would have gone to for sympathy
if you happened to be in any trouble. And it was Just the
lack of this touch of sympathy in her general attitude that
had brought the frown to her son's good-looking face as
he stood looking out on to the beds of asters and geraniums,
and caused him to hesitate before he put his first question to
her.
"How is poor Barbara? You have never mentioned
her in your letters, though I have asked about her in all of
mine."
"I forgot," said Lady Charlotte untruthfully. "I have
seen her in church. She looks much the same as ever. I
have poured out your tea, Edward."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 76.
Edward turned and came to the table. "Haven't you been
to see her ?" he asked.
"Certainly not," she said. "I don't propose any longer
to be on calling terms at Redmarsh Farm. It was always
rather absurd. Mr. Clayton is no different from any other
of the farmers. And now this horrible notoriety has fastened
on to the place I shall not go there any more."
Edward blushed hotly. "The Claytons are Just as good as
the Knightlys," he said. "And they have been in the place
longer than we have—a good hundred years longer. And
our families have intermarried before now."
"I don't see what that has to do with it," replied Lady
Charlotte. "Families go up and down. I've no quarrel
with the Claytons on the ground of birth, but this man
doesn't keep up the traditions of his birth, and we do keep
up the traditions of ours. At least I do."
This was said with meaning. Edward knew he was in for
a struggle.
"At any rate," he said, " Barbara keeps up the traditions,
or whatever you call them. She's Just as refined and well
educated as any girl about here; and she's got more in her
than all the rest of them put together. I really think you
might have gone to see her, mother. Just look what she's
had to go through, and what she must be going through
now! I've never had her out of my mind the whole time
I've been away."
"I wish you would sit down and not keep walking about
waving your teacup," said Lady Charlotte, by way of evading
the question.
Edward sat down rather impatiently and brought her back
to it. "I should have thought ordinary Christian kindness
would have made you go to her," he said.
"I wish to have nothing further to do with the Claytons,"
said Lady Charlotte. "I don't say that man murdered his
child—I don't believe he did, and, of course, I'm sorry for
the girl. But nobody who has read the report of that trial
can say that Mr. Clayton came out of it well. I do believe
that his story of the money being stolen was made up, and I
believe that Kelly got that money from him. He explained
nothing that he ought to have explained, and he was very
lucky not to be hanged. The man has dark secrets. He ia


80 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
not a man to befriend or to take any further notice of. There
is hardly anyone living about here who does not say the same;
and nobody goes to Redmarsh Farm now—nobody at all."
"What! Do you mean to say that everybody is cutting
the Claytons?"
"I don't know about cutting them. They wouldn't cut
the girl, I suppose, if they were to meet her. I dare say they
would cut Mr. Clayton. I should look the other way myself,
if I met him."
Edward had been getting more and more angry. "Would
you look the other way if you met Barbara ?" he asked.
"Oh, Barbara! Barbara!" exclaimed Lady Charlotte.
"What have you to do with Barbara, Edward? Why should
you take it upon yourself to champion her T What is she
to you?''
"She's one of my oldest friends," he said. "I've known
her ever since she was a little child, and loved her too. I'm
not going to stand by and see her life made more miserable
than it need be by other people's unkindness; and when
she's had so much to bear, poor child, that it's a wonder she's
alive at all. I suppose she's got some friends, though. The
Mannering girls—they used to be with her a lot. Do they
look the other way when they meet her?"
"I believe they do," returned Lady Charlotte coolly.
"Mrs. Mannering told me that she didn't wish the acquain-
tanceship to continue."
"Mrs. Mannering is a spiteful cat," said Edward.
"I have always found her an agreeable woman," said
Lady Charlotte.
"Because she toadies you. The woman's a heartless
snob, and as for those girls—oh, well, I suppose the kittens
have got to do what the old cat tells them. But I think it's
the most disgusting piece of cruelty I've ever heard of. And
I wouldn't have believed it of you, mother—following the
lead of a woman like Mrs. Mannering!"
This touched Lady Charlotte, who liked to imagine that
she led everybody and in everything.
"What Mrs. Mannering does is nothing to me, as you
very well know, Edward," she said. "Enough of this. I
have made up my mind, after thinking it over carefully.
I will have nothing more to do with the father, and the


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 81
daughter must suffer with him. That is the way things are
arranged in the world. I didn't make the world, and I can't
help it."
Edward put his cup down on the table and rose from his
seat. "Well," he said, " I'm going straight down to Redmarsh
Farm now. I'll show her she's got one friend in the place.
A man can't do what a woman can; but if all the women
in the place are going to turn their backs on her I'll do what
I can. I should have been grateful to you, mother, if you'd
shown the sympathy you ought to have shown to a young
girl in heavy trouble, who hasn't got a mother of her own.
I'm sorry for your own sake that you take the line
you do."
Lady Charlotte bit her lip, not at the rebuke, for which
she cared little, but because her autocratic temper had
carried her too far. After all, her son was beyond her authority
now, and she could not expect to rule him by peremptory
insistence. She had wanted to break the tie which for a long
time she had feared existed between him and Barbara Clayton,
and she recognised that in all she had said she had done
nothing but draw it tighter.
"Do not be late for dinner," was all she said.
Edward was at the door. "Don't wait for me," he said.
"I don't know that I shall be back for dinner."
And that was all that Lady Charlotte had gained by trying
to preJudice him against the Claytons.
Edward walked down quickly on to the marsh. He was in
a white heat of indignation. How atrocious it was that women
should behave in the way they did to each other! Here was
a girl, innocent, blameless, and in the deepest sorrow, and
because of the very shadow that hung over her they withdrew
themselves from her and left her without a word of sympathy
or kindness! Worse than that—they treated her as if she
were to blame, as if it were she who was not worthy of their
friendship. Surely, the Pharisee who passed by on the other
side when he saw the man who had fallen amongst thieves
must have been a woman in disguise!
It was getting dusk. As Edward went down the steep road
which led from the cliff to the marsh he saw two girls wheeling
bicycles up the hill towards him. He did not at first recognise
them, or rather, he did not speculate at all as to who they


82 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
were, and was striding past them, when the one nearer to
him called his name, and he stopped to find himself con-
fronted with Miss Enid and Miss Muriel Mannering.
"Oh, Mr. Knightly," exclaimed Miss Enid with a face
all smiles. "So you've come back at last."
"Where are you off to so fast ?" inquired Miss Muriel.
He stopped short and glared at them. "I'm going to
Redmarsh Farm," he said, and waited to see what effect
his words would have.
Both girls looked confused. They would have drawn
themselves up with offence if it had been anyone but Edward
Knightly. But it was the first article in their creed, and in
their mother's, that they must on all occasions behave very
■weetly to him. He couldn't marry both of them, but he
might elect to marry one, and Mrs. Mannering had quite
made up her mind that he would eventually do so, although
it would have puzzled anybody to say what encouragement
he had given to the idea.
"We don't go there any more," said Miss Enid, who
was slightly the bolder of the two. "One really can't visit
at a house where such things go on."
"Why, we might be murdered ourselves," tittered Miss
Muriel, the engaging one of the pair.
This was too much for Edward. He turned his back on
them without a word and strode off down the hill, leaving
them much astonished.
"How stupid of you to say a thing like that!" exclaimed
Miss Enid angrily. "Now you have sent him straight off
to Barbara. She has been angling for him ever since she
was in short frocks."
Of course, these sweet girls had no idea of angling for
a young man for themselves! And equally of course, they
would have been shocked to be accused of telling vulgar
lies about another girl whom they had allowed to believe
that they loved her. They went home and told their mother
all about it, and she didn't accuse them of telling vulgar lies.
She told a few herself. "It is shameful," she said, " that any
girl should lay herself out in that way to catch a man. It
makes me ashamed of my sex. Muriel, I think you ought
to write a note to Edward and apologise for your foolish speech.
It was very thoughtless of you to say a thing like that. And


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 88
ask him to tea to-morrow. We must show that we are pleased
to have him home again."
In the meantime, Edward, his feelings hotter than ever
against the spiteful cats who had got their claws into Barbara,
went on across the marsh to Redmarsh Farm. He had
often been there at this time of the evening, when Barbara
and her father, and in days gone by little Tony, would be
having their tea in the big old-fashioned dining-room. He
had always been made welcome, and had often spoilt his own
dinner by Joining them in their meal. Hitherto he had always
at least put in an appearance at dinner-time, for Lady Char-
lotte would have been scandalised if he had stayed away.
Now, however, he didn't care in the least whether she was
scandalised or not. She could eat her dinner alone, with a
butler and a footman to wait on her. He meant to spend the
evening at Redmarsh Farm. Visions rose up before him of
the warm, lamp-lit room, with Barbara as the heart of it,
of the homely, plentiful meal and the quiet talk afterwards,
when John Clayton should have gone into his study, as he
always did for an hour or so in the evening, and he and Barbara
should be sitting by the fire, she with her needlework, and he
smoking his pipe, which he was always allowed to do in that
room. He thought John Clayton was wise to lead the life
he did. He was a man of the open air. He was not tied by
conventional hours and conventional meals. In summer-time
his day out of doors was not ended at half-past seven or a
quarter to eight by having to come in and dress for dinner.
They lived the simple life at Redmarsh Farm—the real
simple life, not the sham one—and it threw a sort of halo
of homeliness and comfort round them which was very
pleasant to think about. John himself sometimes even had
his meals in the big kitchen, with the rest of his household,
sitting at the head of the great oak table, with the swathed
hams hanging on their hooks above his head. But he would
not let Barbara do that. For him it was all right, but she
had her place in the world, and she must keep it.
It turned out much as he had expected. John Clayton
was crossing the hall as he went in, and stopped to look at
him with that frown of suspicion which now always sat
on his face when he saw anyone from the outside world.
He didn't know who were his friends and who were his enemies*


84 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
He would make advances to nobody now; he would leave
it for them to make the first advances to him, and then he
would consider whether he wanted to be on friendly terms
with them or not.
"How do you do, Mr. Clayton?" said Edward, coming
forward with his frank and friendly smile to shake hands with
him. "I've Just come back from the north, and I thought
I'd come and look you up."
John Clayton hesitated for an instant, but there was no
doubt about the loyalty of this young man; the way he had
given his evidence at the trial spoke for him. His brow
cleared, and he shook hands with his strong, nervous grip.
"Very pleased to see you," he said. "We're Just going to
have tea. Will you stay?"
"Yes, I will," said Edward. "Thanks. How's Barbara?"
John's brow clouded again. "Come in here for a moment,"
he said, and led the way into his room and shut the door.
Then he turned upon Edward. "Look here," he said,
rather roughly, "I'm prepared for people looking shy at
me. I don't care how they look. But a lot of them are looking
shy at my girl. I wasn't prepared for that. I say it's a grossly
wicked thing. She wants all the friends she can get now,
and she ought to have them. What has she done that they
should turn their backs on her?"
"She has a friend here all right, for what he's worth,"
said Edward quietly. "She and I have always been friends,
and we'll go on being friends with your permission."
John's face softened. "You're a good fellow, Edward,"
he said. "I know she likes you. If you'll come down some-
times and talk to her brightly and take her mind off, I shall
be grateful to you. She's got a lot to bear."
CHAPTER XIV
TF Edward's old friendship for and admiration of Barbara
-*- had been inclining to warmer feelings, and if the thought
of the heavy trial through which she had passed had still
more quickened those feelings, it only wanted the sight of


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 85
her and the hearing of her now to precipitate him into the
depths of love and pity.
Her beauty had taken on a more ethereal form. She had
been a fresh-coloured, graceful, healthy girl, and had seemed
to owe something of her beauty to her colouring and her
abounding health. But, thin and pale as she was now, she
was no less beautiful. He thought she was more so. Her
dark eyes stood out more lustrously, her face showed more
delicate curves, and although it was pale it was not colourless.
She had regained her health, but her youth seemed to have
slipped from her. It was impossible to think of her now
singing light-heartedly, and running or dancing in the sunshine
for the very Joy of life.
And yet she was cheerful as she sat at the table with her
father opposite to her and Edward at her side; was pleased
to hear of his doings in Scotland, and often smiled, but never
laughed.
John Clayton, too, had shaken off the gloom that kept him
such constant company. He always made an effort to do so
in his daughter's company. He felt he owed her that. His
own life had been made dark, but she was so young that surely
she must get over her loss in time and be happy once more!
They were closer together, these two, than they had been
before. He was very tender with her, and it was pathetic
to see him curbing his roughness and hiding his troubles
when in her presence, and watching her all the time from
beneath his heavy brows.
They were mighty meals, those high teas at Redmarsh
Farm, and there was as much plenty in the kitchen as in the
parlour. Nowhere about were the farm hands fed as they were
here. Good living had always been a tradition on the farm,
and Barbara's grandmother had brought from her Yorkshire
home customs and precepts that were still kept to.
There were fat chickens and home-cured hams, hot cakes
and cold cakes by the dozen, crusty loaves of home baking
with all the goodness of the life-giving grain left in them,
and not emasculated to unnatural whiteness, the sweetest
of yellow butter, cream so thick that a spoon would almost
stand upright in it, eggs straight off the straw in which they
had been laid, home-made preserves tasting of fruit and not of
turnips and fruit-pips. And all the china and silver were


€6 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
old, and had been used for generations, and not put away
in a cupboard to be looked at, although a great deal of it waa
almost too valuable to be used thus every day. But Mrs.
Barrow washed the old Worcester cups and saucers herself,
and in all the years she had done so had never broken one.
And what is the good of beautiful things made for use if you
never use them? The Queen Anne teapot from which Barbara
poured tea was a finer one than had been used by her ladyship
up at the Hall, and there were milk-Jugs and cream-Jugs
and sugar-basin to match it. They were as bright and as
free from dents as if they had Just come from the silversmith's
hands two hundred years before, and there were others put
away in cupboards no less valuable. The table was lit with
branched candlesticks, Sheffield plated, and there was an
old silver bowl of autumn roses in the middle of it.
When the table had been cleared, and John Clayton had
excused himself and gone into his room for an hour to do farm
accounts, Edward sat in an old cane-seated chair by the bright
hearth as he had pictured himself doing, and looked round
him, taking in the pleasant picture of the room. It was
square and rather low, lined with oak, every panel of which,
rubbed and beeswaxed for generations, gave out some mellow
gradation of colour, as if answering the invitation of the
candles and the lamp to warmth and brightness. The red
curtains drawn across the wide window also added to the
cosy welcome of the room, quiet and sheltered and home-like
in the deep stillness of the night.
And Barbara, seated in a low chair with her basket beside
her, the light shining on the fair coils of her head bent over
her work, seemed to sum up all the quiet homeliness of the
room in herself. There were beautiful things in it—old furni-
ture, old china, old silver—but they looked as if they belonged
there, not as if they had been bought because they suited,
and they fell into their proper place, the background and the
material for use in a settled life, and all of them seemed to
take some character from her who sat in the midst of them,
Elying her needle in the lamplight, with the work of the day
ehind her.
Edward sat silent for a little time and looked at her. H«
was thinking how blissfully happy it would make him to
have her always sitting opposite to him like that of an evening,


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 87
through the long years which, to a man as young as he,
seem to stretch out endlessly; to have her grow old with
him—she would never be old in his eyes—to share all his
happiness in life, and all his sorrows too, if sorrows came—
but with the credulity of youth he thought that there would
be no more sorrows if he and Barbara were always together,
helpmates and lovers still while the long years of their lives
should run their course to the far-off end.
"Do you think father is looking more like himself ?" she
asked him.
Edward did not reply without thinking. He wanted to
give her truth, not idle compliments that meant nothing.
And he wanted her to talk about what he knew she must
be thinking of night and day. That was the way to her
heart.
"He is more himself than I should have thought possible,"
he said. "And so are you, Barbara. I think it is splendid,
the way you are both taking up life again and making the
best of it. It's the only way, isn't it?"
"I suppose we both keep up for each other's sakes," she
said, with the shadow of a smile. "There is not much happi-
ness for either of us now, but we have got to go on living,
and we must face it bravely and Just go on from day to day."
Barbara bent over her work again, and there was another
pause. It was filled for Edward with an indescribable emotion.
When he had come down to the farm he had had no idea
of urging his suit with Barbara. He had loved her for a long
time, but he had hardly known how much. He had been
lingering on the threshold, on that sunny borderland between
love new sprung and love declared. He had been content
to linger there. But now, with her sitting there before him
in the quiet intimacy, with her beauty to fire him, and her
courage and her sweetness and her confidence making him
love her as he had never loved her before, he found it im-
possible to keep silence. He would tell her now. He wanted
to shield and protect her. The decision sprung full-formed
in his mind, almost before he knew it was asking to be made,
and before she had made three stitches he had spoken.
"Barbara," he said, in a low voice that trembled a little
with the weight of his emotion, "you know that I love you.
Be my wife, and let me make you forget it all."


88 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
She looked up at him in startled surprise. She was not ready
yet for a declaration of love, hardly for a declaration of
friendship. "Oh, no," she said hurriedly. "I cannot think
of that now."
Her words chilled him, showing that her thoughts had not
moved in the same direction as his. But they only made him
fall back on reason instead of feeling. He wanted her very
much, and he knew that he could help her if she came to him.
"Why can't you think of it?" he asked. "There's no
disloyalty in my love. I don't ask you to forget anything.
I only want to share the memories with you and take away
their bitterness."
She had had time to think a little. "It is very good of
you, Edward," she said in her low, clear voice, but not looking
up at him. "You are my friend, and I can share my memories
with you, and I will. But I can't give you any more. What
I have to give now must be for my father. He is under a
deep cloud, and I must think only of him and try to lift it
for him."
"Can't you say more to me than that, Barbara?" he
asked reproachfully.
She laid down her work and looked across at him. "Oh,
Edward, how can I ?" she said. "I can't even take it in.
I know I ought to feel very grateful to you, and I do. But
I can't even feel that it is real—I mean, what you are saying
to me. It is as if you were saying it to someone else, and I
was listening. My heart is so full of other things. You must
forgive me, and wait till I have had time to become myself
again."
"Yes, I will wait," he said, but she broke in on him. "Oh,
I didn't mean it in that way. I can't answer you; I can't
think of it; I can't take it into my mind."
Again he was rebuffed. He saw that it was as she had said:
her mind was so full that even an avowal of love had power
to penetrate it hardly further than if she had heard it made
to someone else. And nothing he could say would deepen
the impression. Words were idle, if neither his presence
nor his own deep feeling could move her.
"I have spoken too soon," he said. "Forget it, Barbara;
but let me be your friend. Let me help you."
She faced him again, not with the shy look of a girl to whom


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 89
a lover has Just declared himself, but with an earnest, pene-
trating gaze as if she would have looked into his very soul
and seen what power and what willingness to help her lay
there.
"Will you help me?" she asked. "Will you lift this
cloud from us? Will you find out the truth and punish the
man who killed my little Tony?"
He met her gaze. He must not falter now by so much
as the dropping of his eyelashes. But, indeed, it was difficult
not to show some surprise in face of this young girl, so quiet
and amenable to outward view, but now roused to show what
was in the depths of her mind, and asking for vengeance
in the same breath as she asked for succour.
"Yes, Barbara, I will," he answered her.
Then she bent her head over her work again and burst
into tears. She was a woman after all, and this was the first
time that she had shown to anyone what lay beneath the
mask of her patience and courage. Innocent blood had been
shed, and innocent lives were shadowed by it; but stronger
even than the wish to have that shadow lifted was the desire
that the murderer should pay. A fife for a life, a guilty life
for a blameless one—it was no fair exchange, a blood-stained
murderer for a little innocent child, but Justice demanded
nothing less, if it could get nothing more. Clear away that
foul stain and it would be possible to breathe more freely,
when the same air should not be breathed by a creature too
base to live. But what could this young man do to bring
home such a crime to the one who had committed it?
Barbara soon dried her tears. "There, now it is out,"
she said, speaking hurriedly, through the sobs that still
shook her. "I can't sleep for thinking of it. It comes at
night and grips me and makes me shake all over. My little
Tony, cruelly killed, and the man who killed him still going
about and enJoying his wicked life. I feel already as if part
of the weight was lifted from me. I can't talk about it to
father. He must feel what I am feeling, but he says nothing.
He must be trying to find out, but I don't know what he is
doing. It is because I can do nothing but sit here and think—
oh, why wasn't I born a man? I wouldn't rest night or day
till I had found out the truth, and found him—wherever he
is, whoever he is—and brought it home to him."


90 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
Edward was very much in love, but he was not a man,
even in that state, to let a woman take the lead over him.
He had a good deal of his mother's autocracy of character,
and where he loved, there he wanted to rule.
"It isn't for you to do that," he said. "If it is to be done,
it is for the men who love you to do it."
"7/ it is to be done!" she echoed. "You are not going
to tell me, as the vicar did, that it is my duty to forgive,
are you? Forgive! You can forgive people who do you
an inJury, or you can think nothing of it, as I do of the
shallow, stupid unMndness of the people who won't know us
now because of what has happened. But to forgive a—a
murderer, who is still free—if Christianity tells me to do
that, then I'm no Christian. I couldn't be."
"I don't tell you to forgive the scoundrel," said Edward.
"I should be a hypocrite if I talked like that. Barbara,
I love you; I would do anything I could for you, and I'll
do this."
"You will, Edward? You'll find out the truth about
it all?"
"I'll do my best. I'll make it the chief thing in my life.
I'll spare no pains. But, my dear, you mustn't hope too
much. The cleverest people among the police have set their
minds to it, and have had all that organisation behind them,
and it has puzzled them."
Again she broke into passionate weeping, but Edward
said to her, "You mustn't give way like that, Barbara.
Useless regrets can only weaken you. I'll do what I can
to help you, but you must help me too."
She dried her eyes once more. "How can I help you?"
she asked him. "I am a weak girl, tied down here. Oh,
but I don't complain of that. I have my father, and it is
chiefly because of him that I want the truth made known.
It isn't because I'm so wicked as to think of nothing but
vengeance. That wouldn't help us. But I can't rest until
it is all cleared up. Edward, tell me how I can help
you."
"You can help me," he said, "by giving me your whole
confidence. We must be able to talk everything over in the
minutest detail, and follow out every clue we can get hold of.
And you must control yourself and your grief. There mustn't


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 91
be anything in all the sad story that I have to shirk speaking
about to you in case you should break down."
"Oh, I'll do that," she said hurriedly, touched by the
implied rebuke. "I don't often break down, and I never do
before other people."
If she had seen the hungry look in his eyes she would not
have thought him, as she did, rather unsympathetic. But his
words strung her up to a more complete control over herself,
and that was what he wanted.
"And there's another thing," he said, still in the same
matter-of-fact voice and still with his eyes bent on her,
"you must give me the right to work for you and with you."
She looked up at him with the same half-frightened look
with which she had greeted his avowal of love. "What do
you mean ?" she asked.
"I told you I loved you Just now," he said, "and asked
for your love in return. I don't ask for that now. I ask
you to let me tell everybody—to let it be known—that we
are engaged to one another."
"Oh, why do you say that again ?" she cried. "Indeed,
Edward, I am grateful to you, and I look upon you, after my
father, as my dearest friend, but I can't give you more than
that now."
"You needn't think that I want to entrap you into a
promise," he said. "Nothing shall be altered between us,
and you shall be set free the moment we have cleared up the
mystery, if we do clear it up."
So the strange compact was sealed—strange, indeed,
between a man who loved deeply and a girl who could have
loved if her mind had not been so overburdened with other
pressing thoughts. They parted after a time with no more
than a handshake, which on Edward's part was colder than
the greeting he had given her two hours before. But as he
said good-bye in that way, not looking at her, Barbara's
compunction awoke. "Don't be cross with me, Edward,"
she said in the pleading voice she had sometimes used as a
child, when she had done some wilful thing to displease him.
"I do love you, you know—as a friend; and I know how
good you are to take my troubles upon you in this way."
"My dear, I'd do much more than that for you," he said,
and was gone. He couldn't have stayed without making


92 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
his love and longing for her apparent. She was so like a child
still, in her weakness and her changing moods. If he had
stayed he must have taken her in his arms and broken their
compact altogether.
ADY CHARLOTTE was in her morning-room reading
*-* by the fire. It was a pleasant room enough, but it
seemed to Edward indescribably cold and comfortless when
compared with that other room from which he had Just come.
And his mother did not add to its air of welcome as she looked
up at him, still dressed in the tweed suit in which he had spent
the day, with displeasure and an affectation of surprise.
"Have you had your dinner ?" she asked. "I told them
to keep it back for you."
This put him at a disadvantage. "I don't want any
dinner, thanks, mother," he said, taking a chair. "I had
tea at Redmarsh Farm."
"Well, will you please ring the bell and tell them so?" she
said. "It is half-past nine o'clock, and they won't like being
kept back like this."
This was all to make him uncomfortable and show her
displeasure, for he had told her that he might not be in to
dinner. But she gained nothing by it. It nerved Him to tell
her what he meant to tell her.
He rang the bell, and when the servant who answered
it was told that he had dined and had left them alone again,
he said at once, "Mother, I have something to tell you.
I have asked Barbara Clayton to marry me."
"Oh, you have gone to that length, have you ?" she said
with exasperating coolness. "I suppose it isn't necessary
to ask what answer she gave you."
He controlled his temper with difficulty. "Hadn't you
better refrain from insulting her, since she is to be my wife
and your daughter-in-law ?" he asked coldly, and as he said
the words his heart leapt. Yes, she should be his wife. When
CHAPTER XV


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 98
their compact was at an end he would make another with
her.
His words gave Lady Charlotte pause. She had to stop
this monstrous folly on her son's part, and she knew perfectly
well that she could not stop it by sneering at Barbara. And
yet her arrogance and her temper would not allow her to use
diplomacy. She must speak out the wrath and bitterness
that was in her. She laid down her book on her knee, and sat
coldly regarding him.
"She shall never be my daughter-in-law," she said. "I
won't acknowledge her—a girl of that parentage. You must
be mad to think of such a thing. If none of this disgrace had
fallen upon them, Redmarsh Farm would still be no place
for you to take a wife from. Have you no regard for your
family and what is expected from a man in your position?"
"I'm what my father was," he said doggedly, "the Squire
of Clifithorpe. Nobody can expect me to marry anyone better
than a good and beautiful girl of good birth and education.
I don't know what other people have to do with it at all,
but if I did consider their preJudices, nobody would expect
me to consider them more than that."
"And I! Am / not to be considered? There are all your
cousins"
"Oh, please spare me my cousins and their exalted sphere,"
he broke in on her. "Those of them who are worth anything
will welcome such a girl as Barbara as my wife, and those
who aren't we shan't bother ourselves about."
Lady Charlotte looked blacker than ever. But she left
the point of birth. It was not the chief ground of her obJection.
"If you had come and told me this three or four months ago,"
she said, " I should have thought you were throwing yourself
away, but I should have made the best of it. But to marry
into that family now! The whole country is talking about
them. You can't have any idea of the horrible notoriety
they possess."
Edward rose from his seat. "Oh, what's the use of
going on like this, mother?" he exclaimed. "I have asked
Barbara to marry me and she has consented. That's the
beginning and end of it. Nothing you can say will alter it.
You can't really think that I am going back to her to say
that I can't keep my word because you are afraid of gossip t


94 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"Very well," she said. "I suppose you are right, and
nothing your mother can say will have the slightest weight
in preserving you from this piece of selfish madness. But you
are not going to flout me altogether, Edward. I will have
nothing to do with this girl. I won't receive her here. I
won't countenance your engagement in any way. If you
insist upon disgracing yourself you shall have all the respon-
sibility. So long as I remain in this house Barbara Clayton
shall not come inside it."
He thought for a moment gloomily. "Then it's war
between us, is it ?" he asked.
"Not by my wish," she replied. "Oh, how wilful and
absurd you are! If the mystery were cleared up, if you had
let a decent time go by for the talk to die down—if you
had done anything but rush into it now, at this moment—
I might have brought myself to acquiesce, although it would
always have been a disappointment to me. Why can't you
do that? Why can't you wait?"
"I'm going to clear up the mystery myself," he said.
"I'm going to devote myself to it. I wiU get to the bottom
of it and clear their good name. Until then I don't want
any fuss made about my engagement at all. I certainly shan't
marry until it is cleared up. Can't that content you?"
"No, it doesn't content me," she said. "But it makes
it Just a shade easier for one to hold up one's head. Then,
for goodness' sake, do that. Keep it quiet. There is no
necessity for it to get about at all."
"I'm afraid I don't agree with you," he said coldly. "I'm
going to solve this mystery, and I'm going to do it for Barbara's
sake. What I do must become known, and the reason
why I do it must be known too."
"How on earth can you expect to do it? Mr. Clayton
could do it to-morrow if he wanted to. He wouldn't do it
to save his own neck. It isn't to be expected that you should
be able to worm out his secrets."
Edward let this go by, with a blush. Really, for a woman
who prided herself so on her high birth, his mother was apt
to show unexpected vulgarities.
"I'm going to do it," he said firmly, "never mind how.
And I'm going to do it for Barbara's sake. Come now,
mother, I have told you that we shan't be married until


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 95
the Claytons are put right in the eyes of the world. Can't
you set aside your preJudices and he kind to Barbara in the
meantime? Just think what she's had to suffer, poor child!
You can be kind enough. You have been to me. I'm your
only son. Can't you do this for me 1"
But Lady Charlotte could not. She was quite unmoved.
"As long as I remain mistress of this house, Edward," she
said, " that girl shall not come inside it. It is in your power
to turn me out at any time you wish, and you will do it on the
day you bring Barbara Clayton here."
Edward's engagement had not brought him much happiness
so far.
CHAPTER XVI
"C*DWARD went down to Redmarsh Farm the next morning.
-"-' He had spent a wakeful night, and everything had looked
black for him. But under the bright September sunshine,
with the wind sweeping over the great expanse of marsh,
his gloomy thoughts took a brighter hue. He had put his
hand to a difficult task and he would carry it through some-
how. His determination was strengthened, and his hope
of reward too. Surely he and Barbara must come closer
together, and she would not withhold herself from him
when he should have cleared her father's name and brought
about an act of Justice! The difficulties of his task seemed
to him to be cleared away by the sun and the wind, and he
was now going to take his first step in it.
He had to see John Clayton, to get his consent to his engage-
ment to Barbara, and to get him, if he would, to tell him
some of those things that hitherto he had kept to himself.
As he neared the farm he saw John Clayton himself, out
on the marsh, a quarter of a mile or so away. He was going
round to look at his sheep, but his progress was slow, for he
had a thistle-spud in his hand, and was using it on those
spiky rosettes which would soon have spread themselves over
the thickest carpet of grass if they had not been kept under.
He went through a gate and along a dyke to Join him,


96 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
and called out his name as he came close. John Glayton
turned round with his customary frown, but when he saw
who it was, came back to meet him.
"Barbara told me something that surprised me last night,"
Clayton said at once. "I couldn't wish for anything better for
her, Edward. But are you sure you understand what you
are doing? We are suspected people now, you know—not
good enough for our neighbours to consort with."
"Oh, I know all that, Mr. Clayton," said Edward. "It
doesn't worry me much, and it will soon come to an end."
He spoke lightly. The last thing he wanted was to be thanked
by Barbara's father.
John Clayton may have understood this. He shook hands
with him, but all he said was, " She's the best girl in the world,
and she'll have a good husband."
"Thanks," said Edward. "I wanted to have a talk with
you."
"Well, come along then," said Clayton. "I wish you'd
brought a spud with you. I must set some boys to work
clearing these off. They're overrunning the whole place."
Edward walked by his side as he moved slowly along,
prodding and slaying. He hardly knew how to begin, but
at last he said, "Did Barbara tell you what I have under-
taken to do?"
Clayton laughed, rather bitterly. "Something beyond
your power, I'm afraid," he said. "You don't suppose I'm
not thinking of it night and day, do you?"
"You are tied here, more or less," said Edward. "I'm
free to go where I like. I'll go anywhere where there's the
slightest chance of a clue. But I want you to tell me some-
thing before I begin."
Clayton stopped and stood looking at him. "You want
me to tell you, I suppose, what I kept back at my trial,"
he said.
"Yea."
"My dear boy, let me ask you this: When I was in danger
of being hanged for murder, don't you think I should have
told them what I had done with my money if I thought it
could have saved me?"
This was a new idea to Edward. He hesitated. "Not if
you were under an oath," he said.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 97
"Oh, you're referring to that other matter. Well, as to
that, I don't mind telling you that if I had been under an
oath—I don't say I was, mind you—I should have taken the
same view of it as my brother did if I had thought it could
have saved me. Do you think I'd have hanged myself
and brought that trouble on my girl for the sake of an oath
of that sort? I don't want any credit that doesn't belong
to me, and I shouldn't take any credit for an action of that
sort. I should consider it a piece of selfish, suicidal lunacy."
"Well, then, Mr. Clayton, why not let me into the secret?"
"Because it has nothing to do with this matter at all,
and it's not my own secret. You don't believe me guilty of
the murder, do you?"
"Of course I don't. You know that well enough."
"Very well then. You can trust me not to hold back any-
thing that will help you to find the guilty party. Good
heavens! As if I would do that! Look here, Knightly,
if you are holding any suspicion of me whatever you're on
a false scent."
"Oh, Mr. Clayton!"
"I know you don't think I murdered my own child. Are
you equally sure that my story of the theft was not a bogus
one?"
"Of course I am."
"The money was stolen. Kelly had some of it, I make no
doubt. Are you sure you acquit me of knowing how he
got it?"
"I never thought anything of the sort."
"I don't believe you did. But others do, of course. I
must put up with that. Well now, you have Just got to trust
me as to both those secrets, which everybody thinks so
suspicious. If you don't believe me guilty of either of those
crimes, or concerned in them in any way, however indirect,
you must also believe me when I tell you that nothing can
come of prying into my private affairs. I've spent money,
perhaps in a foolish way, but I think in a right way. I
shall spend no more in that way. It's all over. But there
are reasons why I won't tell the world how I spent it, and
my telling you so must suffice. Take my word for it that
you'll be wasting your time if you try to puzzle these things
out."


98 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"Well, I shan't do that," said Edward, rather unwillingly.
"now you have said what you have. I'm glad to know,
at any rate, that your difficulties are at an end."
It was something, at any rate, to think that Barbara
no longer lay under the additional shadow of financial ruin,
but as Edward went back to the farm, he could not help
wishing that Clayton had confided still more in him. It was
not in human nature to put the matter out of his mind
altogether, or not to wish to Judge for himself whether those
secrets had any bearing on the mystery he was setting himself
to unravel. However, he believed that John Clayton must
be as eager as himself to have it cleared up, and he was there-
fore bound to believe him when he said that those secrets
had nothing to do with it.
Edward found Barbara in the garden. They had told him
that she was there and he had gone out to her. But she was
not in the flower-garden where he had found her on that after-
noon in May. He passed through it with an inward shrinking,
for he had not been in it since. The apple-blossom had long
since passed away, and the red fruit hung on the tree under
which she had sat. The reds and yellows of autumn had taken
the place of the more delicate-coloured spring flowers, but
the garden was not less beautiful than it had been then.
If only its autumn beauty could have given the quiet pleasure
that its spring beauty had done! But perhaps that was
never to be again.
He went into the big kitchen-garden where the laden
peasticks, and the scarlet runners trained over a long vista
of arches, hid most of it. He went along the middle path,
and when he neared the end of it he heard Barbara's voice
in a low murmur, and was vexed to think that she had some-
body with her.
But she was quite alone. She was standing with her back
towards him in front of a row of old-fashioned thatched
beehives, her straw hat with its black ribbon in her hand,
and her fair hair uncovered for the sun to kiss.
She turned with a little blush when she heard his step,
and came forward with a smile which made her look for a
moment like her old self.
"I have been talking to the bees," she said.
He knew the old custom. You told the bees everything


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 99
that happened in the house, and sometimes you sang to them.
Then they knew you, and it heartened them up for the hard
work they were given to do in the world.
"What were you telling the bees, Barbara?" he asked
her.
She looked up at him. The indifference of last evening
was gone. His friend had come back to him. "I was telling
them," she said, "that there was someone who had taken
half my load of sorrow off me; someone who was going to
give up everything for my sake; and that I had been hard
and cold to him, but I was going to be so no longer."
"Barbara !" he cried. "Do you mean?
"Oh, I was horrid last night," she said. "I didn't know
what I was saying; and I accepted the great honour you
were doing me as if it were nothing. Edward, if you really
want me"
"Want you, Barbara!"
"Yes, I know you do. And I want you Just as much.
I am not ashamed to say so—to make up for last night."
He drew her to him and kissed her, too much moved to
speak. His happiness had come to him when he had least
expected it.
She made no attempt to free herself from his arms, and made
her confession as he held her, with all the candour of her true,
fearless nature. "I couldn't have said it until you had lifted
the weight off me. I didn't know it myself. But when I
began to think of what you were going to do for me, and found
how much lighter my heart was, then there was room in it
for thoughts of you, and I discovered what I hadn't known
before."
"That you loved me a little, Barbara?"
"No, not a little." She said it very softly, but no words
that he had ever heard had thrilled him so much.
When at last he released her, he said, "Ah, now I can go
into it with a free mind. Dear Barbara, we can't fail when
both our desires are one."
"I don't think we shall fail," she said. "I never thought
I could be happy again. I felt somehow that it would be
disloyal to Tony if I were to try to be. But I don't feel that
now. You have altered it all. I love him Just as much
and shall always love him; and father too. But there's


100 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
room in my heart for you as well, Edward, all the room yon
can want. Oh, I am so thankful that you came to us yester-
day, and understood what I asked you without asking for
anything in return. Now I know what you are, and I shall
put all my trust in you unto my dying day."
They walked back to the house through the flower-garden.
Little he had thought when he had passed through it on his
way to find her that it would so soon be the scene of his full
heart's happiness.
Edward was not much enamoured of Mr. Chinnering and
his ways, but he had persuaded Barbara that the first thing
to do was to consult him. The police must have information
that it was impossible for him to get, and he might waste
endless time and miss endless opportunities by setting to
work entirely apart from them.
So he went up to London, and because he thought that good
food and drink might be the means of thawing Mr. Chin-
nering's possible unwillingness to take him into his confidence,
he established communication over the telephone with that
officer and asked him to lunch with him at his club.
Mr. Chinnering came. His get-up was nicely adapted for
the purpose in hand. He was dressed as an unobtrusive
man of leisure—such a man as may be seen any morning
strolling up Bond Street and any afternoon sitting in a club
window—a man who might be anybody or might be nobody
in particular, but would not put to shame his host in the most
exclusive of London clubs.
He was quite friendly. "I fully understand, Mr. Knightly,"
he said, when Edward had told him that he was going to
marry Barbara, but that before he did so he was going to
do his best to get to the bottom of what had now come to
be known as the mystery of Redmarsh Farm. "Oh, yes,
I quite understand, and if I can be of any assistance to you,
to make up for the mistake I fell into, you can command me."
He talked in a cheerful sort of way, as if a month in prison
and the torture of a trial for murder were nothing much to
worry about after all. "Mr. Clayton ought to have let out
what he kept to himself," he concluded. "Then perhaps we
shouldn't have took him—taken him, I mean." Mr. Chin-
nering remembered that he was lunching as a guest at the Old


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 101
Universities Club, and it behoved him to be careful of his
grammar if he was to play the part properly.
"I wish I knew what that brother of his had done eighteen
years ago," said Edward.
"Oh, we can tell you that all right," said Mr. Chinnering.
"What!" exclaimed Edward.
"Oh, yes. We knew it all the time, only we couldn't bring
it out. He forged his father's name to a cheque. It was
when he was a youngster, up at college. His father must
have been a tough customer. He took out a warrant against
him. It was never executed, because Mr. John and Mr.
William got him out of the country. We could drop on them,
of course, if we wanted to—now. But it isn't worth while
stirring up that mud again. Of course the warrant's still in
force, and if Mr. Frank Clayton were to come back to England
I don't say but what it wouldn't be used, although I don't
know—the old man's dead and nobody would press the
charge. Still, if he's alive he'd better keep out of the country."
Edward sat thinking. Mr. Chinnering had given him a
surprise, and he was soon to give him another.
"You mustn't think we've dropped the case, you know,"
he said. "We've got our eyes open. You go into it by all
means, Mr. Knightly. We shall welcome your assistance,
and it stands to reason we can be of use to you. I take it
you're not doing amateur detective work for the glory of the
thing and to score off the police?"
"No. I'm doing it because I want the mystery cleared up.
I don't care who does it."
"Quite so. May I ask if you have your eye on anybody
you suspect?"
"No. If we could only find this girl, Emma Slade!"
"We shall find her in time, and I dare say she will tell
us something we shall be glad to know."
"I wonder you haven't found her already. I've always
heard that the police could lay their hands on anybody who
was in London; and with all this notoriety a stranger any-
where could hardly escape notice."
Then Mr. Chinnering gave him his second surprise.
"Emma Slade never went to London," he said.
Edward stared at Mr. Chinnering, who calmly went on
eating his cutlet. "Emma Slade never went to London 1"


102 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
he exclaimed. "You seem to know everything. How do
you know that?"
"Well, now, here are the facts: There were so many
tickets sold that day between Rede and London. I forget
the exact number and it doesn't matter. But there was one
less than that number given up at the other end. Supposing
that was the ticket bought by Emma Slade, what became of
it?"
Edward thought for a minute or two. It was his first
essay in induction. But Mr. Chinnering did not give him
time to work it out for himself.
"She couldn't have got off the line without giving up her
ticket," he said. "So she utayed on the line."
"But she couldn't have stayed there for ever."
"Quite so. How could she get off? Why, by taking
another ticket. The most likely place for her to do that
would be Grassford Junction. But she wouldn't have thought
of doing that for a station between Grassford and London.
So she went the other way. Where to? Why, to Ridstone,
which is only a few stations off. And if that's right, then
we get a flood of light. She would have changed her mind
in the train about going to London and decided to get right
away. She would catch the night boat to Boulogne, and
there you are. She ran away to France."
"Have you anything to prove that?"
"Yes. There was orly one ticket taken from Grassford
to Ridstone by that train."
"Is that proof?"
"Hardly, perhaps. But it's enough to go on."
CHAPTER XVII
"PLORA CLAYTON was sitting in the little room which
she called her den. It was a pretty little room, daintily
furnished, and so full of knick-knacks that William never
came into it without being in mortal fear of knocking some
of them over. He very seldom came into it at all, because
there was no chair large enough for him to sit down on with


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 103
confidence, and if he stood anywhere but in the middle of
the carpet there were the knick-knacks everywhere within
reach of his elbow. Expensive knick-knacks they were, for
Flora had a taste for such things, and there was no new toy
of ivory or tortoiseshell or silver in the Bond Street shops
that she did not covet. Her slender-legged French writing-
table was full of them, and so was the mantelpiece, and the
glass cupboard, and the diminutive occasional tables. The
walls were upholstered in pink silk and the curtains were of
pink brocade. She had ordered both without consulting
William as to the price. He had made a terrible fuss when
the bills came in, and then paid them and said no more about
it.
That was his way. And it was Flora's way, when she
wanted anything very badly which she knew he would refuse
her if she asked for it, to order it and risk the subsequent
explosion.
Now Just at this moment another explosion was imminent.
It simply could not be staved off for another day. She sat
at her writing-table with the last peremptory letter of her
dressmaker before her—or rather of her dressmaker's solici-
tors, who stated in it their intention of issuing a writ against
her if she did not at once remit a cheque for the impossible
sum of £352 7s. 6d. It was an awful situation.
She started suddenly and dabbed her eyes with her lace
pocket-handkerchief. William had come into the hall in his
abrupt way and was calling her. Then she seized the threaten-
ing letter and hurriedly opened the drawer of her writing-
table to thrust it in out of the way, but William had opened
the door and was in the room before she could close the
drawer.
"Hullo, old lady!" he exclaimed. "What's up?"
Then his face changed. "Hiding something, eh? What is
it?"
"Oh, nothing," she said, and closed the drawer. But she
had left the "account rendered," which had accompanied
the letter, on the table, and William came up and took it.
The mischief was done. There was nothing for it but to burst
into tears again and make such a noise about it that the
opening sentences of William's indictment should not affront
Ler ears. This she did with such success that he told her


104 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
savagely to "shut up howling," and listen to what he had
to say.
Flora left off "howling." She was frightened into doing
so by the tone in which William spoke to her.
He was almost beside himself with anger. With the bill
in his hand, he stormed at her and rated her to such an ex-
tent that her indignation soon rose higher than her fear of
him, and she began to storm back, and eventually produced
her usual threat of getting a "separation" from him.
It was a very ugly scene. William's ordinary suavity of
manner had entirely disappeared. Nobody would have
recognised in the passionate, loud-tongued, abusive husband
the easy-going, kind, friendly man whom every chance
acquaintance liked, and of whom the thing that was said
most often was that he cheered everybody up.
And as for Flora, the foolish, lackadaisical, irresponsible
butterfly of fashion had disappeared as completely. Here
was a shrieking, furious vixen who cared nothing for the fact
that her voice would carry all over the flat, in which there
were two servants, most probably now in some place where
they could conveniently hear everything that was going on.
The storm subsided as suddenly as it had arisen. When
Flora uttered her threat of a "separation " William became
quiet on the instant, threw the bill down on the table, and
said in his ordinary voice, "I'll take you at your word. I've
had enough of it. If you are determined to rush into ruin
you can do it by yourself."
Flora also became silent on the instant. This quiet speech
of her husband's alarmed her much more than any of his
stormy abuse had done. When she had produced that threat
of a separation on other occasions it had generally been when
William was beginning to come round, and he had laughed
at her, and often given her a cheque a minute after.
She stood and stared at him with frightened eyes.
"I'm not going to pay it," he said, indicating the bill.
"Your extravagance would break a millionaire."
"I'm awfully sorry, William," she said, pleadingly. "111
swear I won't do it again if you'll get me out of the hole this
time."
"So you've said before, and you do it every few months.
No, it's got to end. You can go your way and 111 go mine.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 105
You shall have a decent allowance, quite enough to live
comfortably on, and if you exceed it you'll have to stand
the racket yourself."
Then he had meant it! Flora began to cry. "You can't
mean it, William," she sobbed. "You know I'm awfully
fond of you." She threw herself on to his neck and implored
him to forgive her.
He yielded grumpily, and as if he would much have pre-
ferred to carry out the suggested arrangement, but he did
yield, and made her give him the lawyer's letter. "There,
let's have an end of it," he said impatiently, when she showed
a disposition to hang round his neck again. "And I'll tell
you this, Flora: it's the very last time. If it happens again
we part company. You'd better get that into your mind,
for I mean it." Then he went out of the room without giving
her the kiss that generally ended these disturbing episodes.
The fright that Flora had received still clung to her. She
had softened him a little, but she had not softened him
completely. Could she be losing her hold over him? It was
a terrible thought. She looked at herself in the glass. Her
eyes were rather red, but otherwise there was nothing to
complain of in what she saw there. She was a very well-
preserved woman—hardly more than a girl—well, a sort of
a girl. Thirty-two—the very age when a woman of her style
is at her best. Oh, it was absurd. He must be Just as fond
of her as ever. She certainly had cost him a lot of money—
she was quite ready to admit that—but then he had plenty
of money, and what did he want to spend it on unless on her?
She turned away from the glass. After all, it was a great
relief to have that wretched business settled. She had got
over the horrible scene which she had been so dreading, and
now life would go smoothly again.
At this point William put his head in at the door and said,
"I'm going out, and I shan't be home till late. I'll sleep
in my dressing-room so as not to disturb you." Then he
went out, and she heard the front door of the flat slam.
Half an hour later there was a ring at the bell, and presently
the maid came in and said that Mr. Knightly was in the
drawing-room and would like to see her.
Flora had been sitting thinking ever since William had


106 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
gone out. Her thoughts had been very moving, but for-
tunately she had not cried again, so that five minutes in her
bedroom would make her quite presentable. At the end of
ten she sailed into her drawing-room and said, "Why, Mr.
Knightly, you're quite a stranger!"
Edward shook hands with her. "Have you heard any
news ?" he asked, and told her of his engagement to Barbara.
Flora was greatly surprised. "Well, you haven't been
long in fixing it up," she said. "I'm sure I congratulate you
most heartily. And as for dear Barbara—well, I think she
is a very lucky girl. Oh, Mr. Knightly, you will be kind to
her, won't you?"
Edward said that he would, rather alarmed at the almost
tearful voice in which she had addressed him, with her hands
clasped and an expression of earnest pleading on her face.
"A woman takes such risks when she trusts herself to the
keeping of a man," Flora went on. "She wants so little.
Just a little love and a little kindness, and then she is as
happy as if she were in heaven. But so few women get that
little. Men are very cruel."
"Oh, come now, Mrs. William, you've no reason to com-
plain," said Edward, who thought Flora an affected minx,
and was anxious to give her no opportunity of trying her
airs and graces on him. "I'm sure you get all the kindness
you can want from your husband."
Flora determined on the spur of the moment to confide
in him. He was a man, and a young man, and a good-looking
young man, and he was going to be a sort of relation—a
nephew, in fact, although that was really too ridiculous.
Why, anybody seeing them together would have said that
she was the younger of the two.
She fixed her eyes upon him with a solemn, martyred look.
"Mr. Knightly," she said, "you have seen me putting on a
brave face before the world. You may have thought that
my life was completely happy, that I had nothing to hide.
What would you say if I were to tell you that I was wearing
a mask all the time?"
"Why, I should say that it was an uncommonly natural
and good-looking mask," said Edward, outwardly Jovial,
but inwardly greatly perturbed at the turn the conversation
was taking.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 107
"Ah, you may Jest," said Flora, rather pleased with the
compliment, "but it is no Jesting matter. Mr. Knightly,
I am a miserable woman. My husband no longer loves me.
I have tried to hide it from the world, but I can do so no
more. He leaves me constantly to myself. How he spends
his time I do not know, but he is frequently away from me
for days and nights at a time. He says he must go away on
business, but he never tells me what his business is, and I
dare not ask him."
"Oh, well," said Edward, becoming more and more un-
comfortable, "if he says he goes away on business I should
believe him, you know. He wouldn't want to stay away
from you if he didn't have to, I'm quite sure."
Flora leaned forward and looked into his eyes. She was
really enJoying herself very much. "Mr. Knightly," she
said, "does the business of a stockbroker in London take
him constantly to Paris?"
"I don't know, Mrs. William," said Edward. "I dare
say it does. Why?"
"William used occasionally to take me to Paris. But he
has gone there three times within the last month or two
entirely by himself."
"Has he?"
"Three times to my certain knowledge. How many
times he has been without telling me I can only conJecture.
Can you be surprised if I ask myself whether he does go
entirely by himself?"
"I thought you said he did, Just now."
"He says he does, of course. He says he goes on business.
But the fact is that I know nothing about his movements
at all. Why, when we were staying at the farm, after that
awful business, and before poor John was—was taken away,
he said he must come up to London for a couple of nights,
and I know for a fact that he went no nearer to London than
Grassford, and from there he took a train to Ridstone and
crossed over to France, and came back the same way without
ever going to London at all."
"What!"
Flora had made an impression. Edward was staring at
her with blank incredulity. "I found it out," she said—
"never mind how—and I taxed him with it, and he didn't


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 109
me? I don't undertake to keep anything you have told me
to myself."
This was appalling. Flora felt no resentment at all towards
her husband for his Journeys to France or anywhere else.
She had not supposed for a moment that he had gone away
for any purpose that he would want to hide from her, and she
did not suppose it now. If it were to come to his ears that
she had talked about them to Edward Knightly in the way she
had, he would be very angry with her, and could easily retort
on her for certain actions showing great independence of her
own.
Now she began to hedge. "I dare say it's all right, really,"
she said. "Only sometimes sitting alone, one gets brooding
over things and distresses oneself unnecessarily. It has been
a relief to me to unburden myself to you, Mr. Knightly. I
am a very reserved woman and keep things too much to
myself."
Edward knew Flora to have about as much power of re-
serve as a cistern with a tap left running. "Then why didn't
you keep all this to yourself if you didn't want it known?"
he asked her.
He had taken it so seriously that Flora was immensely
flattered. He must have great admiration for her if the tale
of her wrongs could move him so much. At the same time
she was terrified lest he should constitute himself her cham-
pion and disclose her tale-bearing to William's relatives.
"Don't think anything more about it, Mr. Knightly,"
she said. "The relief at having told my troubles to a sym-
pathetic friend is all I want. I shall be much happier now,
and if sometimes I can tell you of my little troubles it will
help me to bear them better."
This was altogether too much for Edward. He rose from
his seat hurriedly. "I don't want you to tell me anything
more at all," he said. "Why should you choose me for a
confidant? Good-bye," and he held out his hand.
Flora saw that something had gone wrong. His disturb-
ance of manner was not such as could make even her, with
all her vanity, continue to believe that it arose out of deep
sympathy with her in her trials. She now began to get
really frightened.
"What makes you take it like that?" she asked. "I


110 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
have made too much of it. William and I are very good
friends and quite understand one another. You are not
coming between us, are you?"
"You have told me the truth about these Journeys to
France ?" he asked, fixing her with a penetrating look. She
had risen when he did.
"Of course I have told you the truth," she said. "Bub
I made too much fuss about it. I have had a fit of the blues,
and William and I have had the least little bit of a quarrel
over some bills of mine. That's all. He is devoted to me,
and would never look at another woman if I were by."
Edward turned away his head. "I'm glad of that, for
your sake," he said coldly. "Well, I must be going. Good-
bye, Mrs. Clayton."
She shook hands with him. "Then you won't tell Barbara
or John about my foolish confidences, will you T " she pleaded.
"I can't make any promises," he said, and went out of
the room.
Edward walked back to his club, where he was staying.
What Flora had told him had confounded him beyond
measure. But for that conversation with Mr. Chinnering,
earlier in the day, he might not have thought anything of
it, and simply been relieved at getting away from Flora and
her foolish, unwelcome confidences.
But to hear of William's having announced that he was
going to London, of his having changed his mind in the train
between Rede and Grassford, and then gone off to France,
and, above all, of his having gone off there on the very day
that Emma Slade had gone—the coincidences were startling.
His brain was in a tumult. Flora had given him a great
deal more to think about than she had any idea of.
CHAPTER XVIII
"PDWARD took the eight o'clock train to Rede. He had
meant to stay in London at least for that night, but
Flora Clayton had given him so much to think about that
he felt he must get away by himself.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 111
He settled himself in a corner of a first-class smoking
carriage, and gave the guard a big tip to keep other passengers
out, and when the train had rolled away from the terminus
he set himself to face this new light that had come to him.
He had the utmost difficulty in bringing his mind to bear
on it. He had known William Clayton all his life. It was
more difficult to think of him as the murderer of a little child
than to think of John Clayton as the murderer. The one
was a moody, secretive, uncompanionable man, the other
cheery, open-hearted, popular with everybody. It seemed
inconceivable that he should have committed such a crime,
and afterwards, with the guilty knowledge on his soul, have
played the part he had. He remembered how in the early
days, before the child's body had been found, it was William
who had kept up the spirits of everybody at Redmarsh Farm;
how kind he had been to Barbara, who had constantly asked
for him when she was lying ill and in such deep trouble; how
helpful he had been in everything that had to be done. Surely
no man living under the imminent threat of discovery for
days and even weeks could have borne himself like that t
He must have broken down somewhere, and drawn suspicion
on himself!
He thought of him at the trial, frank and straightforward
with his answers—not afraid even to take blame on himself
if he could avert it from his brother, never failing in his con-
fidence that John would get off. And yet—if it was he who
had led the child to his death in Rede Castle, he must all
the time have been in overmastering fear lest suddenly the
accusation of guilt should be removed from the prisoner and
fastened on to him.
Edward remembered a little scene among the witnesses
hanging about outside the court. William had gone up to
Kingston after he had given his evidence and was apparently
in a deep state of depression. "How on earth could you say
you recognised a man at that distance ?" he had asked him.
Why, you couldn't tell me and my brother apart as far
as that. Are you sure it wasn't me you saw, now?"
Kingston had laughed nervously. "I can't be sure of
anything much," he said. "But I can be sure it wasn't you,
anyhow."
William had turned his back on him. "Fancy trying to


112 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
swear a man's life away like that!" he had exclaimed con-
temptuously.
Edward asked himself whether anybody could have had
the nerve to carry through that little scene if he had really
been the guilty party.
Again and again, when he went through his memories and
what had happened, he was brought up by the impossibility
of William's behaving as he had done, if he was really the
Kuurderer of his little nephew.

d yet—he was the only person who would benefit by
*ie child's death. And there was that extraordinary collec-
tion of coincidences—of his going over to France on the same
evening as Emma Slade had gone, of her continued dis-
appearance, and his frequent visits afterwards. The end of
all his cogitations was that that must be explained, and until
it was William must remain under suspicion.
Then came the question of how Barbara would take it.
He must tell her. That was their compact. Both of them
were to tell each other everything, and they were to work
together. He knew that she would find it still more difficult
than he had to believe in the possibility of her uncle's guilt.
Still, he would have to tell her what he had discovered, and
as soon as possible. He would go down to the farm and tell
her the next morning. And for the present that was all he
could decide.
He reached home late that night; his mother had gone
to bed. Early the next morning he went down to Redmarsh
Farm.
He was shown into the dining-room, and Barbara came
in to him almost directly. She came in almost shyly. They
were lovers, and she had hardly got used to it yet. But her
eyes were bright, and what he saw in them satisfied him,
although for greeting he only gave her one kiss, holding both
her hands in his.
"You have come back very soon," she said. "Have you
found out anything?"
Then he told her, sitting with her by the window, and she
heard him with ever-increasing surprise and incredulity.
"Oh, Edward!" she exclaimed, when he had finished.
14 You can't think it of Uncle William! It's impossible."
"So it seems," he said, "but one must follow up every


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 118
clue, wherever it points to. My dear, I've been thinking of
it ever since. I can't believe it, any more than you can.
But what I say is that these striking coincidences must be
cleared up before we go any further. Don't you agree with
me? If they are only coincidences and there is nothing in
them, then we must try and pick up a clue elsewhere. But
we can't ignore them."
Barbara was thoughtful. "Aunt Flora is not a very reliable
person," she said unwillingly. "Why should she have chosen
to tell you, who don't know her very well, these things against
Uncle William? Ought you to believe them all?"
"I shouldn't be disposed to believe much that she might
say against him," said Edward. "I gathered that they had
had some sort of a tiff, and I suppose she was in the mood
to tell anybody who happened to come in and she thought
might sympathise with her, that she was an ill-used woman.
But, you see, Barbara, the things she told me that I have
told you—things that are important to us—meant nothing
to her. She wouldn't have any reason to tell them if they
weren't true. Did you know that William had been over
to France on the day it all happened? Did he say he was
going?"
"No. He was going back to London."
"Well, there, you see! That was something he was keeping
to himself. And this girl, Emma Slade, went over that even-
ing. It's too serious to ignore, isn't it?"
"There must be some explanation of it."
"Then we must get at it. He didn't go by the same train
from here as she did. But he might have Joined her at Grass-
ford. What train did he go by?"
"He didn't go by train at all. He had his motor-car."
"Oh!" This was an entirely new light. "I didn't know
that," said Edward. "That would have made it still easiei
for him. Had he a chauffeur with him?"
"No, he was driving himself. He always does."
"Then if he went over to France that evening, either with
or without her, he must have left his car somewhere—prob-
ably in Grassford, and we ought to be able to find out where.
That's the next thing to be done. I think I must see Chin-
nering as to that."
"Oh, Edward, don't tell that man," pleaded Barbara.


114 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"I'm sure there's some explanation of all this. Haven't we
had a lesson of how quite natural actions may look suspicious?
See what a dreadful mistake we have made already. Ask
Uncle William himself."
Edward was unwilling to do that. "Supposing he is in-
volved in it," he said. "It would be putting him on his
guard, and he certainly wouldn't tell us the truth."
He left Barbara half an hour later somewhat deJected.
He had persuaded her that it was necessary that he should
follow out this clue, but supposing it led to anything, how
would they be better off? They were on the brink of troubled
waters.
Before he reached home he had almost made up his mind
that it was for Barbara's happiness that they should both
keep silence about what they had discussed.
But something happened that afternoon that made him
change his mind when he heard of it.
Barbara was sitting with Mrs. Barrow in the old house-
keeper's own cosy little room which looked out on to the
lawn. She had been trying to say something for a long
time, but Mrs. Barrow would not let her. She had made
up her mind that all details of the tragedy had better be
forgotten. She would talk for the hour about little Tony
in the soothing way that a tender-hearted woman knew how
to use so as to keep loving and happy memories alive; but
she would not, if she could help it, talk of hiS death or of what
had happened since.
She and Barbara had been talking thus of the child for a
long time, and reminding one another of his dear little ways,
the old lady, with her spectacles on her nose and her fingers
busy with her needlework, speaking quite naturally, and
as if little Tony had only left home for a short time and were
coming back again; and Barbara, her hands lying idle and
looking sometimes out of the window and sometimes at her
old nurse, had tried to get her to say something about the
poor little dead body which she herself had prepared for its
burial.
At last she said, " I want you to tell me something. Where
are the clothes he had on when they found him?
"Oh, dearie, don't think about that," said the old lady.
"Think of him happy and playing about the house."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 115
"I do think about that," said Barbara. "But I want to
know. I was looking over his clothes yesterday. You didn't
put back those he was wearing. What have you done with
them?"
Mrs. Barrow had to be pressed before she said that the
child's body had only been dressed in the little flannel shirt,
and Barbara was silent for some time, conJuring up for her-
self mournful visions.
At last she said, "What did you do with the shirt ?" and
Mrs. Barrow reluctantly told her that she had put it away
with the rest.
"Come and show me which it is," said Barbara, rising,
and the old lady, after some more remonstrances, went up-
stairs with her.
The old oak-floored passages of the upper story seemed to
ramble about aimlessly. In some places they were very
narrow, and at others they opened out into wide spaces,
in most of which were pieces of furniture such as collect in
an old house, out of which nothing is taken for generations
—bookcases with old-fashioned books that nobody ever
read, chairs on which nobody ever sat, presses filled with
household goods that were never wanted and seldom dis-
turbed. But here and there was a cupboard or a chest of
drawers which was used, and Just outside Barbara's room,
in which there was still the wooden cot that little Tony had
slept in, there was a "tall-boy" chest of drawers, in which
she had kept his clothes.
She took out and laid on the table underneath the window
a pile of tiny shirts, and said to Mrs. Barrow, "Show me
which one it is, if you know." But immediately she picked
it out for herself, for it was hard and slightly discoloured by
the salt water of the tidal river. "Is this it?" she said.
"Poor darling little Tony!"
The two women shed tears over the tiny, pathetio garment,
as Barbara turned it over in her hands.
Suddenly she gave a start. "This isn't the shirt he was
wearing," she said, looking at Mrs. Barrow with frightened eyes.
"Yes, dearie, it must be," said the old lady.
"But I tell you it isn't," she said vehemently. "This is
one of his old ones that I gave away long ago. It is smaller,
and I marked them differently. See here."


116 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
She showed the mark, done in red cross-stitch, and a mark
on one of the others, in the same stitch, but with smaller
letters.
Mrs. Barrow looked at her with doubt in her eyes.
With hands that shook, Barbara turned over the pile of
little garments and counted them. There were twelve,
including the one found on the child's body.
"You see !" she said to Mrs. Barrow. "The one he wore
is still missing."
"But he must have worn that old one, dearie," said the
old woman. "It was found on him. You must have put it
on by mistake."
"I didn't. I didn't," cried Barbara. "Can't you see?
If I had done so there would be twelve of the others here.
Besides, I gave them all away."
"Who did you give them to?"
Barbara changed colour as she called on her memory. "I
gave six of them to Emma—Emma Slade," she said.
Whatever hope, glint of hope, may have sprung up in her
breast died away again and she burst into tears.
"There, dearie, don't take on," said her old nurse. "It's
all part of the dreadful mystery that's best left alone; for
nothing will bring him back, poor little soul. If they took
off his other clothes, it's likely they would have taken off his
little shirt too, and if they had an old one they might have
put that on him."
Barbara was not listening to her. "I gave six to Mrs.
Toogood for her child," she said, "and six to Emma for her
little brother. Oh, how can she have been so wicked! It
is she who did it."
"No, dear," said the old woman. "She can't have done
it. She was in the house when it was done, and we know
where she was all the time until she went off by the train.
It can't have been her as done it. Besides, wicked as she
was, she would never have done it, or had any part in it.
She loved little Master Tony. There's no doubt about that.
She loved all little young things. It was the good point about
her."
"Then why do you say she was wicked? She was wicked
and she had some part in it. This proves it. Where is
father 1" she cried. "I must tell him."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 117
John Clayton would not at first believe that she had dis-
covered anything. She beat it into him by the vehemence
of her certainty. There was no doubt. She had always given
away the child's old clothes when she had bought or made
him new ones. She remembered perfectly giving away these
little shirts—six to the wife of the carter who had been dis-
missed, six to Emma Slade. Besides, there was one missing
out of the twelve new ones. That could only have been the
one he had worn on the day he disappeared. And, again,
what had become of the other clothes he had worn?
He could only say that he did not understand it. He would
not say that Tony might still be alive. He had seen him
dead.
"But, father, dear," she pleaded. "Are you sure it was
he? Could you tell?"
She had never been told that the child's body was in such
a state that it was unrecognisable. But she had been given
a lock of the hair, which she always wore about her.
A momentary doubt flitted across John Clayton's mind.
He had identified the body as that of his child because of its
age and size, of the colour of the hair, and because of this
little shirt. I f the shirt was not the one the child had worn
on that day a great part of the certainty disappeared. But
the doubt went as soon as it had come. How could the body
they had found be any other than that of Tony? It was
unbelievable.
"My dear," he said kindly, "don't give yourself false
hopes. It was poor little Tony they found. This is a matter
that can be cleared up, perhaps. I will go and see Mrs.
Slade."
Barbara took out of her dress an old-fashioned gold locket
in which was coiled a lock of fair hair. She looked at it
doubtfully. "I'm sure this isn't Tony's hair," she said.
"It is darker. Oh, father!"
"My dear !" he said again, expostulating with her. "Have
you had any doubt of its being his before?"
She held it out to Mrs. Barrow. "Isn't it darker," she
said, "and coarser?"
Mrs. Barrow thought it was Tony's hair. "The water
would have made it dark and rough," she said.
But Barbara would not be convinced, and she pressed hei


118 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
father to tell her whether he was really sure that he had
recognised Tony. "His dear little face, I mean," she said.
"You couldn't have mistaken that."
Then he told her the truth. It had been impossible to
recognise him. And she was more than ever convinced that
the hair was not Tony's hair. And yet she put it back ten-
derly in the locket, and put the locket back inside her dress.
"Oh, I don't know what to think," she cried.
John Clayton rode over to Selfriston to see Mrs. Slade,
Emma's mother. He sat on his tall horse outside her cottage
gate and called out to her. She came down the garden path
with a little boy clinging to her skirts, a little boy about the
age of Tony, who must have been the one for whom Barbara
had given Emma the shirts.
"I came to ask you," said John Clayton, "about some
little shirts that Miss Clayton gave to your daughter a few
months ago for one of your children."
Mrs. Slade stood on the defensive with her stout arms
beneath her apron. "She brought me five," she said, "and
no more, and if you'll wait a minute I'll bring 'em down and
show you."
"Did your daughter tell you what she did with the other
one? Miss Clayton gave her six."
It was immensely difficult to get a direct answer out of
Mrs. Slade. But presently John Clayton rode away again
with information he wanted. Emma had given her mother
five of the little shirts. She had said nothing about a sixth.
So there was another extraordinary puzzle to put beside
those to which no answer seemed to be forthcoming. Bar-
bara, John Clayton, and Edward Knightly talked it over,
and could make nothing of it. The little shirts had been
given to Emma in March or April. What had she done with
the one she had kept back? How did it come to be on the
body of the child found in the river, whether it was Tony or
another child? No conJecture helped them in the least.
As for the body not being that of Tony—even Barbara was
forced at last to admit that there was nothing to build such
a hope on. Still, the hope clung to her, and now there waa
nothing to prevent Edward following up any clue that he
might come across, even that which seemed to point to
William Clayton's complicity. If there was the least little


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSII FARM 110
glimmer of hope that his investigations might end not in the
discovery of a murderer, but in the discovery of little Tony,
alive and well, then let him miss no opportunity of finding
out the truth, whoever was concerned in it.
Edward left her with a lighter mind, although he had little
enough hope himself. But they had not told John Clayton
what they had found out about William, and had decided
not to do so.
ADY CHARLOTTE had invited Mrs. Mannering to tea.
'She wanted to talk to her, and Mrs. Mannering was only
too glad to come. She had dined at the Hall the night before
with her two daughters, and although Edward had not talked
to Miss Enid or Miss Muriel more than he could possibly help,
she had an idea in her head that Lady Charlotte would have
been pleased if he had done so. Was it possible that she was
now really anxious to make up a match between her son and
one of Mrs. Mannering's daughters? There was nothing
really to show it, but when people receive a summons of the
sort that Mrs. Mannering had received, they sometimes
allow themselves to build castles in the air, and that was the
particular castle that Mrs. Mannering was erecting in her
mind as she walked through the village and up the drive of
Cliffthorpe Hall.
It was a lovely afternoon in late September, very hot for
the time of year, and the two ladies had tea on the lawn
under the big cedar.
Lady Charlotte was quite cordial to her guest, which made
Mrs. Mannering wriggle with gratitude, for Lady Charlotte
was not always cordial to her. Sometimes she wore the air
of not being able to do with her at all. But Mrs. Mannering
was of a forgiving nature, and was always ready to come up
and be patronised again when the cloud of indifference had
passed away.
It really seemed as if Mrs. Mannering's castle in the air
rested on some sort of foundation, for when Lady Charlotte
CHAPTER XIX


120 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
had supplied her bodily wants she immediately began to talk
of her son.
"I don't know whether you have heard any rumour,"
she said, "of Edward's extraordinary infatuation for that
Barbara Clayton?"
Mrs. Mannering had heard, like everybody else in the
place, that Edward was engaged to be married to "that
Barbara Clayton," but she said, " It is probably only a pass-
ing infatuation, Lady Charlotte. The girl has a certain kind
of common good looks, and young men are apt to be attracted
by that sort of thing."
"Oh, the girl is pretty enough," said Lady Charlotte.
"I've no fault to find with her looks, and I shouldn't call
them common, either. I don't think Edward would be
attracted by a common person."
Mrs. Mannering made haste to retrieve her mistake. "Well,
perhaps common is hardly the word," she said, "and, of
course, until those dreadful things happened at Redmarsh
Farm, I allowed my girls to associate with her. I can't say
she ever did them any harm; no, I can't say that. At the
same time, I was not altogether sorry when circumstances
made it necessary to break off the connection. The girl was
well-behaved on the outside, but she was sly. Not common,
perhaps, but sly. Oh, Lady Charlotte, I am sure she is sly."
Lady Charlotte accepted sly. "Perhaps she is," she said.
"In fact, I think she must be, or she would not have caught
Edward Just at this time. Of course, he was sorry for her.
He has always been about the farm a good deal ever since
he was a boy, and it is quite natural that he should be sorry
for her. I don't blame him for that in the least. But you
would think that she, at any rate, would have other things
to think of, after all that has happened. But I suppose she
saw her chance, and made up to him Just at the right time."
"That is it, no doubt," said Mrs. Mannering. "And if
I were you, Lady Charlotte, I should stop it at once."
Lady Charlotte did not say that she had done her best to
stop it, and failed. She gave Mrs. Mannering to understand
that she was looking about for the best way to stop it.
Now was the time to put in a word for Enid or MurieL
Mrs. Mannering didn't care which of them it was. She was
ready to let Lady Charlotte take her pick. "I think," she


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 121
said, "the best way to stop it would be to throw him in the
way of other girls—nice girls, I mean; and to show him
that Barbara Clayton is really—er—nothing much, after all."
"I have thought that myself," said Lady Charlotte, " and
that was the reason why I asked you to bring your own girls
to dine last night. Of course I had hoped that with his con-
nections Edward would have made a good marriage. He
might have done so quite easily, but he seems to prefer
staying here on his property to going about where he can
meet people, and I should be quite contented now if he were
to marry any nice, well-brought-up girl whom I knew some-
thing about."
Mrs. Mannering almost wriggled off her garden chair with
gratification. She didn't in the least mind Lady Charlotte
not regarding a match between Edward and one of her
daughters as a "good marriage." It would be good beyond
expectation on her side. "I'm sure," she said, "that such
a thing has never so much as entered my head. It is true
that I have brought up my girls well, but I should never have
allowed them to—well, to go on in the way that Barbara
Clayton has been allowed to go on. I have never allowed
them to think about men in that way at all; but perhaps
it is to be hardly wondered at that so attractive a young
man as Edward should have made some impression on them,
and it was only the other day that I found Enid in tears,
and when I asked her what she was crying about she wouldn't
tell me at first."
Mrs. Mannering was so anxious to get it all out that she
had talked herself to a momentary standstill, and had to
pause to take breath.
"Well, what was she crying about ?" asked Lady Char-
lotte.
"I got it out of her at last. It was because news of Edward's
engagement had reached her. She sobbed on my shoulder
and said, 'Oh, mother, what a dreadful thing for him to
marry a girl like that! And what a terrible blow it will be
for Lady Charlotte.'"
Some people might have suspected Mrs. Mannering of
drawing on her imagination for this story; but not Lady
Charlotte. The thoughtful reverence to herself pleased her.
"Enid is a girl with very nice feeling," she said. "I think


122 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
I should be perfectly satisfied if Edward were to settle down
in life with a girl like that at his side."
So it was to be Enid! Mrs. Mannering was quite content.
Enid was the eldest and Muriel could wait. "I'm sure,"
she said, " that such an arrangement would fulfil my dearest
hopes. Of course, I don't know what Enid's actual feelings
are towards Edward, and wild horses wouldn't drag them
from her unless she thought there was some chance of their
being reciprocated. But I was looking at them both together
last night, and it did cross my mind, Lady Charlotte, that
Edward was, perhaps, Just a little taken with her. Have you
thought the same?"
"I can't say I have," said Lady Charlotte, uncompromis-
ingly. "But there's no reason why he shouldn't be, if she
plays her cards properly."
This was not quite so delicate as Mrs. Mannering could
have wished, but it was not for her to complain. "She would
always be nice to him," she said.
"Well, we've got to get him off with the old love before we
get him on with the new," said Lady Charlotte. "And I must
think out a way of doing that. I assure you, Mrs. Mannering,
I am so horrified at the idea of a son of mine marrying that
girl that I shall stick at nothing to break it off if I possibly
can. You and I must put our heads together and think out
a plan."
So they put their heads together under the cedar tree for
another half-hour, and when Mrs. Mannering went away
they had thought out a plan.
CHAPTER XX
"T WISH you would write to Flora and ask her and William
to come down for the week-end," John Clayton said
to Barbara. "I can't think why William hasn't been here.
I haven't even heard from him since they got back from
their holiday."
They were at breakfast together. Barbara looked away,
out of the window. She was not quite sure that she wanted


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 128
to see her Uncle William at Redmarsh Farm Just at present.
But she reflected that she could not avoid seeing him some
time, so she said that she would write.
John Clayton went on eating his breakfast in silence for
a time. Then he said, "William was very good at the tima
of all our trouble. I shall never forget it. But what I'm
afraid of is that it may have weighed on his mind so much
that it has made this place seem different to him."
"I don't think so, father," said Barbara. "He has always
loved Redmarsh Farm and liked being here."
"I know. He has always come down here about this time
after he's had his holiday abroad, and he has always said
it was the best part of his holiday. But this year he has never
even suggested coming. That's what worries me."
"He may be very busy in London."
"I dare say. I hope he will come. I like to have him
here. It reminds me of my boyhood."
"Dear father," she said, "I'm sure Uncle William likes
being with you as much as you like having him. I will write
to Aunt Flora, and why don't you send a line to Uncle William
at the same time?"
He thought he would do that. "I don't want to worry
him, though, if he doesn't care to come," he said.
It was rather pathetic—this dependence of the elder
brother on the younger. Barbara understood it very well.
He was resolutely ignoring all the coldness and suspicion
with which he was surrounded. But it had its effect on his
mind. Anyone who now seemed to be less willing than before
to be with him, he would suspect of being influenced by it.
And especially his brother, who was the friend he liked best
to have with him.
A wire came from William the next day to say that he and
Flora would be at the farm on Saturday afternoon. He had
to be in the City on Saturday morning.
On Sunday morning Flora and Barbara went to church.
Flora was very beautifully dressed—rather too much so for
the country. But she liked to show her fine feathers when
she visited at Redmarsh Farm. She wanted to show that,
although her brother-in-law was a farmer, she herself was
a lady of the highest fashion and as good as anybody; and
if she had any chance of bringing her cousin, the baronet,


124 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
into the conversation when she met any of the people about
Cliffthorpe, she always did so.
Cliffthorpe was an old, spacious church, with a great deal
more room in it than the somewhat sparse number of
parishioners could ever fill. It had been very little restored.
Its old, high-backed pews, its plain, latticed windows, and
its oak Jacobean altar-table, were great eyesores to some,
but to others they seemed from their age and the influences
of the past that hung round them, to be more in keeping
with the still older memorials of the past—the recumbent
figures on the chancel tombs, the Saxon font, the heavy
Norman arches—than if they had all been swept away, and
something more ecclesiastically correct had been put in their
place.
On one side of the choir was the pew that belonged to
Cliffthorpe Hall, and on the other that which had always
gone with Redmarsh Farm. This pew was the Claytons'
freehold, and when a former vicar had wanted to do away
with it and put up oak choirstalls in its place and in that of
the Cliffthorpe pew, John Clayton's father had refused his
permission, although Squire Knightly had said that he had
no obJection.
Mrs. Mannering had to content herself with a seat in the
body of the church, and it always now annoyed her exces-
sively to see Barbara taking her place in the choir, as if she
were of more importance—she, the daughter of a farmer—
than Mrs. Mannering herself, whose husband had been an
officer in the Army. In fact, for all the good that Mrs.
Mannering got from going to church, which she always did
regularly on Sunday mornings, she might Just as well have
stayed away. The ancient place, where for centuries the
voices of prayer and praise had gone up Sunday by Sunday,
and in which men and women long since dead had gathered
together to forget for a time the work and the cares in which
they spent their lives, had no message of solace or peace for
her. She brought her selfish, spiteful thoughts with her
into the church, and although she made a great parade of
devotion there was no moment in which she was free of
them.
When they went out of church after the service Flora said,
"* Oh, I must speak to Lady Charlotte," and hung back aa


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 125
they went along the churchyard path. Barbara did not
want to speak to Lady Charlotte and walked on. But she
could not leave her aunt behind altogether, so she had to
wait outside the gate.
When they came up Lady Charlotte gave her a cold bow,
and Edward shook hands with her.
"Lady Charlotte has kindly asked me to luncheon, Bar-
bara," said Flora. "I will make my own way down some
time in the afternoon."
Edward looked surprised, hardly so much at his mother
asking Flora to lunch and not asking Barbara, as at Flora's
accepting such an invitation. But the arrangement suited
him very well. "I will take you home, then," he said to
Barbara, and they walked away together.
Edward had been to London again, and had returned the
evening before. He had not known that William and Flora
were at Redmarsh Farm, and asked Barbara about them.
She told him that her father had wanted to see William,
and then there was an awkward pause.
"How does he strike you?" Edward asked abruptly.
"Oh, Edward," she said, "when you see him it is impos-
sible to think of his having had anything to do with it. I
feel ashamed of our talking about him as we did."
Edward was silent. It was difficult in face of this to tell
her that Mr. Chinnering had thought his discovery an impor-
tant one, and that he had practically admitted that he had
had his suspicions of. William ever since he had convinced
himself that John Clayton could not be the criminal.
But he had to tell her, for she said to him: "I suppose
you saw that man?" She had never got over her dislike of the
detective.
"Yes," said Edward, and then was silent again.
Of course she understood his silence. "Don't mind telling
me," she said. "I know you hate it all as much as I do,
and wouldn't give me pain if you could help it."
There was no one now in sight. Edward took her hand
and imprisoned it under his arm. She was so sweet in all
her ways with him. He felt uncomfortably that they were
going to differ, and perhaps she felt it too. But she would
never lose sight of the fact that whatever he thought it right
to do he was doing for her sake.


126 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"He thinks we ought to follow it up," he said.
"I thought he would say that. He doesn't know Uncle
William. He would take hold of anything suspicious against
him Just as he did with father. So would I if I thought it
was in the least possible that he can have been concerned
in it. But I can't feel that when I am with Uncle William.
It seems too preposterous, and it makes me feel horrid to be
having those thoughts about him when he is so kind."
"Has he said anything about it all? I suppose you told
him about the clothes?"
"Father did. He Just alluded to it in the kindest way.
He said he couldn't understand it at all, but he didn't
want me to pin any hopes on it. I wish I could, Edward.
I did think at first that there might be some hope, but I
daren't go on thinking it. It would be so dreadful if I did
encourage myself to hope and then found that it was Tony
after all. One must look facts in the face, mustn't one?
How could there be another child so much like him, killed
at the same time, and dressed in something that had be-
longed to him?"
"I think you're right, my dear," Edward said. "I have
been thinking over it, too, and I'm afraid you mustn't en-
courage yourself to hope. What is Mrs. Clayton like?"
"I think she knows you must have told me what she told
you. She has talked to me a great deal about the confidence
that ought to be between husband and wife. She says, of
course, they fall out sometimes, and are apt to grumble
about each other to outsiders, but it doesn't mean any-
thing."
She smiled up in his face, and he looked down at her.
"I don't think we shall grumble about each other to out-
siders," he said. "Well, Barbara, darling, we mustn't
beat about the bush. This business of William Clayton
has got to be cleared up. What was he doing over in France
on that day, when he said he was going up to London?
We must find that out."
"Then let me ask him," she said boldly.
Edward demurred at this. "It would be very foolish
to let him know that suspicion attached to him if there turned
out to be any grounds for it. It would put him on his
guard."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 127
It was here that the disagreement came, but it was far
from being a quarrel. At the end of it Edward said, "Well,
my darling, I think you're wrong, but after all it's for yon
to decide. Ask him, and watch his face when you do ask
him."
So it was settled. When they reached the first gate of
the farm Edward said good-bye.
"But you'll come to dinner, won't you ?" Barbara said.
"If Lady Charlotte has taken off Aunt Flora she can spare
you."
He took her little chin between his thumb and finger.
"It's hard enough to tear myself away from you, my pretty
Barbara," he said. "But the fact is I can't meet your Uncle
William."
A shadow passed over her face. "You have been in-
fluenced against him by that man," she said.
"No, it isn't that," he said. "But I haven't made up
my mind about him. Until I do I don't want to meet him
as a friend."
"If you were to see him and talk to him you would be
Just as certain as I am."
"That's Just what I don't want to be. I want to keep
an open mind."
So they parted, unwillingly on both sides. As Edward
walked back home, he told himself that he had made a
mistake in undertaking to tell everything to Barbara. She
was a woman; she was guided by her feelings, and in a case
of this sort you must put your feelings behind you. He
wouldn't have had her different. He loved her for the loyalty
that made it impossible for her to think evil of those near to
her. But, certainly, it would hamper him in what he was
trying to do for her, if she was going to make up her mind
like this beforehand. And he knew that clear-sighted Mr.
Chinnering would hold certain things back from him because
of Barbara.
He thought he had already held something back. When
Edward had told him what he had learned of William's
movements, he said at once, "If he took her over there,
or Joined her over there, and has been over once or twice
since "and then he had broken off.
Edward had said : "You could track her down if he went


128 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
over to see her again," and Mr. Chhinering had replied:
"Oh, yea, you might; but I don't know that we can put
our men to do that."
Edward had a shrewd suspicion that he fully intended
to put on men not only to do that, but to watch William's
movements, and that he had broken of! from telling him so,
because he did not want his plans known.
He began to have a feeling that it might be better for him
to work apart from Barbara if he was to do anything effective,
tout the idea only brought him discomfort.
He found Flora in a gay and talkative mood. She was
regaling Lady Charlotte with London gossip, which that
lady took in good part, although she was not, in truth,
very much interested in it, for Flora's world was not hers,
and women of Lady Charlotte's sort only like gossip when
it is about people they know. If it is about people they
don't want to know they call it scandal.
She had said what she wanted to say to Flora before
Edward's return. She had told her that Edward had only
proposed to Barbara because he was so sorry for her. It
was a chivalrous thing to do, but it was a very unhappy
one, because she suspected him of a previous attachment to
another girl—a very nice girl, called Enid Mannering, whom
Flora might have met.
Flora said, Oh, yes, she had met her, and was surprised
to hear what Lady Charlotte said, because she didn't think
Enid Mannering was nearly so pretty as Barbara.
"I don't know that she is," said Lady Charlotte hand-
somely. "Barbara is a very pretty girl, no doubt, and a
very nice one, and I, for my part, should not obJect to the
marriage if I thought it was for Edward's happiness. But
I do not like to think of him—to say nothing of the girl—
sacrificing himself out of a mistaken sense of duty. He tells
me that he has actually undertaken to investigate the un-
fortunate occurrences that have taken place at Redmarsh
Farm, and of course that will upset his life, and he cannot
possibly expect to be successful when the police have failed
so completely. I call it the maddest thing. But Edward
was always like that—hot-headed and not amenable to
reason."
w Of course," Flora said. "Barbara would not want


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 129
to hold him to such a bargain if she knew he loved somebody
else."
"She doesn't know it," said Lady Charlotte. "Can't you
teU her?"
Flora hesitated. After all, why should she try to spoil
a marriage which would give her another connection that
she might be proud of?
Lady Charlotte understood this perfectly, but she had
taken Flora's measure. "You and I," she said, "belong t<.
a different world. If Barbara Clayton had been your daugh-
ter, now, it would have been different."
Flora was flattered. "I'll tell her," she said.
"Do," said Lady Charlotte, "and then come and tell
me what she says. Perhaps you and your husband will
come and dine here one night. It is always a pleasure to
see someone from the great world. We live such very quit t
lives down here."
So Flora went over to the enemy's camp. She had no
feeling of dislike to Barbara, but she was hardly capable of
genuine affection for anybody, and it did not disturb hei
at all to think that she had undertaken an errand which
would destroy Barbara's happiness. As for Edward, she
owed him a grudge for refusing to keep her foolish disclosures
about William to himself. She didn't want him and Barbara
to bo discussing her and her affairs. Her indiscretion might
get round to her husband. On the whole she was not sorry
to have an opportunity of parting them. This counted for
more in her agreement with Lady Charlotte, even than that
lady's gratifying confidence in her.
She made herself as charming over the luncheon-table as
she knew how to Edward, who was little aware of what she
had it in her mind to Bay about him to the girl he loved.
CHAPTER XXI
SUNDAY on a farm seems to be more Sunday than
anywhere else. On weekdays there is always so much
going on that the unwonted peace that falls on yards and


180 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
barns and fields, when nothing is done but what has to be
done, is deeper than the peace that falls elsewhere. Even
the animals seem to know that there has come a pause in
the work that goes on around them, and wear a different
William Clayton, when he was at Redmarsh Farm, fell
in with the habits of the place and took a nap after dinner,
like his brother. But he was too active in mind and body
to think about spending more than a short time sleeping
when the sun was shining out of doors, as it was on this
fine autumn afternoon, and presently he came into the
drawing-room and asked Barbara to go for a walk with
him.
Barbara was ready enough to do so. She had to put her
difficult question to her uncle, and she felt she could do so
better out of doors, when they were alone together.
"Let us go down to the shore and throw pebbles into the
sea," said William, when they had started. So they went
across the marsh and then over the shingle and came to
the sea, spread out in front of them in one smooth, shining
expanse.
The beach was deserted. There was no one in sight at
alL The smoke from Rede Harbour showed a haze in the
clear sky, but the houses themselves were hidden by a bend
of the shore. There were only the gulls wheeling over their
heads, with their mournful cry, the sea-swallows darting
here and there, and the sails of the ships looking as if they
were stationary far out on the water.
William was in the pleasant, lightsome mood that was
usual with him. Barbara stole a glance at him as he sat
on the shingle and threw pebbles into the sea, according to
his programme. It was difficult to think of his having a
care in the world or a single little smear on his conscience.
It was almost impossible to think of his hugging a secret
crime, and one so cruel and cowardly that, if he were guilty
of it, would make her shrink in horror from sitting here
beside him.
"Uncle William," she said, "when you went away from
here on the morning that Tony was lost where did you go
Her eyes were on his face, which was half averted from

to?


182 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
tale of my movements. And now tell me why they are of
euch interest to you."
Barbara was covered with confusion, and a spurt of in-
dignation came over her against foolish unreliable Aunt
Flora, who was responsible for her being in this situation.
When she had told him everything he was very angry.
The only thing he hadn't been able to get out of her was
the reason why Flora had told Edward anything of his
movements at all, but she saw quite plainly—because he
hadn't pressed her on this point—that he had every in-
tention of getting it out of Flora herself. "I wouldn't
have thought it of Knightly," he said. "If there was any-
thing he wanted to know about me, he should have come
and asked me. I suppose he's told this fellow Chinnering,
eh?"
He was so upset and so vehement that he made her cry.
She was immensely sorry that she had—not suspected him
herself, which she assured him she had never done—but
allowed others to suspect him. "I hate it all," she cried.
"We ought to find out the truth; but when we try it only
lands us in more misery still."
"Of course it does," he said, more gently, "if you work
in that way. Upon my word, it seems to me atrocious that
Edward Knightly should act like that. I'll have it out with
him."
She dried her eyes. "I suppose you must," she said,
in a hopeless sort of voice. "But I do wish you wouldn't.
I could tell him Just as well what you have told me."
He hesitated, and then said slowly, "Would you very
much rather I didn't speak to him about it?"
"fih, Uncle William, if you would only forget it! It
has been an unfortunate mistake, and nothing would be
served by your quarrelling with Edward."
"And I dare say we should quarrel," he said, with a rather
disagreeable laugh. "One doesn't take a thing of that sort
easily."
In the end he promised not to say anything to Edward.
He would leave it to Barbara to tell him of the mistake that
had been made. "Mind," he said, "if he still clings to his
absurd suspicions, you can tell him he can go to Greathampton
and find out for himself. They know me at the Grand Hotel,


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 138
and I'll give you the name and address of the man I saw the
next morning, if he likes, and the addresses of the people
I've been to see in Paris, too. If he wants to track my move-
ments, I'll give him every facility."
He talked like that all the way home. All Barbara's
pleasure in the bright afternoon and the peacefulness that
lay around them was destroyed. She felt that she had made
a bad mistake, and that the whole thing was hopeless. She
would ask Edward not to take any more steps. What ad-
vantage would it be to her to find out the truth? Little
Tony was dead, and nothing would bring him back. Her
desire for vengeance on the murderer was much weaker.
Her own life was crying out to her—her own youth and
desire for happiness. Let it rest; bury the dreadful past
with all its dark and painful memories, and find comfort
in the love that she knew was hers.
Barbara thought rather vindictively of Aunt Flora, and
hoped that she would get well scolded for her part in the
mistake. And, indeed, that seemed likely to happen.
She sat at her window for a time looking over the marsh
lying still and peaceful in the mellow afternoon sunlight.
She saw Flora come along the road and in at the gate. "Now,"
she said to herself, "she is going to catch it"; but she was
too innately kind-hearted to gain any satisfaction out of the
thought.
Flora seemed to have caught it to some tune, to Judge
by her eyes, when Barbara took her up her tea. William
had recovered his usual easy manner when they met at the
tea-table, and told her that Flora had a headache and was
lying down. Would Barbara take up her tea to her?
Barbara made up a tray and went upstairs with it. Flora
was lying on her bed, with the room shaded. "Oh, why
did you get me into such trouble?" she asked petulantly,
when Barbara went in. "I call it wicked of Edward Knightly.
I Just told him a few of my difficulties, in the strictest con-
fidence, and he goes and blurts them out to you, and you go
straight to William with them."
"I'm very sorry, Aunt Flora," said Barbara, putting
the tray down on the foot of the bed. "But if you want to
talk secrets to Edward, of course you must expect me to
know of them."


184 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
Flora sat up in the bed suddenly. There was rather a
vicious look on her weak, doll-like face. "You are making
the mistake of your life about Edward Knightly," she said.
Barbara looked at her, but did not say anything.
"How can you, a well-brought-up, modest girl," she went
on, "allow a man to sacrifice himself to you in that way?
Haven't you got eyes in your head? Can't you see?"
"See what ?" asked Barbara.
"You think he's in love with you. He isn't—not the
least little bit in the world. He's in love with somebody
else. He is sacrificing himself and the girl he loves too,
out of a mistaken sense of kindness. He is sorry for you,
and I suppose he likes you all right up to a point. But he
loves somebody else, and you're Just laying up misery for
him and yourself too in keeping him tied to you."
Barbara felt as if a cold hand had taken hold of her heart.
She did not believe what Flora said, but the fact that it
could be said at all hurt her abominably.
"Who is the other girl he is supposed to be in love with?"
she asked, with a curl of the Up.
Flora saw it. "Oh, I dare say it seems ridiculous to you,"
she said spitefully, "that he should love anybody but your-
self, but it is true all the same. I shan't tell you who it is.
You can find out for yourself."
"Is there anything else you want, Aunt Flora ?" Barbara
asked, preparing to leave the room.
"Oh, yes, you are going to hold your head high about it,
and have no wish to discuss it with me," said Flora. "I
quite understand. You are ready enough to pry into my
secrets and make trouble over them, but I'm not to be allowed
to say anything about yours."
"I don't believe what you say," said Barbara calmly.
"That is why I don't want to discuss it. How can you
possibly know what Edward has in his mind? You are
the last person he would choose to tell it to."
This pricked Flora to still further extremes. She was
furious with Barbara, and would have stuck at nothing to
hurt her.
"You say that!" she exclaimed angrily. "Very well,
then—say it and think it, and go on to create a life of un-
happiness for both of you. You are a proud, selfish girl.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 185
but I tell you this, I know that Edward loves another girl.
I don't think it; I know it. Of course, you will ask him
yourself—that is Just the sort of indelicate thing you would
do—and, of course, he will deny it. If he has sacrificed him-
self to you as far as he has, he will be ready to go through
with it. But it is true all the same, and you will find it out
some day, if you don't now."
Barbara left the room. Flora had wounded her and
angered her at the same time, but she would not let her see
it. As for believing what she had told her—Barbara told
herself that it had made no impression on her mind at all.
But It stuck and rankled all the same, and as the day drew
on to its close, Barbara felt more and more unhappy.
William and Flora went off early the next morning. Their
visit had not been a success, and as she bade them good-
bye, Barbara felt that she was in part to blame for it. And
now there was Edward to see. He was coming down some
time in the morning. She felt a strange dread at what lay
before her.
But Edward did not come down. Early in the morning
a groom came with a note from him. It ran thus:
"My Dearest,
"A wire has Just come from my Uncle Lutterworth
to say that he and my Cousin Grace are coming down by
the train getting here at twelve. He wants to shoot this
afternoon, and I must make arrangements. I will try and
slip away this evening between five and six. I don't know
how long they are going to stay, but it is an awful nuisance.
"In great haste, ever your loving
"Edward."
The meaning of this was that Lady Charlotte had written
to her brother, Lord Lutterworth, and begged him to come
down for a few days to help her out of a great difficulty.
He was to come by a certain train, and bring his daughter
with him. She would tell him all about it when he came,
but it was highly important that he should not disappoint
her, and he was not to tell Edward that she had written to
him. She added in a postscript that her difficulties had
something to do with the mystery of Bedmarsh Farm, and


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 137
been able to get away now because he's so lazy that he won't
get up to breakfast before half-past nine."
He had said nothing about his cousin. Barbara could
not forbear asking whether Lady Grace had coine with Lord
Lutterworth.
"Oh, yes," he said indifferently. "Shall we go out in
the garden and talk? I want to hear everything you have
to tell me."
They went out and walked up and down the kitchen-garden
path. "Well, now about William ?" Edward asked.
"He never went to France at all," Barbara said quietly.
*' That was all made up by Aunt Flora."
"What!" exclaimed Edward. "Do you mean to say
that she was simply telling me lies all the time?"
"Oh, he has been to Paris—on business. He didn't go
on—on that day from here. He went to Greathampton.
We have made a bad mistake, Edward. I'm very glad
I persuaded you to let me ask him myself. He was very
angry. He said that it might have brought great trouble
on us if we had followed it up without giving him the oppor-
tunity of clearing himself."
"Well, if he has cleared himself, it has turned out to be
the right thing to do. Tell me how you asked the question,
Barbara, and how he took it."
She told him, rather unwillingly, because now she was in-
clined to make nothing of it, that William had started when
6he had asked her question. "I asked him abruptly,"
she said. "But immediately afterwards he was Just the
same as usual. His face hadn't altered colour at all. Oh,
I'm sure there was nothing that he wanted to hide. Why
should he?"
"But why should he be startled ?" Edward asked. "There
was nothing in the question to startle him if he had nothing
to hide."
He examined her as to what William had said, and how
he had behaved afterwards. She told him that he had told
her that he had gone to the Grand Hotel at Greathampton,
and that his name was there in the visitors' book for every-
body to see. He had repeated that more than once.
Edward had a rather slow, dogged way of sticking to a
point, and Barbara could not get away from a slight feeling


138 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
of irritation against him as he kept her to this one and followed
it up with innumerable questions. She was so sure that there
was nothing to be suspicious about, so sure that they had
made a mistake, and that the best thing was to forget all
about it.
"I've a good mind to go to Greathampton and see whether
his name is in the visitors' book," said Edward. "He might
be bluffing."
"I hope you won't," Barbara said. "We have been
very unfair to Uncle William, and I should hate, dear, to
do anything behind his back. He said he would see you
and have it out with you himself, but I asked him
not to."
Even this seemed suspicious to Edward. If William had
been so annoyed with him, surely he would not have been
put off from having it out. He would not have sent those
messages assuring him that everything he had done bore
looking into. So he argued, and for the first time in her life
Barbara felt impatient with him.
With her impatience that feeling of doubt about him
with which she had struggled during the night came back
to her. She stole a look at his handsome face, set in a thought-
ful frown, and it brought her no relief. It was not lover-like.
He hardly seemed to be aware of her, walking by his side;
he was so intent on his problem. And he had not seen her
for two days.
She tried to drive away the feeling of doubt. She linked
her hands round his arm. "Edward, dearest!" she said.
"Please don't think of it any more. I have made up my
mind now that it isn't for you to trouble yourself over this.
It is spoiling our happiness. If the truth is to come out, it
will come out. Others can work at it. Let you and I leave
it alone."
He did not respond to her caress, even by so much as a
pressure of her arm in his. "Oh, I am going on," he said,
looking at her with the same thoughtful frown on his face.
"I have undertaken this task, and I'll carry it through."
"Even if I ask you not to?"
"My dear girl," he said, with an assumption of authority
which at the moment did not please her, "you mustn't
be so changeable. You wouldn't have anything to say


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 139
to me until I had promised to do this for you, and now you
want me to drop it. It isn't reasonable."
She unlinked her hands. She felt almost as if he had
struck her. Surely if he loved her he would not speak to
her like that. She was deeply wounded, and it did not
assuage her pain to hear him say in the next breath : "But
I must be getting back now. I don't know when I shall
be able to come down again, Barbara. My uncle and cousin
seem to be going to stay for ever. Good-bye, my darling.
Don't worry about this. Leave it to me."
He was looking at her now with the light of a lover in
his eyes, and he took her face between his two hands to kiss
her. But she would not look into his eyes. Her own were
trembling on the verge of tears.
He did not seem to notice them, but hurried away with
another good-bye. Barbara felt rather desolate when he
had gone. She felt now more strongly than before that
their compact had been a mistake. She had told him that
she did not want him to continue the search, but he had
brushed her wish aside and taken his own line. Perhaps
she had not made her wish plain enough. Surely he ought
to be glad to give up the unhappy search, if she really wished
him to do so. And then they might be happy in their love
for one another.
Then she thought of that statement of her aunt's. It did
not now seem to be so unlikely that Edward really loved
another girl—perhaps this cousin of his, whom he was hurrying
back to meet.
She bore these thoughts with her all the day, sometimes
remembering things that made her think her fears were
groundless, sometimes only those which seemed to increase
them.
Edward spent his day with his uncle. They walked up
partridges and lunched together under a hedge.
Lord Lutterworth did not care about walking up part-
ridges, and said so. He was accustomed to say anything of
that sort that he wished, being rather like his sister, Lady
Charlotte, in that respect. He said that the only way to
shoot partridges was to drive them, and seemed to have
expected Edward to have arranged a big shoot for him at
a day's notice. However, he thawed under the influence


140 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
of a good lunch, and showed a disposition to talk about
the mystery of Redmarsh Farm. One of his recreations
was to devour detective fiction, and he thought that this
case ought to make an uncommonly good story.
"It's a story that isn't finished yet," said Edward.
"And you're taking it in hand, ain't you?" said Lord
Lutterworth. "Interesting Job. I should like to have a
finger in it myself. How far have you got?"
"Not very far yet," said Edward, who hadn't the least
Intention of letting his uncle into his secrets.
"Ever suspected that girl?" was Lord Lutterworth's
next question. "Something fishy about her actions, it
seemed to me."
"Perhaps you don't know that I'm going to marry Barbara
Clayton," said Edward stiffly.
CHAPTER XXIII
T)Y a coincidence that had a bearing on this history,
Edward received a letter the next morning from an
old Cambridge friend who was going to settle in Australia,
asking him to see him off at Greathampton that evening.
He determined to go, and determined also to put up for
the night at the Grand Hotel, and find out the truth about
that visit of William Clayton's. There was a train to Great-
hampton about the time that his uncle and cousin were
going up to London. He determined to travel by it. He
had time to write a note to Barbara to say that he was going,
and the reason why he was going. He laid some stress on
his friend's request, because he did not want her to think
that the real reason for his Journey to Greathampton was
that he might verify William's statement against her will.
But it didn't matter much what he wrote to her, for she
never got his letter. Lady Charlotte saw it lying on the hall-
table, when she had seen the party off, and took it into
the morning-room. She stood for some time in front of the
window, looking out on to the garden, with eyes that saw


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 141
nothing, and wondering whether she dare open and read
it, and what advantage she might gain if she did so.
It was rather a strong step even for her to take, and it is
not to be wondered at that she hesitated for a long time.
Finally her conscience—or perhaps it was fear of the result—
forbade her to read the letter, but—so strange are the work-
ings of conscience—it did not forbid her to throw the letter
unopened into the fire. She had made up her mind to see
Barbara that afternoon, and she thought that the chances
were that what she meant to say to her would have a greater
effect if she could make it appear that Edward had left
her without a word, and for an indefinite time. If it came
out afterwards, as perhaps it was bound to do, that the letter
had never gone, she would deny all knowledge of it.
The opportunity for doing so occurred immediately,
for the butler came into the room and said, "I beg your
pardon, my lady, but Mr. Knightly left a letter to go par-
ticular to Redmarsh Farm directly. He said he had put
it on the hall-table, and it isn't there. I didn't know whether
your ladyship had seen it."
Lady Charlotte cast an anxious glance at the fire, where
the charred fragments of paper were still plainly to be seen,
but fortunately for her the butler did not see them. "I
know nothing about it," she said. "Perhaps Mr. Knightly
gave it to one of the other men. Yes, I think that is what
he did do. You needn't worry about it."
The butler withdrew, and worried so little that he forgot
all about it, and so it happened that Edward never knew
until long afterwards that his letter had not reached
Barbara.
When Lady Charlotte had discussed matters with Mrs.
Mannering, they had agreed together that if she could go
and see Barbara herself, and make strong representations
to her of the mistake she was making in supposing that
Edward was really in love with her, it might create the
effect they wished. It had been her own idea to get her
brother down in the meantime; but she had not given up
her first intention, and that afternoon at about four o'clock
she drove down to Redmarsh Farm to call on Barbara.
Her doing so was a matter for remark among the servants
of the house, witb whom she was not popular. Edward was,


142 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
and the general opinion among them was one of sympathy
with him in his love affair. With the usual acuteness of
servants in getting at the truth of things, they had divined
that Lady Charlotte was against the match, and was prob-
ably making herself disagreeable about it to her son, as she
often made herself disagreeable to them over other matters.
The fact that Barbara was concerned in the mystery of Red-
marsh Farm was nothing against her in their eyes, it was
rather an added attraction. She was a sweet young lady,
they said, and Mr. Knightly could hardly do better.
The old coachman, who had been at Cliffthorpe Hall for
many years, had often driven her ladyship down to Redmarsh
Farm when Mrs. Clayton had been alive, and occasionally
since, and he rather hoped now that his going there again
meant that the difficulties in the path of his young master
were about to be done away with. If he could have looked
into the mind of the lady seated upright in the carriage be-
hind him, perhaps he might have refused to drive her there
at all.
Lady Charlotte was shown upstairs into the little-used
drawing-room. It was a charming room, and would not
have disgraced her own home. Its furniture had hardly
been changed or added to for a hundred years. It spoke of
a more formal time, when drawing-rooms were not particu-
larly meant to make yourself comfortable in. There was
an air of primness about it, but the furniture was so good,
and the old china that stood about on tables and on the
mantelpiece, and the old-fashioned coloured prints which
decorated the walls, looked so much in their natural place
that the effect they made could hardly have been equalled
by the most carefully collected specimens in a more modern
room. There were a few autumn flowers in bowls and vases,
but the room took its faint, sweet odour from the potpourri
that Barbara's grandmother had made and put about every-
where.
Lady Charlotte remembered this old lady, a stately dame
with beautiful white hair and a snowy lace cap. As a young
bride she had liked to come to see her. She had been an
old lady of very direct speech, which had rather entertained
her in the old days. And Barbara's mother had been her
friend. There was a photograph of her in a large silver


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 148
frame on one of the tables. It seemed to be looking at her
reproachfully, with eyes that were rather like Barbara's
own, and to be asking her why she had come there to bring
nnhappiness to her daughter. Lady Charlotte did not look
at it long, but turned away and went to the window, where
she could look over the marsh and the sea with the ships
beyond it.
Barbara came in looking rather surprised to see her there.
Edward had told her of his mother's opposition to their
engagement, and that she had refused to have Barbara in
her house. Was this visit meant in friendliness, or what did
it mean? She would show no friendliness on her part until
she knew.
Lady Charlotte shook hands with her. "I am glad to see
you looking better," she said. "You must have gone through
a very distressing time."
Barbara said nothing, but sat down opposite to her visitor.
Some compunction may have arisen in Lady Charlotte's
mind as to what she was going to do in face of this young
girl so beautiful and so helpless in the loss of those who
might have protected and shielded her from the attacks
of such as she. If she did, it was only strong enough to
make her pause awhile before opening on what she had to
say. Barbara was looking at her inquiringly, and she could
not delay for long, so she plunged into the middle of
things.
"I have come," she said, "to tell you the truth about
Edward. You cannot know it unless someone tells it to you,
and he never will."
Barbara had stiffened at the mention of Edward. She
felt that Lady Charlotte could have no purpose in speaking
of him to her but one of enmity, and she must be on her
guard. But still she said nothing.
"I know," Lady Charlotte went on, "that he has liked
you and been a friend of yours ever since you were a child,
and because I was a friend of your mother's I am glad that
he should have been. But you know, and I have not tried
to hide it, that I am very much against any closer tie that
he may have persuaded you to make with him."
"No, yon have not hidden that, Lady Charlotte," said
Barbara.


144 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"And why do you suppose I am against it? Not out of
dislike to you. I should have wished nothing better for him,
if I had thought that his heart was in it. I have no worldly
ambitions for him. I only want him to be happy with the
wife he chooses."
"You think that he would not be happy with me?"
Barbara said.
"I have told you that he might have been, if his heart had
been in it. But you ought to be able to see—any girl ought
to be able to see, whether a man really loves her or not."
Barbara looked at her proudly, and waited for more.
She would not help her in the least.
"Can't you see," Lady Charlotte went on, "why he made
this engagement with you?"
"I should like to hear your views of it, Lady Charlotte."
"Well, it is plain enough. He has known you ever since
you were a child, and has always been fond of you. He is
fond of you now. I don't deny that. But he is fond of you
Just in the way that a man might be fond of his younger
sister. He was very sorry for you in what you have gone
through, and he did what he could without really thinking
of what he was doing to make it up to you. Men do these
things in a moment of emotion, and then regret them."
"Are you sure that he regrets it?" Barbara asked.
"Yes, I am quite sure," said Lady Charlotte boldly. "I
tell you that it is not you he loves."
She said this without blushing. Perhaps she believed it
by this time. But she did not tell Barbara whom it was
that Edward was supposed to love, and she knew she would
not ask her. Barbara, of course, thought it was Lady Grace.
If she had had any idea that it was Enid Mannering whom
Lady Charlotte was preposterously trying to foist on to
Edward's affections, she would have laughed at her, and
the interview would probably have ended then and there.
"I am not going to say that I will give up all my happiness
now simply because you tell me these things," said Barbara
quietly. "I know that you are not friendly to me, and if
you are telling me the truth you may be making a mistake.
I will wait till I see Edward himself. You do not really think,
do you, that a girl can be mistaken for long as to whether a
man loves her or loves somebody else?"


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 145
Lady Charlotte's eyes dropped. "I don't know when
you will see Edward again," she said. "He has gone away,
and I don't know when he will be back."
"Gone away!" exclaimed Barbara. "Didn't he send a
message to me?"
"Not that I am aware of," said Lady Charlotte unblush-
ingly. "There it is, you see. That is one of the signs you
have to look for. I dare say when he gets to Greathampton
he will remember and write. But you have to think that he
did go away without doing so."
She had burnt her boats now, and because she knew that
she would be very uncomfortable by and by at the thought
of having told a deliberate lie, she stiffened her mind against
Barbara, and felt that she alone was responsible for her
having been compelled to behave in a way so hurtful to her
own dignity.
"Has he gone to Greathampton?" Barbara asked, in a
voice that caused Lady Charlotte some surprise. She had
no reason to suppose that Edward's having gone to Great-
hampton would strengthen the effect she wished to make.
But it seemed that it had done so, and she let well alone and
gave no reason for the Journey.
"Yes," she said. "He went off there this morning. My
brother, Lord Lutterworth, and his daughter went at the
same time."
Barbara considered this. Her heart had grown heavy,
and she suddenly felt that it was unbearable to sit there
opposite to Lady Charlotte, whom in old days she had often
seen sitting there in friendliness, when her mother had been
alive. She rose. "I will think over what you have told me,"
she said, and stood before her, waiting for her to go.
Lady Charlotte did not like to be dismissed in this summary
fashion, but there was nothing for her but to rise too. Again
it is possible that some sense of compunction pricked her,
for as she rose she looked round the room and said, " This all
reminds me of your dear mother."
Her words only made Barbara shrink from her more.
"H my mother had been alive," she said, "I should not
have been without someone to help and advise me."
"My dear," said Lady Charlotte, "I am very sorry that
this new trouble has come to you, and that I have had to b«


146 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
the means of bringing it, but you will forget it all in time, and
be thankful to me for warning you."
Barbara's clear eyes were on her, searching her face, and
again Lady Charlotte dropped her own. Barbara turned
from her and rang the bell, and then opened the door for
her. Lady Charlotte went out without another word, feeling
somehow that it was Barbara who was the great lady, and
she who was of no account beside her.
Later on, when Barbara and her father were finishing
their midday dinner, he looked at her solicitously.
"You are not looking yourself at all," he said. "I wish
you would accept your cousins' invitation and go and get a
breath of Yorkshire air."
Barbara's Yorkshire cousins had written repeatedly to her
through the summer, begging her to visit them, but she had
always refused to do so, feeling that her place was with her
father. He had wanted her to go, but had not pressed her,
because he was glad enough to have her with him.
But now, somewhat to his surprise, she said at once,
"Oh, if you can do without me for a week or two, father, I
should so much like to go. I should like to go as soon as
possible," she added, "if you are sure you can spare me,
daddy."
"I shall miss you very much, my dear, of course," he said.
"But I think it will be the best thing for you, and you will
come back in a month or so looking your old self. Can you
be ready to go to-morrow morning? I have to go into Grass-
ford, and I could see you on your way."
Barbara was now feverishly anxious to be gone as soon as
possible. A telegram was sent to her Yorkshire cousins,
who lived at High Moor Farm, near Baycleft, and by that
time next day she was more than half-way through her long
Journey.
CHAPTER XXIV
"PDWARD arrived in Greathampton early in the after*
-"-"' noon. The boat by which his friend would arrive
from London was not due for another hour, and would leave


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 147
again on her voyage to the other side of the world the same
evening.
He went to the Grand Hotel, and when he had booked
his room for the night eagerly turned back the pages of the
visitors' book to that date in the month of May on which
so much had happened.
Yes, there was the name, as plain as possible. "W. F.
Clayton." He did not know William's handwriting, but it
seemed characteristic of him. Large and rather bold, with
a flourish at the end. It seemed to settle the question, and
when he had closed the book he asked the clerk at the counter
if he knew Mr. William Clayton, who sometimes stayed
there. But he said that he had only been there a month,
and he did not know the name.
Then Edward went out to pass the time until the boat
should be due. He went in the direction of the docks, and
soon found himself among the railway lines, warehouses,
and cranes, and the waterside characters hurrying to and
fro if they had a Job, or slouching about with their hands
in their pockets if they were only looking for one.
A man dressed in a blue Jersey and wide serge trousers
touched his cap to him with a friendly grin of recognition.
There was something familiar in his face, but Edward could
not remember where he had seen him before.
"Tom Pearce, sir," said the man. "Used to live at the
Harbour. Often used to see you down there when the fishing
was on."
"Oh, I remember you now," said Edward. "I hope you
are getting on well."
"Pretty fair, thank you, sir," said the man. "Dreadful
goings on up your way lately!"
Edward's face darkened. He did not want to discuss those
matters with Mr. Tom Pearce, but that gentleman, possibly
in expectation of an offer of refreshment, was not prepared
to let him go without a little further conversation.
"I always said that Jude Kelly would come to no good,"
he said. "Funny thing, sir, the very day it happened I seed
his sister here. Don't suppose you remember her? She
married and left the Harbour when you was a nipper, if I
may make so bold. Good-looking girl she was in the old
days, and she hasn't much altered. I knew her at once."


148 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
He had succeeded at any rate in attracting Edward's
attention. "Did you speak to her ?" he asked. "What was
she doing here?"
"No, I didn't speak to her," the man said. "I couldn't
think who it was until after she had gone past me. Nor
I dunno what she was doing here. It looked to me as if
she might be one of the emigrants goin' out on the Ccesar.
She was with a man, and they was going towards where she
was berthed. I suppose it was her husband."
"It wasn't Kelly himself, by any chance, I suppose?"
asked Edward. "A good many people would like to know
where he was on that night."
"No, it wasn't him," said the man. "I should have known
him."
Edward thought for a moment. He remembered Mr. Chin-
nering's advice, to take hold of any clue, however unlikely.
"I didn't know Kelly had a sister," he said. "What was
the name of the man she married?"
"Well, I won't deceive yer, sir," said Pearce Jocularly;
"the name was Smith."
"You're playing with me," Edward said sharply. "I
want to know this."
Pearce became serious. "The name teas Smith," he said.
"And I believe he came from Lowemouth, and I believe
that's where they went back to. Anyhow, it wasn't a man
from the Harbour what married her. But you can easily
find out all that. It wasn't so very many years ago since she
went, and there was a bit of a spree when she was married.
There'll be lots of folks at the Harbour will remember it."
"Where was the Ccesar going to ?" Edward asked, after
considering for a moment.
"She was going to Australia with a shipload of them
emigrants," said Pearce. "I wished I had been going in
her myself. There's enough and for all over there, as I've
heard, and it's hard enough work making a living in the old
country."
This seemed to be in the nature of a hint. Edward gave
the man half a crown and took his address. "You're sure
you're telling me the truth ?" he asked.
And Pearce assured him that he was. "Why ?" he asked.
"Is there money in it?"


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 149
"Not that I know of," said Edward. "There might have
been if you'd seen Kelly himself."
Edward dined with his friend at the Grand Hotel, and
bade him good-bye on his ship late at night. Then only had
he time to think of the importance or otherwise of the news
he had heard.
He did, when he had thought it all over, find it very difficult
to believe that William Clayton could be concerned in any
serious way with the crime. He knew the man well, and it
was impossible to treat him as a mere pawn in the game.
In spite of what Mr. Chinnering had said, intimacy with
a man did count and must count. It was through want of it
that Chinnering himself had made his serious mistake with
regard to John Clayton.
Edward made up his mind to follow his clues out, wherever
they might lead him. But in the stillness of the night, when
thought was clear and untrammelled, he told himself that
he did not believe that they would lead to the implication of
William Clayton.
Then, still wakeful, with his brain working vigorously,
he asked himself who else could possibly be suspected. And
the answer came immediately that he had never fully thought
out the possibility of the mysterious Frank Clayton being
concerned, although when the same question had been before
himself and Chinnering, Frank Clayton's name had been
mentioned.
There were coincidences here, too, although none of any
great weight. Barbara and he, in discussing the uncle whom
she had never seen, had taken it almost for granted that it
was from him that John Clayton had received those letters
with the Australian stamps on them which had always seemed
to cause him worry and anxiety. And he had Just seen a
ship sail for Australia, and Kelly's sister had also probably
gone to Australia.
Well, nothing much could be made out of that.
Then suddenly another recollection took hold of him.
The name in the visitors' book !" W. F. Clayton " !" W."
might stand for William, but "F." might equally well stand
for Frank. On second thoughts, however, there seemed to
be nothing in that either. William had relied upon his name
being in the visitors' book to prove where he was on that


150 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
night. Besides, if Frank had been in England, and had been
concerned in the robbery or the murder, or both, he would
not have boldly gone to the best-known hotel in Greathamp-
ton, and entered his name in the visitors' book Just on the
eve of his getting out of the country.
Still, that further small coincidence had started him on
a train of thought, which he followed up eagerly. Supposing
Frank had been the criminal and William had known of it,
and for a second time, with the help of Kelly, had helped
him out of the country—that might account for anything
suspicious in William's movements, or in his silence about
his movements.
With this idea, he felt his mind cleared about William.
He could not think of him as the criminal. But, on the
other hand, he could not take Barbara's view that William
was beyond all suspicion. He felt that somehow and some-
where he must be connected with the mystery. For a long
time he exercised himself in the endeavour to make up a
story that would account for everything, but at last fell
asleep without having concocted a plausible one.
In the cold light of morning, going over these thoughts
again in his mind, he thought he had been too much obsessed
with the idea of Frank Clayton. He had been beginning,
as Mr. Chinnering had said, at the wrong end. What he
had to do now was to follow out facts.
With some difficulty the passenger list was procured for
him at the offices of the steamship company. The Ccesar
had carried over six hundred emigrants, and eight families,
or married couples, or single men, bore the name of Smith,
and none of them came from Lowemouth. He told the clerk
who had found the list for him, that he wanted to trace a
certain man and his wife; but of course the clerk could do
nothing to help him.
"The Ccesar has already returned and sailed again with
another lot," he said. "If you were to wait until she comes
back again in about three months' time, you might make
inquiries of some of the crew. Otherwise I am afraid we
can't help you."
Edward had to leave the office with this meagre satis-
faction. "I will go to Rede Harbour," he said, and find
out something about this woman."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 151
CHAPTER XXV
"C*DWARD reached home again by a late train and went
-'-*' straight to bed. After breakfast the next morning
he started to walk to Rede Harbour, taking Redmarsh
Farm on his way. He was looking forward to seeing Barbara
again. It would be rather difficult to tell her that he could
no longer consult her over his investigations. He did not
mean to tell her so in so many words. The best way would be
to let her suppose that he was dropping his inquiries, as she
had asked him to do. It rather depressed him to be obliged
to practise that small deception on her, but he did not allow
himself to dwell for long on any unpleasantness; he was so
glad to be going to see her again.
He met old Bob, the head-man of the farm, as he was
nearing the gates, and stopped for a word with him.
"We don't know what to make of ourselves now she's
gone," he said.
"Who's gone?" asked Edward.
"Why, Miss Barbara. Didn't you know as she'd gone up
to Yorkshire on a visit?"
Edward's heart contracted. Why had she gone away so
suddenly without letting him know?"
"Yes," said the old man, " she went off yesterday morning
by the seven o'clock train, and I'm sure I hope the change
will do her good. She's never looked the same since all this
trouble came upon us, and it's not to be wondered at. Ah,
Mr. Knightly, we shall never be ourselves again at Redmarsh
Farm until we know the truth about all that. I have heard
that you're a-going into it. Is there anything you've found
out?"
"No, not yet."
Edward considered a moment whether he should put his
questions about Kelly's sister to old Bob. He did not want
to set talk afloat, but came to the conclusion that he could
hardly help doing so if he made inquiries, and that Bob was
perhaps the safest man to make them of.
"Look here, Bob," he said, "I don't want this to go any
farther, but you know all the people at the Harbour."


152 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"Well, I know some of the more respectable of 'em,"
the old man interrupted him. "They're a rough lot, some
of 'em, and I dunno as I'd want to know 'em all."
"Do you know how long that man Kelly lived there,
and what his relations were? Was he born in the place?"
"No. He wasn't born there. I remember when he come.
A matter of five-and-twenty or thirty years ago. I believe
he come from Brightling."
"Did he come alone?"
"No, there was a sister with him. Emily her name was,
and a nice Emily she was, too. I remember her as quite
a young girl. She hadn't got no mother to look after her,
and she was Just as wild in her ways as her precious brother;
and there was no doubt about him being as wild as a wild
animal when he was younger."
"What became of her?"
"Oh, she was going to marry one after the other at the
Harbour. The young men was all after her, for the sake
of her dark eyes—like gipsy's eyes they was. Oh, she was
a handsome piece of goods in them days. But she didn't
marry any of them after all. She married a man that used
to come round from Lowemouth in a ketch, and she went
back there with him. Good riddance, too. They was always
fighting and quarrelling about her down there."
"Do you know the name of the man she married?"
"His name was Smith, to the best of my belief. Yes,
Joe Smith. That was his name. He was a wild 'un, too.
You never heard such goings on as when they was married.
The parson said it was a disgrace to the Church. They all
met together afterwards—she and him and Kelly, and all
the men this Joe Smith had got her away from; and if she
wasn't drunk herself, which I'm not saying she was, she was
the only one that wasn't when they went off."
Edward digested this information. He had got one small
additional statement, at any rate—the Christian name of
the woman's husband—which might have been useful to
him if he had known it in the shipping office the day before.
"You don't know their address in Lowemouth, I suppose?"
he asked.
"Funny thing is that I do happen to remember, after all
these years. I don't know why it's stuck in my memory j


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 158
but it has, when perhaps I couldn't tell you the address of
the King of England, if you was to ask me. It was 1, Allen
Street, Lowemouth. That's where she settled down. Of
course she may have moved from there years ago. I don't
know anything about that."
There was no obJect now in going into the farm. It was
market day, and he knew that John Clayton would not be
there. Otherwise he would have liked to know how Barbara
had come to go off so suddenly, and whether she had left
any message for him. He might at any rate expect a letter
from her the next morning, and he must wait with what
patience he could until it came.
The next morning he received a letter in Barbara's hand-
writing. He tore it open eagerly, but as he read it his face
lengthened and took on a look of consternation and in-
credulity.
"Dear Edward," the letter ran, "since I last saw you I
have been thinking things over very seriously, and I have
come to the conclusion that our engagement has been a
great mistake on both sides, and I am writing to release you
from it. You have been very good to me, and I shall never
forget your kindness in the terrible trouble I have been
passing through. Indeed, I am very grateful to you; but
it was a mistake for you to ask me to marry you, and for me
to say that I would. My first thoughts were right, and I
ought not to have changed them. I cannot marry at all
while my father wants me.
"I think, too, that it was a great mistake for me to urge
you as I did to find out the truth about dear little Tony's
death. I know that you have done what you have for my
sake, and I am grateful to you for that, too, and for being
so ready to try and help me. Indeed, you have always been
the kindest of friends; but I cannot help thinking that the
way you are following it up can only bring further trouble
upon us, and I do beg you now not to go on with it any
further.
"When I come back home I shall, I hope, see you some-
times, for we have been friends for so many years that I do
not think the mistake we have both made can spoil our friend-
ship altogether. It has not spoilt mine for you, and it is my


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 155
CHAPTER XXVI
"PDWARD went up to Lowemouth the day after he had
-L' received Barbara's first letter, and on inquiry found
that the Smiths had moved to Stourmouth, another large
seaside town not many miles away.
He went on to Stourmouth. The fish-shop to which he
had been directed did not look as if its late owner had made
a fortune out of it. His name, J. Smith, was still over the
door, and the woman who came out to Edward's summons
was quite ready to talk about her predecessors. Edward
let her talk, thinking that that was a better way to glean
any information than by putting questions to her.
The neighbourhood, it seemed, had taken a great interest
in the bold stroke of a now elderly couple emigrating to
seek fortune in a foreign land. But there," she said,
"although they'd been settled down here and in Lowemouth
for all their lives and worked hard, there was always some-
thing roving about them."
He ventured to put a question to her as to whether the
Smiths had any relations. She then gave him the family
history of each one of their children. There had been five
of them. One was dead, and the others were all out in the
world doing well. They were scattered over the country, and
none of them lived either in Stourmouth or Lowemouth.
"No," she concluded, "they was as well situated for going
off by themselves, as if they had been twenty or thirty years
younger. There was a talk of them taking one of the children
of Mrs. Newton—that was the eldest daughter what I told
you about, as married a carpenter in London—but I don't
know as they did it. She was up here, Mrs. Newton was, a
week or two before they went, and first she would and then
she wouldn't. It would have been a good thing for her son
to get a start over there, and perhaps what they left might
have come to him by and by. But she was always a low-
spirited thing, this Ellen Newton; took after her father's
family, and hadn't got the boldness of Mrs. Smith."
"Had they any relations that they saw anything of?"
asked Edward.


156 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"There are folks about as is related to Joe Smith," she
replied, "but I never heard that she had none; she didn't
come from these parts, and spoke different to us."
The question now was whether anything that he had learnt
was worth following up. None of it seemed to have any
bearing on the mystery. The Smiths had apparently been
careful to keep away from all connection with Kelly.
He went down to Greathampton again, and told the
friendly clerk who had helped him before that he had found
out who were the Smiths, out of the eight he was trying
to trace. The list was brought out again.
"Here you are," said the clerk. "Mr. and Mrs. Joseph
Smith, from Stourmouth, and one child."
"Then they took the grandchild after all ?" said Edward.
"It doesn't say his name."
"Grandchild, was it ?" said the clerk. "No, they ought
to have told his name. Well, now, sir, if you want to know
anything more about them you will have to go to the emigra-
tion offices. They were bound for Adelaide, as you see,
but we don't know more about them than that. It's Just
possible that the emigration agents may know where they
were going to when they landed. They may have taken up
land and been sent up country, and if so you could probably
get to know the place they went to, or they may Just have
gone to the port and stayed there, and looked about for
themselves."
"I will go to the emigration offices," Edward said, "and
thank you very much for your kind assistance. If I should
happen to want to hear anything more about them on the
voyage I may come to you again when the Ccesar returns."
"I shall always be pleased to give what help I can to you,"
said the clerk.
The emigration offices were in London. Edward made
op his mind to go to them the next time he was there, but
did not think it worth while to make the Journey on purpose.
The day after he reached home he received Barbara's
second letter, which depressed him still further. The situation
now seemed serious. Why had she turned from him? Could
it only be because he had disobeyed her wishes and gone on
with his quest? If so, there seemed to be little hope for
him unless he dropped it altogether, or until he found out


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 157
the truth ; and even in the latter case it seemed possible that
the truth might bring her further distress of mind. Or was
there something behind that she had not told him, and that
he did not know? It almost seemed like it, for she had given
him no hint that if he did, as she now wished, give up his
pursuit, she would change her mind. He thought he would
go and talk to her father about it.
John Clayton did not give him a particularly warm wel-
come.
"Barbara writes to me," he said, "to say that your en-
gagement is at an end."
"And she has written to me," said Edward. "Her letter
came to me as a complete surprise. Why has she broken off
our engagement?"
"Didn't she tell you ?" asked John Clayton, with a side
glance at him.
"She said that she didn't want to leave you. But she
knew that she would be leaving you when she promised to
marry me. There was never any talk of our being married
for some time yet."
John Clayton's face softened. "I shall be very sorry
when the time comes for her to leave me," he said. "She
is pretty well all I've got in the world now. Still, I know
I've got to give her up some time or other, and I was quite
prepared to give her up to you when the time came. That
can't be the only reason. You must have done something
or other to make her change her mind."
Edward considered whether he should say anything at all
about his quest and his promise. He could not take John
Clayton into his confidence any more than he could take
Barbara.
"She was very anxious," he said, "at first, that I should
follow up this—mystery."
"Yes, I know," said John Clayton. "What about it?
Have you found out anything?" He asked the question
almost carelessly, not as if he expected any answer, and
Edward gave him none.
"Now she is against my following it up," he said.
"Well, I don't suppose you will find out anything," said
John Clayton. "I don't suppose anybody will find out
anything. It will lie on us all our lives, and it will lie on my


158 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
girl as well as on me, although I do my best to shield her from
it. That is why I should be glad for her to be married to a
good man, who would take her away and make her forget
it all, although God knows I shall be sorry enough to lose her."
"I didn't think she was serious about it," Edward said.
"I wrote to her, and I have had another letter from her
this morning, and she seems to have made up her mind that
she will not marry me. I only hope that some day I shall
be able to make her change her mind. I can't leave her like
this. I don't know why she wants me to leave her, for I
believe she does love me."
Clayton considered this. "She seemed to be more like
her old self," he said, "and as near happiness as she was
likely to get Just at present, when she told me of your en-
gagement. What was it your mother said to her when she
came down here?"
"My mother!" Edward exclaimed; "has she been down
here?"
"Yes. She drove down to see Barbara the day before she
went away. I thought she'd come out of kindness to her. I
don't know that she didn't. She used to come here when
my wife was alive in Just that way; and although she never
seems to have taken much to Barbara, and never came near
her when she was going through all that trouble, still I
shouldn't have thought she would have had anything but
kindness for her mother's daughter."
"I am afraid," said Edward, " that it is only too true that
she is against my marrying Barbara. There's no good in
blinking facts."
"Quite so," said Clayton grimly. "We're not good
enough for her, I suppose, though Claytons have been good
enough for Knightlys in days gone by."
"It's a question in this case," said Edward, "whether a
Knightly is good enough for a Clayton. Still, my mother
doesn't see it in that light, and nothing I can say to her will
soften her."
"It may be," said Clayton, with a hint of sarcasm, "that
Barbara doesn't care about marrying into a family where she
isn't wanted. Perhaps Lady Charlotte came here to tell her
she wasn't wanted, and that's the reason why she was looking
paler and more worried than she has looked for a long time


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 159
after she had left her. And perhaps that's the reason why
she was quite ready to go away, when she'd always refused
to go before."
Edward thought over this. A kind of slow, cold anger
began to grow in his mind against his mother. She had
said that nothing would induce her either to have Barbara
in her own house or to go and see her, and yet, when his
back had been turned, she had gone to see her. It was im-
possible to come to any other conclusion than that she had
gone with some mischievous intent, and the inference that
John Clayton had drawn seemed very likely to be near the
truth.
"I'll find out what she said to her," he said abruptly.
"And if it was she who made mischief between us I'll get
that mischief put right. My mother and I have got on fairly
well together, but I am not going to allow her to come be-
tween Barbara and me. I'll go back and find out about that
at once."
He said good-bye shortly, and strode off. John Clayton
looked after his upright, determined figure. "If Lady Char-
lotte has been up to any of her games," he said to himself,
"it looks as if she were going to pay for them."
CHAPTER XXVII
"pDWARD found his mother in the morning-room. She
looked up as he came into the room and shut the door
behind him, and probably knew that a reckoning was to be
demanded of her.
Edward took a seat opposite to her by the fire. "I should
like to know, please, mother," he said, " why you went down
to Redmarsh Farm the other day, after you had said you
would never go there again ; and what you said to Barbara."
Of course she was prepared for this question, and had her
answer ready. "I told you," she said, with cold arrogance,
"that I should do all I could to stop this marriage. Since
you would not listen to reason yourself, I determined to


160 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
find out whether the girl would ; and that is the reason why
I went down to talk to her."
He was so angry that he could hardly control his voice,
and it trembled a little as he asked her, "What can you
have told her that has made her write and say that she
wants to break off her engagement with me?"
Lady Charlotte cannot have been feeling very comfort-
able. She had that matter of the destroyed letter on her
conscience, as well as her visit to Barbara. But she was
able to act naturally. She looked up with interest.
"Oh, she has written that to you, has she ?" she asked.
"Then my visit was not wasted."
Edward got up and went to the window. He was fearful
lest his temper should get the better of him. Did his mother
know how greatly she was trying it? Did she say what she
did in the way she did in order to rouse him to fury? She
took no notice of his movements, but went on calmly with
her needlework, waiting for the next speech from him.
"I want to know what you said to her ?" he asked again,
when he could control his voice enough to speak quietly.
"I pointed out facts to her," she said; "and because she
is at heart a right-feeling girl, she accepted them. She cannot
make a fitting wife for you, and I am glad that she has had
the courage to take the right course. I only hope she will
stick to it."
"You told her, I suppose," he said bitterly, "in so many
words, that you didn't consider her fit to be my wife?"
"I am not altogether destitute of tact, Edward," she said,
with exasperating coolness, "and this girl's mother was my
friend. I said what I had to say to her as kindly as it could
be said; and if you like to examine her about my visit, I
dare say she will tell you everything."
He turned round to her. "Why have you done this ?" he
cried. "Why should you, of all people, come between me
and my happiness?"
She kept her uncompromising attitude. "Because I do
not think it is for your happiness," she said. "It will be
for your misery if you marry this girl. I know better what
is good for you than you do yourself."
Her calm tone of authority affected him in spite of himself.
He was furiously angry with her, but at the same time she


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 161
was his mother, who had always exercised authority over
him ; and you cannot throw off such influences in a day.
"It is of no use your attempting to go on with this," she
said coolly, leaning back a little in her chair, and going on
with her work as if she were carrying on quite an ordinary
conversation. "I think you would have great difficulty
now in persuading the girl to go on with it. But, however
that may be, I at least will spare no pains to keep you
apart."
This settled it. The preposterous arrogance of her tone,
and her attitude towards him, nerved him to the point. He
turned and faced her, standing at the window. And now his
voice was as cool and quiet as her own.
"Then, mother," he said, "if that is the way you think
you can treat me, it is time we parted. It is seven years now
since my father died, and ever since that time you have had
your own way here. But you are not going to have it over
this. This is my house, and"
"And you have decided to turn me out of it, I suppose,"
she interrupted him. "A pretty thing for a mother to hear
from her son!"
He left her at that, and went away to think it over.
The end of it was that he thought he would go to live in
London, and be prepared to go wherever it was necessary
from there. Even if his mother had not made it impossible
for him to live at Cliffthrope, at least for a time, there was
Barbara to be considered. It would be distressing to her
to have him there at her doors, doing something all the time
that she had asked him not to do, making people talk of her
in an unkind way. For he felt sure that his mother would
not scruple to create a false impression as to the breaking
off of their engagement, and he knew that Barbara would
be too proud to contradict it.
No. It would be better for her sake for him to go away
altogether. He would do so. But before he did so he would
see Barbara once more, and try if he could not get her to
change her mind. He would not ask her to let matters be
on their old footing, but he would plead with her to leave
it over. To let him come back to her in a year's time, and
in the meantime not to leave him without hope. He was
sure that she loved Him still. When a girl like Barbara once


162 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
gave her frank, maidenly love to a man, there was no mis-
taking it. Surely he could persuade her!
When he had decided these things he set at once methodi-
cally to work to make preparations. There would be a great
deal to settle. There would have to be long interviews with
his agent. He would have to arrange that whatever business
had to be done by himself in connection with his estate
should be done from London. There were all his favourite
possessions to be set aside. He would have to come to Cliff-
thorpe sometimes, but he would not come more often than
was necessary, and he would have everything he wanted
round him in rooms which he would furnish in London.
He thought it all out. He was not like other young men
who could be content with temporary quarters, fie had had
a large house of his own ever since he was of age, and had
grown used to it. He did not want to cut himself off altogether
from the things that were his.
After all, it would be a great Jar to leave Cliffthorpe, and
his heart grew no lighter as he thought out his plans.
He meant to go up to London the next day or the day
after, and look about for rooms. He would do nothing in a
hurry. He considered whether he should tell his mother
of his decision. It would serve her right to be left in the
dark about it altogether, and to have to find out for herself
what he was going to do. But his was not a nature to take
refuge in any pettiness, and he went straight in to her again.
"I have been thinking things over," he said. "I have
made up my mind that we cannot go on living together. I
have no wish to ask you to leave this house, and so it is I
who must go somewhere else."
This did startle her. She had been congratulating herself
on the ease with which she had got over him.
But although she was startled, she did not take his speech
In the least seriously. "I don't know what folly you have
got in your head now," she said, "but you need not try to
impose upon me by such speeches as that. You will not move
me."
He looked at her almost with curiosity. Were there no
bounds to her presumption?
"I shall try to let the shooting," he said, "for the re-
mainder of the season. If I can't, I shall bring down people


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 168
two or three times, and perhaps you will be kind enough
to act as hostess as usual. Otherwise I shall come here as
little as possible. I am going up to London to-morrow or the
next day, and I shall furnish some rooms. I propose to take
what furniture and books and things I want from here.
But I shall take nothing that you will want yourself."
Her face had grown red. She recognised the tone. His
father had sometimes used it on the rare occasions when he
had exercised his will in opposition to hers. She had been
congratulating herself a few minutes before that in opposing
her Edward had come up against a brick wall. Now it was
she in her turn who had come up against a wall.
"What nonsense you are talking!" she began.
But Edward was on his way out of the room, and left it
without replying to her.
CHAPTER XXVin
"pDWARD went up to London two days later. He had
*—i had great difficulties to contend with with his mother.
With defeat staring her in the face, she had tried to temporise
with him, but she had not given way on the only point upon
which he might have met her. She would not promise to
go to Barbara and eat her own words.
He had made up his mind to go up to Baycleft and to see
Barbara; also to see Kelly, and try if possible to get some-
thing out of him. Money might come in there, and he was
not sorry to have it at his disposal. He would pay Kelly
almost any bribe if he would tell him what he knew, for he
was sure that he knew something. It was only on receipt
of Barbara's letters that he realised that the place she had
gone to was so near the place where he knew Kelly to be,
and he wondered if she had known that he was there, and
whether she had come across him.
He stayed in London for two days, looking about for
suitable rooms near his club, and he went to the emigration
office to see if he could find out something about the destina-
tion of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Smith and their grandchild.


164 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
He was told that Smith had taken up land at a place called
Murrumbah, a lately developed wheat area. It was out of
wheat-growing, said the agent, that new-comers into the
country who had money behind them could expect to get
rich in the quickest time, provided they had good harvests.
"We advised this man Smith to take up land, and he has
taken out enough money to make it worth his while if he
works hard."
"It seems rather a curious thing," said Edward, "that a
man who has been connected with the sea all his life should
start farming at between fifty and sixty."
But the agent did not seem to see this. "You have no
idea," he said, " of the money that can be made out of wheat
on these new lands in ordinary good seasons. Why, this man
may get all his capital back in a year, and pay for his land
and his stock and make money besides out of one good har-
vest, if he is the right sort."
"I hope he will turn out to be so," said Edward.
"I hope he will," said the agent. "By the way, it's a
curious thing. You're not the first to come here and ask
after this man. There was a woman here only last week,
asking if we couldn't send her child out to him. She was his
daughter, and she said that Smith had offered to take this
child, but she hadn't been able to make up her mind to let
him go at the last moment. Now she has changed her mind
again, and wants to get him out there. He is about seven
years old, and, of course, we can't send a child like that out
by himself, and we told her so. She would have to pay
somebody to take him, or wait till she gets money from her
father."
"But they did take a child with them," Edward said.
*' His name was in the book at the steamship offices."
"Well, they didn't take this child," said the agent, "and
it doesn't follow that they took one at all from his name being
in the book. If this Mrs. Newton said she would let her
child go, they might have booked his passage, and that's
probably what they did do."
"I wonder whether I could find out whether a child went
with them or not ?" Edward said.
"Oh, you ought to be able to find that out at Greathamp-
ton," said the agent; "but I'm afraid we can't tell you here."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 165
"I think I should like to see this Mrs. Newton," said
Edward, after thinking for a moment. "Can you give me
her address?"
The agent made no obJection to doing so. Her husband
was a ship's carpenter, and they lived in the Isle of Dogs.
Edward made his way to that somewhat crowded region,
and found Mrs. Newton, a rather querulous, faded-looking
young woman of a very undecided mind, which did not
surprise him, from what he had heard of her. She did not
even now know her own mind about her own child, who was
clinging to her skirts all the time she was talking to Edward,
and seemed to have no opinion of his own upon the subJect,
or to realise that it was under discussion whether he should
be shipped off to the other side of the world or allowed to
remain at home. No doubt it would be a good thing for him,
she said, but there, he was his mammy's boy, and she did not
want to part from him. But there were three more, and his
father had told her that she was a fool to stand in his light,
so she had gone up to the emigration offices to see whether
he could still go after all. She had gathered that he could
not, and she seemed to be rather glad of it.
"Did your father and mother take anyone else instead of
him ?" Edward asked.
No, she said, there had not been time. They would have
, taken one of her sister's children if she had been able to make
up her mind. There was trouble about it between them.
She had stood in the way of both children, and her father
and mother had been very angry at having to lose the passage
money. They had been going to claim for it when they got
on board the ship, but she did not know whether they had
done so or not. She had not heard from them since they had
arrived, but she believed her brother had.
After some further conversation Edward took the address
of this brother, who was employed in a ship-chandler's
shop in Deptford, and went to see him the next day.
He was a dark man, not very unlike his precious uncle, Kelly.
He was not nearly so informative as his sister, and wanted
to know who Edward was, and all about him, before he would
answer any of his questions.
"I'll tell you who I am," said Edward. "My name is
Knightly, and I am engaged to be married to Miss Clayton,


166 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
whose little brother was murdered, as you know. I want to
find out something about Jude Kelly's movements on the
night the child disappeared, and I am ready to pay for any
information I can get."
The man looked at him suspiciously. But the offer of
money had obviously tempted him.
"I tell you I don't know anything about him," he said.
"I haven't seen him for something like twenty years."
"Did he ever communicate with your mother?"
"They used to write to each other sometimes, but perhaps
she wouldn't hear anything of him for years together."
"Did she tell him they were going to Australia?"
"I doD't know."
"Did you or any of your family see them off?"
"We saw them off in London. Me and my missus and the
Newtons."
"But none of you went down to Greathampton?"
"No, we didn't. We can't afford money for travelling
like that."
"Do you know if Kelly saw them off at Greathampton?
It isn't difficult to get at from Rede Harbour, where he
lived."
"I don't suppose he did, but I don't know anything about
Edward asked him some further questions as to the Smiths'
offer of taking one of their grandchildren with them, and he
corroborated what his sister had said.
Edward had talked the man into a good humour, and now
made bold to disclose the real purpose of his visit. "You've
had a letter from them, haven't you ?" he asked.
"Yes, I have," said the man.
"May I see it?"
A hint of avarice appeared in his eyes. "Why should
I show you my mother's private letter to me ?" he asked.
"Because I'll pay you for doing so," Edward replied.
A bargain was discussed and closed between them.
"Well, I've got it in my pocket," said the man, "and
you're welcome to see it, though I can't see you'll be much
the wiser. However, a bargain's a bargain, and I suppose
a gentleman like you won't go back from it."
He gave Edward the letter. It was not very long, and ifc


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 167
was remarkably ill-spelt. It touched on the voyage, which
Mrs. Smith expressed herself delighted to have behind her.
But it was mostly taken up with an account of the money
people were making all about them. "Father likes the life,"
ran one sentence, "and we will make money. But it's hard
for a woman; and don't you come out here, Bill, or tell the
rest to."
"I don't know why she don't want us to go out there,"
grumbled the man. "She was trying to persuade all of us
to go out there before they left. I suppose she wants to
keep it all to herself."
He referred not only to this passage, but to another sentence
in a postscript which repeated the advice. "Don't none of
you think of coming out here."
"Looks as if they didn't want us," he said, as Edward
returned him the letter and paid him the agreed price for
his perusal of it.
"Is there any reason why they shouldn't want you out
there ?" Edward asked idly, as he prepared to depart.
"Only what I says," he replied. "Mother wants to keep
everything to herself. She was always like that—put money
by, and didn't want anybody to know how she got it."
As Edward went back he thought over this letter, which
at first had seemed to tell him absolutely nothing.
He had had a sort of half-defined hope that it might have
made some reference to Mrs. Smith's fellow-voyagers. Now
he wondered if there might not be something behind this
twice-repeated advice to her family not to Join them, for
which there seemed to be little reason, if they were so assured
of prosperity, as she said, and if, as her son had eaid, she
had previously pressed them to follow her. Was the evidence
strong enough to Justify him in thinking that she might have
something to hide, which she could not hide except by keeping
herself apart at the other end of the world? It was strong
enough, at any rate, to make him ask that question of himself,
and to take it to Mr. Chinnering.
"You are getting on, Mr. Knightly," said the detective.
"Now let's make a wild guess and say, supposing Mr. Frank
Clayton was in England and did go out by that boat, and
Kelly was there, too, when she sailed, and William Clayton
was there, as we know he was, or pretty near it—well, If all


168 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
those things did happen, these Smiths must have got some
inkling that there was something up, and if what you seem
to think of them is true, perhaps they turned that something
into money."
"Aren't we beginning somewhat at the wrong end, accord-
ing to your theories?" asked Edward, with a smile. "We
are supposing all sorts of things about Frank Clayton, and
there's not a vestige of evidence to show that he ever came
back to England."
"I know that," said Chinnering. "There's no harm in
making up a theory and seeing if the facts will fit it, as long
as you don't play hanky-panky with the facts themselves.
You are getting hold of facts now, and there's no telling when
some of them may not point to something important. If I
were you I should follow this up closely."
"How can I follow it up any farther without going to
Australia?"
"Well, I don't say that there may not be enough for you
or somebody else to go to Australia," said Chinnering coolly,
as if a six weeks' voyage were nothing much. "But at
present it's only necessary to go as far as Greathampton again.
The chances are that you will find somebody there who was in
the Ccesar when she went on that voyage. But before we
talk about that, I'd like to ask you a question. I wish you'd
taken a copy of that letter. But I suppose you have told me
everything that was in it. Is there anything particular that
strikes you about it?"
"Nothing more than what I've told you."
"Well, there is something in it that strikes me, and strikes
me pretty forcibly, Mr. Knightly."
Edward waited.
"When you come to look at a letter," said Mr. Chinnering,
"in the way of getting evidence from it, there are two things
to take into account. Ycu've only taken one of them into
account."
Edward considered this. "I don't quite see what you
mean," he said.
"Well, you've taken into account what this good woman
said in her letter. You haven't taken into account what she
didn't say."
Again Edward was silent.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 169
"Here's the date of this letter," continued Mr. Chinnering.
"It was written a fortnight after they had landed. Now,
what was the first thing they would hear about when they
did land T"
Edward looked up at him with interest. "I suppose
you mean they would have heard of the mystery of Redmarsh
Farm?"
"Why, of course they would. They would have been
hearing of it all the way out, wherever they touched land.
An emigrant ship is a slow ship, and the mails would be
overtaking it all the way out. By the time they got out
to Australia they would have had the news of Kelly's being
had up for the theft, and what happened at the police-
court, where it was made pretty clear that he was suspected
of the murder too. Does she say a word about that?"
"Not a word," said Edward.
"Well, wouldn't she have said a word in the ordinary way
of things? Wouldn't her letter have been full of it?
"I never thought of that," said Edward.
"Well, now I've asked you the question. Isn't it absolutely
certain that if a woman of that class makes no mention at all
of a thing like that, she has got some very good reason for it?
Mr. Knightly, you've found out something more important
than you know."
Mr. Chinnering was getting excited.
"I say that there's no getting away from it," he said.
"She must have mentioned it, look at it how you like."
"Always supposing that she had seen the news," said
Edward.
"Well, can there be any reasonable doubt of that? Isn't
it the first thing that people do when they leave their own
country—to look eagerly for the news from it? She couldn't
escape the mystery of Redmarsh Farm if she read any paper
at all that was published after they left England. It's hardly
safe to take anything for granted in this sort of business, but
it's safe enough to take that. We can't be going wrong if
we say that this woman had some reason for keeping quiet
about the crime that her brother was mixed up in.'
"Do you think she knew that it had been committed?"
Edward asked.
"Ah, that's going too far. It's enough to suppose that


170 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
she may have known what nobody has been able to find out,
and that is where Kelly was on the night of the murder.
I say that he was most likely to have been in Greathampton,
and that's what we've got to do our best to find out."
"I'm quite willing to go down there again," said Edward.
"But you have already had the police making those in-
quiries there, haven't you?"
"Yes, and they haven't been able to find any trace of
them. The only thing I can suggest is, as I said, that you
should go down there and try your best to get hold of some-
body who was in the boat when she made that voyage.
Or we can do it, if you like. We probably shall do it in any
case, if you're not successful; but it would be better that
you should do it, because you can pose as a person who was
interested in these Smiths, and I won't disguise from you
that it is difficult for any regular member of the force to
avoid rousing suspicions and making talk when he pushes
inquiries."
"Very well, then, I'll go down to-morrow," Edward said.
"I wish I had thought of that omission in Mrs. Smith's
letter. Of course I ought to have done. I can see that it is
important."
"You're getting on very well, Mr. Knightly," said Chinner-
ing encouragingly. "You're thorough, and you don't mind
taking trouble about something that at first sight doesn't
look as if it would ever lead to anything. You've got hold
of a really important fact this time, and you can't expect
to learn a Job like this in a moment. Is there anything else
that it strikes you she left out of her letter?"
"I rather expected she would say something about the
passage money she was going to claim for the child who
wouldn't go with her."
Chinnering considered this thoughtfully. "It's a ques-
tion," he said, "of exactly how likely she would have been
to say something about it, and that we can't very well know.
I don't see anything of great importance in that. Still, we'll
bear it in mind."
Edward left him, now as eager as possible to follow up
the clue he had already got hold of. It was the first gleam
of success, which made all his previous trouble worth while.
He decided to postpone his Journey north until he had dis-


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 171
covered something more at Greathampton, and he went
down there the next day prepared to stay for some time if
necessary.
Mrs. Smith's letter had been full of talk about money.
She had even grumbled at the few shillings they had been
expected to give in tips at the end of the voyage. It seemed
odd that she should have said nothing about the passage
money that had been paid for Mrs. Newton's child, which
would be wasted if she had not been successful in getting it
back. And there was another thing. According to her son,
she had had a row with her daughter at the very moment of
parting on this very subJect. But she had not said a word
about that, or about the child whose companionship they
had been disappointed of.
The conclusion of Edward's cogitations was that it looked
as if there was something behind this too. But he got no
farther than that. He could not think of anything that
could be behind it.
Arrived at Greathampton he visited the shipping offices
again, and interviewed the friendly clerk.
"I have been wondering whether you would come again,"
he said. "I've dug up one little piece of news for you.
Rather a sad one, I'm afraid. The child that those people
took with them died in the Red Sea. At least, I oughtn't to
say that for certain, perhaps. A child of the name of Smith
did die of heat apoplexy on that voyage, and it's more likely
to have been their child than any of the other Smiths'. I Just
happened to come across the information a day or two ago,
and I'd have told you of it if I'd known where to write to
you.
"Thank you very much," Edward said. "But it can't
have been their child, because they didn't take one out, after
all."
The clerk looked surprised. "Oh, but they must have
done," he said; "we should have known if they didn't.
All the figures are checked."
"But I have seen the child they were going to take,"
Edward said. "His mother wouldn't let him go."
"Well, then, they must have taken another child," said
the clerk. "Poked him in at the last moment, although they'd
have no right to do so. In fact, if we'd known that the child


172 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
they were going to take was not their own, but a grandchild,
they wouldn't have got the same terms."
Edward wanted to get away by himself and think, but he
asked first if there were any people who had been on board
the ship on that voyage who were now at Greathampton.
The clerk did not know of any, but said he would make
inquiries. It often happened that the members of one ship's
crew changed to another ship, and were on shore for a time
between the voyages.
Before Edward left the clerk gave him a copy of the list
of emigrants who had gone out by the Ceesar. It was an old
copy that he had found and no longer wanted.
CHAPTER XXIX
PDWARD went back to his hotel, walking through the
-*-' busy streets of the town without seeing anything. He
was asking himself whether it was possible that this child
that the Smiths had taken with them to Australia was the
child who everyone thought was dead.
Perhaps it would never have struck him that it was in
the least possible if it had not been for that faint glimmer
of doubt about the identification of little Tony's body.
The doubt had been so slight that even poor Barbara, who
would cling to every vestige of hope, had reJected it. But
supposing it did turn out, by some incredible coincidence,
that the body found wrapped in little Tony's shirt had not
been that of Tony, but of another child, then wouldn't
everything fit in in the most surprising way? The more he
thought of it the more it seemed to him that it would. There
were an immense number of little circumstances to put to-
gether and to weigh with one another, and he must set him-
self down to go through them.
But as he walked through the streets, and they occurred
to him one by one, the idea almost reached conviction in
bis mind that this might be the answer to all the mystery j
and if it was 1


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 178
Then like a douche of cold water came the recollection of
the news of the child's death in the Red Sea, and his heart
sank like lead.
What if little Tony had not been killed after all, but had
been taken out of the country by these people, and yet after
all had died! It would be almost more terrible than what
they had hitherto thought had happened—much more
terrible for Barbara, whose grief would awaken anew when
it was already in process of healing. It would have been
the cruellest stroke of fate. The only thing to be said was
that it was not certain that the child who had died was the
child these Smiths had taken with them, supposing they had
taken a child at all.
But there had been no talk of their taking a child when
they had left London on their way to Join the ship.
Then, if they had taken a child, it must have been one who
had been entrusted to them on the afternoon or evening of
the day on which the ship sailed.
Edward stayed in Greathampton for six days. He made
every effort to find someone who had been in the Ccesar
during her voyage to Australia in May. He haunted the
docks, and got to know a large number of the men who go
down to the sea in ships, or have to do with ships when they
reach land. Once or twice he thought he had been successful
in finding what he wanted. In that shifting population of
the sea men were always changing ships, and he heard of
several of the Ccesar's crew who had done so, and seemed to
be on the track of one here and there who had been in the
Ccesar and was now in Greathampton.
But he was always unfortunate in Just missing them.
And at last, when he heard of a steward who had gone
out in the Ccesar, and had returned in another ship, and
had sailed again in her the very day before—a man whom
he might have met any time during the week—he gave
it up.
By the end of the week he had almost made up his mind
that he would take passage to Australia and find out the
truth of all these things for himself. When that idea came
to him it seemed to him a waste of time to stay in Great-
hampton any longer.
On the evening before he left he was looking over the list


174 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
of passengers by the Caesar which the clerk in the shipping
office had given him. He had already many times gone
over the list of Smiths, and wondered which child it was of
them all who had died.
He could not disguise from himself that if the Smiths
with whom he was concerned had taken a young child with
them, it was most likely to have been that one. There were
five children among the other families, and they were of all
ages between thirteen and sixteen, and their names were
set down plainly.
Now, on this occasion, reading the names onwards, he
came to the "W's," and there was a name there, not an
uncommon name, which he had read before but taken no
notice of. It was the name of Watson.
It so happened that he had been thinking over certain
incidents in the trial of John Clayton, and of that Watson
to whom he had made large payments of late years; and it
now struck him, and he wondered that it had not struck him
before, that it was Just possible that the mysterious Watson
and the mysterious Prank Clayton might be one and the
same person.
You had to take it in connection with the letters John
Clayton had been known to have received from Australia.
There was nothing to show that it was so, but so much had
already come of following up unlikely ideas that his mind
had accustomed itself to work on such possibilities as this.
It was only on possibilities, not based upon anything that
they knew for certain, that suspicion of Frank Clayton
had entered his mind at all. He had looked for the name
of Clayton in the list without much hope of finding it,
Frank Clayton would probably have changed his name,
and he had allowed for that, and had sometimes wondered
if in all that long list there was a name that represented
him.
Well, here at any rate, was this name of Watson. He put
the fact away in his mind with the rest, but not before he
had made a determination in connection with it.
The next day he went home to Cliffthorpe. When he
got there he was very much relieved to find that his mother
had left home on a little round of visits. In the afternoon
be went down to Redmarsh Farm. He was em horseback,


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 175
for he wanted to find John Clayton, wherever he was, and
knew that he often rode about the marsh in the afternoon.
He was told at the house that he was doing so now, and rode
out to look for him.
He found him right away on the marsh, coming slowly
back from a point near Rede Castle, and they walked their
horses over the wet grass together.
Clayton's manner was not cordial. He was a proud man,
and he had been thinking a great deal over this affair of
Edward and Barbara. When he had last seen Edward he
had been going to talk to his mother about her visit to Barbara.
He had rather hoped that Edward would have come back to
him, and told him that he had settled matters with that lady.
John Clayton thought that Barbara loved Edward, and
above all things he wanted her to have what she desired in
life.
But Edward had not come back to him. He had gone
away, and since he had gone John Clayton had heard rumours
that there was an engagement on foot between him and Miss
Enid Mannering. They had, in fact, been more than rumours.
One of his neighbours who had stuck to him and refused to
believe in his guilt had told him that Lady Charlotte had
called on his wife and told her definitely that it was Enid
Mannering whom Edward really wanted to marry; that ho
had allowed himself to become entangled with Barbara
Clayton, but that now he was free of her; that he was going
away for a short time to London to allow the effects of his
mistake to blow over, and that when he came back she hoped
that the marriage would take place. It is difficult to see
what Lady Charlotte can have hoped to gain by spreading
these reports, for she must have known that Edward would
have nothing to do with Enid Mannering. Perhaps she only
hoped, by surrounding his actions with her untruths, they
might affect somebody, if not him.
And if this was her idea she was right. Such a tale would
never have been believed by Barbara, but it was more than
half believed by John Clayton. He was too proud to say
anything about it to Edward, but treated him with marked
disfavour as they rode together, and made no attempt to
make conversation with him.
If Edward had mentioned Barbara to him the mis under-


176 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
standing might have been cleared up. But he did not do so
for a very good reason. Until he found out for certain whether
the Smiths had taken a child with them, and, if they had,
whether that child had been little Tony, and what child it
was that had died in the Red Sea, he must hold himself from
giving her the slightest hint that such things were possible.
Otherwise all the pangs of her loss would come back to her.
He had not yet made up his mind whether he would see her
at all before he went to Australia, if he should definitely
decide to go there. It might be better, unhappy as it would
make him, to let the estrangement between them last until
such time as he should have cleared up matters farther.
At any rate, he was not prepared as yet to try and bring it
to an end, and therefore he did not mention her name to
her father.
This, of course, made John Clayton suppose that what he
had heard was likely to be true, and it made him more than
ever averse to a conversation with a man who, in his view
of it, had behaved badly to his dearly-loved daughter, and
brought her additional sorrow when she had already been
so overwhelmed with sorrow. He pulled up his horse and
said : " I've got my men to look after. If you've got nothing
to say to me, we may as well part here."
Edward had something to say to him which he had found
it difficult to say, but now he said it without any preparation
at all. "I came here to ask you a question," he said.
"What was the name your brother took when he went to
Australia?"
John Clayton looked at him with the deepest surprise and
displeasure. "What on earth makes you come and ask me
a question like that ?" he inquired in his turn. "Who has
ever said that I had a brother in Australia?"
"Did he take the name of Watson?" Edward asked,
with his eyes fixed keenly on his face.
The reply to this question could have been mistaken by
nobody. Clayton flinched at it. Why should he have done
so if the answer had not been in the affirmative?
His face grew very dark, and his temper got the better
of him. "How dare you come here and ask me questions
like that ?" he cried. "Are you still doing the blundering
work of that fool of a detective? If you are, kindly drop


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 177
It. 1 don't wisn to nave you interfering with my family
concerns. You have brought enough trouble on me and
mine as it is, and I don't want to have anything more to do
with you."
He wrenched his horse's head round, but Edward stopped
him.
"Look here, Mr. Clayton," he said, "I am doing what
I am doing in this business for the sake of you and Barbara.
You can't possibly think that I wish you any harm."
"I don't want to think about you at all," said Clayton
angrily. "I don't want to have anything more to do with
you. Kindly leave off meddling in my affairs, and don't
come here again to ask me impudent questions."
He spurred his horse and rode off at a trot. Edward followed
him. "Just let me say this—" he said.
But John Clayton turned on him in a fury. The stout
ash sapling he carried was half raised, as if he would have
struck him with it. "I'll go my way, and you can go
yours," he said. "If you try to follow me I'll"
He broke off; but his attitude was so menacing that
Edward saw it was of no use to talk to him farther. He
turned away, and John Clayton, with a savage look at him,
dug his heel again into his horse's side and cantered off.
Edward sat looking after him for a moment, and then rode
on over the marsh.
After all, he now knew what he wanted to know. Frank
Clayton was Watson. John Clayton had told him so as plainly
as if he had spoken. What he had been going to say to him
was that he ought no longer to keep the facts about his
brother to himself; for although he might think they were
of no importance, it was hardly for him to Judge that, for
everything was of importance.
Still, it was perhaps as well that he had not said it. It
could hardly have helped putting John Clayton on to the
track of his suspicions; and he did not want to do that.
If only he could have learnt something of this Frank
Clayton!
He was far nearer to doing so than be thought.


178 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
CHAPTER XXX
T^DWARD rode a long way, some miles farther than Rede,
-'-' sometimes enJoying a smart canter across the springy
turf, sometimes slowing down to a walk, and thinking
deeply.
At last he turned and retraced his steps. It was getting
dusk. He took a track on the other side of the river, which,
when he had gone a little way past Rede Castle, led him
near to a low stonebuilt cottage, hardly more than a hut,
which was inhabited by one of John Clayton's shepherds,
or " lookers " as they were called on the marsh. This was an
old, taciturn man, who had lived all his life on the marsh,
and lived most of it alone in this little hut, which had been
erected many years before out of stones taken from the ruins
of Rede Castle.
This old man had served John Clayton's father. If any
human tie bound him it was his connection with the Claytons.
John Clayton understood him and left him alone. William
Clayton sometimes made it his business to talk to him when
he was at Redmarsh Farm, but it was becoming increasingly
difficult to make him talk at all. The only person in the
world whom he really seemed to care for was Barbara, and
her he was always pleased to see, although there was little
enough in his manner to show it. She would sometimes
go out to his hut on Sunday afternoons and sit and talk
to him, never minding whether she gained any replies or not.
Sometimes she hardly had a dozen words from him in the
course of an afternoon, sometimes he was almost talkative
to her and to her alone; but with the deep sympathy that
was part of her nature, she knew that whether he talked or
not he was pleased to have her with him.
As a young man roaming about the marsh with Barbara,
his child friend, Edward had often visited the shepherd with
her, old and taciturn even then, but not so silent as he had
since become. In those days, not so long since, which now
seemed so happy to him, when Barbara had accepted his
love, they had paid the old man a visit, and had told him
of it. He had said nothing at all in way of comment on tha


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 179
news, which had rather disconcerted them, but had sat
still looking out over the marsh with steady, inscrutable
eyes. But when they had left him he had Just touched
Barbara's shoulder with his hand and had said to Edward,
"I am glad it's you." So they had known that their news
had pleased him.
The hut was some way off the track along which Edward
was riding. But as he looked over towards it it occurred
to him that he would Just go and say a word to the shepherd.
He had some connection with Barbara, and Edward's heart
was sore for want of Barbara.
The old man was in one of his two tiny rooms, preparing
for his evening meal. Edward tied his horse to a post and
went in and wished him good evening.
The old man looked at him, and then went on with his
preparation for supper.
Edward knew how to treat him, and sat down by the table.
"If you are going to have a cup of tea," he said, "give me
one too."
The old man took another cup out of the cupboard in the
corner without a word. Edward went on talking about the
weather and about the sheep. That was the way to treat
him. If he had anything to say he would say it in his own
time.
When he did speak it was Dot about the sheep or about
the weather. He looked at Edward out of his keen blue
eyes, under their shaggy penthouse of white hair. "When
are you going to marry Miss Barbara ?" he asked.
Edward was taken aback, but something impelled him
to tell this old man the truth. "She says she won't marry
me now," he said. "She won't leave her father."
The old man turned from him and went deliberately on
with his preparations for his meal, and it was some time
before he said, "That isn't the reason."
Again Edward was taken aback. It seemed almost as if
this old man, living always apart from men and close to
the mysterious forces of nature, had some power of divination
unknown to ordinary mortals. "It is this horrible mystery,"
he said, "that has come between us. If that could only be
cleared up!"
Again the old man waited for a long time before he spoke,


180 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
and when he did speak he gave Edward the greatest surprise
he had ever had in his life.
"I know who it was," he said.
The words rang through the close little hut. The old
man had risen to his full height, and stood looking down
at Edward seated at the table with eyes full of trouble.
Edward had never heard him speak in that tone before.
There was no doubt about the words spoken, nor what they
meant, but for a moment he could hardly take them in,
they were such a complete surprise. He sat staring at the
shepherd without saving anything.
The old man broke out into a flood of what seemed in-
coherent speech.
"It was many years ago," he said. "I was sitting on
the grass, and I saw him running along playing some game,
hiding behind the dick." (Dyke was always "dick" in
the speech of the marsh.) "It was Just his head I seen,
and I smiled. I was a younger man then, and never thought
of when I'd see that sight again." He stood staring at
Edward with a sort of helpless look in his eyes, as if he had
explained himself fully, and was waiting to be told what he
ought to do.
Edward could not understand in the least what he was
driving at, but he felt with rising excitement that there was
a story behind this, if only he could get it out. He knew
how slow of speech the old man was, and he had hardly ever
heard him speak so many words together before.
"Whom did you see hiding behind the dyke ?" he asked.
The answer came plain enough. "Why, Master Frank.
He was always up to his pranks. I knew he was trying to
get behind me without me seeing him, and give me a fright."
Edward began to see light. "You mean," he said, "that
when ho was a boy you saw him running along behind the
dyke?"
"Yes, I told you so."
"And you saw him again doing Just the same thing on
that afternoon last May?"
"Yes. And I said to myself, ' Oh, you've come back after
all these years to plague us.'"
Edward rose and went to the door of the cottage. "Tell
me where you saw him," he said.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 181
The old man came and stood by his side. He pointed
to the hard line of a bank some distance off, which could
now only Just be seen in the gathering darkness, and
pointed with his finger. "It was there—and there," he
said.
Edward was conscious of a drop in his expectations. The
dyke was a long way off. It was doubtful whether anybody
could have been clearly recognised at the distance. "How
much did you see of him ?" he asked.
"Just bobbing up same as he did before, here and there,
head and shoulders like."
"Did you see anyone with him?"
"No, I was looking at him."
They went back into the cottage. Edward saw that the
old man wanted to relieve his mind of what had been on it
so long. But it would be difficult to get his story out of him,
although he was anxious to tell it. He was so unused to
expressing himself, so little used to words at all. He was
now waiting to be asked further questions. Unless Edward
should ask the right ones, he might miss something of im-
portance ; and, above all, he must not frighten him.
"You are quite sure it was Frank," he said.
"I saw him as I had seen him before. I waited where
I was till he came round behind me, but he never came."
"But they asked you, didn't they, whether you had seen
anybody on that afternoon? What time was it you saw
him?"
"It was about three o'clock."
"You told them that you had seen nobody."
The shepherd went on to give some explanation of why he
had spoken now.
It was Miss Barbara. She had come to him soon after
she had recovered from her illness, and had sat there and
cried, and after that it had come to him by slow degrees
that what he had seen had had some connection with the
mystery that everyone about him was talking of. Again
Edward had to consider many things before he was able to
divine why he had not spoken then.
He knew that the old man could not read. He knew how
little intercourse he had with his fellow-creatures. He
Imagined how scraps of news would filter through to him;


182 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
how the idea of murder and of his master's trial for murder
would oppress him like a nightmare; how difficult it would
be for him to put two and two together even then, and if
he had done so completely, how next to impossible it would
have been for him to come forward on his own initiative
and spoken out what he knew.
It was a long time before Edward understood all this,
and had got from him all that he seemed likely to get about
what he had seen, but still he could not tear himself away
from him. It was such an astounding piece of news to come
across, and he felt somehow that there must be something
more that he could find out. He let the old man talk on in
his wandering way. His tongue was now unloosed, and he
was ready to talk in his own fashion; and presently Edward
realised that he could talk most freely of days long since
past, and that by listening to him and putting in a word
here and there he could gain a good idea of what Frank
Clayton and his brothers had been like as boys and young
men.
He got an impression of John, slow and steady-going,
keenly interested even in his boyhood in the affairs of the
farm ; fond of his younger brothers, but apt to lose his temper
with them, and rather to domineer over them. This struck
Edward as odd, because his attitude to William, as he had
seen it, was rather that of a man looking up to someone
whom he considered of more account than himself.
But it was not of John that he wanted so much to hear,
and it was not of John that the old shepherd spoke most.
He gathered that the two younger brothers had always
been up to mischief, but he could not gather from any-
thing that was said that Frank's mischief had ever been
anything but harmless.
With William the impression was different. As he had
grown up he seemed to have been mixed up constantly
with some girl or another at the Harbour, or in the farms and
cottages about the marsh. Frank had had his flirtations,
too, and both of them had kept them very dark, for fear of
their father, and in a less degree of their elder brother. But
William's gallantries seemed to have been carried on in a
more deliberate way than Frank's, and Edward pricked up
his ears when he heard that Jude Kelly, then a handsome


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 188
man, with the reputation of being able to do what he liked
with women, had acted sometimes as his go-between.
Edward formed the opinion that the shepherd had been
fonder of Frank than of William. And it did not surprise
him to learn that even now, in spite of what he had seen,
and in spite of the connection he had established in his mind
between Frank's reappearance and the disappearance of the
child, he had no idea of admitting that Frank could be guilty
of the crime of murder. Edward thought it only fair to pub
this to him.
"This means, you know," he said, "that it was Frank
Clayton who took Master Tony away; and you know what
happened to him."
The old man looked blank. He was not equal to taking
in any but the plainest statement, and Edward had put it
with brutal plainness before he understood.
"It means," he said, " that they can arrest Frank Clayton
for murdering the child."
He looked as if he had been struck. "Him do a murder!"
he exclaimed. "No, he would never do that."
Edward tried to get out of him what his idea was of what
had happened, but he could not. Perhaps he had no clear
idea at all. And yet, his mind had been burdened by what
he had seen.
It was too puzzling; but, after all, it did not very much
matter, if he was right in his facts.
That was the question Edward asked himself when he
had left him and was riding home round by the road, for
it was now too dark to venture across the marsh. The old
shepherd had guided him to the nearest point on the road,
and his last words had been, "It's off my mind now, and
don't you tell nobody, except Miss Barbara."
"111 think about telling her," Edward had said, "but I
don't want you to do so."
He reached home at about half-past seven. There was
a note waiting for him on the hall table. It was from Mrs.
Mannering, and ran:
"My dear Mr. Edward,—I have only Just heard that
you have returned this afternoon unexpectedly. I am sure
you must be lonely all by yourself, and do hope that you


184 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
will dine with us quietly to-night at a quarter to eight.
We shall be so pleased to see you. We are quite by our-
selves. There is no need to reply to this, and we shall expect
you.
"Ever yours sincerely,
"Caroline Mannering."
Edward gave vent to an exclamation of annoyance and
looked at his watch. He had not the slightest desire to dine
with the Mannerings, but it was difficult tc see what excuse
he could give at this time.
Should he go? No. He would write a note and say that
he had business to do that would take him all the evening.
He went into the library and rang the bell. "I want you
to take a note to Mrs. Mannering," he said to the servant
who answered it.
The man hesitated for a moment. "Mrs. Mannering left
the note herself, sir," he said. "She told us you would be
dining with her. We haven't prepared any dinner."
Well, it was like the woman's impertinence to write him an
invitation and to accept it for him at the same time, but
perhaps he had better go after all.
"All right," he said. "Never mind about the note,"
and hurried upstairs to dress. His irritation against the
Mannerings had died down. There had been nothing to
keep it alive, as they had behaved quite innocuously when
they had dined at Cliffthorpe Hall. He had had so many
things to think of that he hardly remembered that he had
had reason to obJect to them. Besides, he did not want to
offend any of his neighbours now that he was going away.
It was rather late when he arrived at the Lodge. Mrs.
Mannering and her daughters were waiting for him in their
cosy, well-lighted drawing-room, and gave him a warm wel-
come, but did not overload him with gratitude for coming.
Mrs. Mannering knew very well that although she had Lady
Charlotte on her side, this was a fish that would require
a good deal of catching, and that the best way to do it was
to make him feel at home among friends who could surround
him with pleasant sociability, but not allow him to think
that he was being angled for.
And Miss Enid had had her orders. She was sweetly


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 185
reserved with him. Edward went away at the end of a
not unpleasant evening, during which there had been some
music and a good deal of lively talk, with the impression
that she was not such a bad girl after all.
Barbara's name, of course, had never been mentioned,
and no word had been said about the mystery of Redmarsh
Farm. The only hint of aggressive behaviour on the part
of the Mannerings had been when his hostess alluded to his
now known intention of settling down in London for a time.
"We're going up to town," Mrs. Mannering said, "for a
month or two at the beginning of December. I do hope
we shall see something of you. It will be so pleasant to have
one old friend within reach, for we are very much country
mice, and there is no one we particularly care about in Lon-
don."
Miss Enid looked up shyly and said, "I would very much
rather stay at home. I should like to live at Cliffthorpe all
my life, and never go away from it."
Perhaps Mrs. Mannering thought this speech a little too
marked, for she said sharply, "Don't be foolish, Enid. Of
course you cannot vegetate in the country all your life."
Then she turned to Edward and said, "We will let you
know when we come up, and you will be sure and come and
see us, won't you?"
"I will if I am there," Edward said; "but I am not sure
that I shall be there then. I am thinking of going abroad for
a time."
This piece of information was received with mixed feelings
by the three ladies, who, however, did not allow any of them
to appear. If Edward was going abroad, it did look as if
that entanglement with Barbara Clayton had come to an
end ; and they had heard rumours to that effect, but nothing
definite. Here, then, was hope, and they could wait with
more patience until he should return, and the campaign
could be carried on perhaps with more vigour. But it was
rather annoying to think that the proposed two months in
London would be wasted, as far as the campaign was con-
cerned. Mrs. Mannering's purse did not permit of such
distractions without a very good reason, and if the chief
reason for going to London no longer existed, she thought
that possibly they would not go at all.


186 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
Edward left soon after ten o'clock, and had forgotten all
about the Mannerings almost as soon as he was out of the
house. He did not in the least realise that his having dined
with them on the one evening he was at home would become
generally known, or that it would much matter to him if it
did. Nor did he realise that Mrs. Mannering would cause it
to appear that he had come home for a night during his
mother's absence, for the express purpose of dining with her-
self and her daughters.
CHAPTER XXXI
"E'DWARD went to Cambridge on his way north. He
was now anxious to gain further corroboration of
Frank Clayton's having been in England at the time the
child had disappeared, and it had occurred to him that if
he had been he might very likely have paid a flying visit to
one of his old haunts.
Not even the preoccupation of mind in which he lived
prevented some emotion of pleasure from coming over him
as he found himself once more in those well-remembered
haunts of his youth. Like so many men who have greatly
enJoyed their university life, he had frequently visited
Cambridge in the first year or two after he had taken his
degree, and then dropped out of going there at all. A genera-
tion of undergraduates lasts for so short a time, and a young
man feels so old when a few years later he revisits the place
where he has known so many people, and finds that there
is hardly anyone that remembers him.
It was over five years since he had been in Cambridge,
and the experience now struck him with an unexpected
freshness. There was the same bustle in the long, ugly
station, the same dilapidated-looking hansoms outside,
drawn by the same old screws, with a turn of speed seldom
possessed by London cab horses. As his cab swayed along
the station road, up past the Roman Catholic church and
down into Thrumpington Street, he felt very much as if he
were nine or ten years younger, and were going "up " after


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 187
the Long Vacation to his rooms in St. Michael's College.
He rather wished he were, instead of to "The Bull." It
had been a Jolly life, but surely the men with whom he had
been wont to consort had been older than these boys whom
he passed, looking as if the whole place belonged to them.
Well, it did belong to them now. They were at the lucky
age when they could enJoy all the fruit of the long centuries
that had made Cambridge what it was. He had had his turn,
and perhaps he had not made quite enough of it. He felt
suddenly very much older than his twenty-nine years, although
hitherto he had been wont to think himself as young as any-
body. I f he were to come "up" now he would have very
little in common with these clean-faced, youthful under-
graduates. He was a middle-aged country gentleman, a
Justice of the Peace, with a good many responsibilities resting
upon him, and a good many anxieties too, at the present
moment; and a room at "The Bull" was more in his line
than the pleasant careless life of rooms in college.
When he had engaged his room he set out to walk along
the familiar streets to St. Michael's College. The illusion of
youth returned to him. It was now dark, and a stream of
men in short gowns and more or less battered caps were going
in through the great gateway to dine at the first "hall."
It was so short a time ago since he might have been one of
them, and the way in was so familiar. He turned into the
porter's lodge, and found the same faces there, and received
a respectful welcome. College servants never seem to change,
and they remember everybody. They are responsible for a
good deal of gratification in the way they make men who are
feeling rather out of it imagine themselves at home again.
The head porter, a stately gentleman, who was getting
ready to retire in favour of his second-in-command, remem-
bered Edward at once and was pleased to have a word or two
with him.
When he had prepared the way, Edward asked him if he
remembered two brothers of the name of Clayton who had
been at the college about twenty years before.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Knightly," said the porter. "One of them
still comes up here every now and then. I rather think the
other one wasn't here for long. I don't recollect much about
him. I don't think he was ever in college."


188 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"You'd recognise him if you saw him, I suppose," Edward
said.
"Ah," said the porter, "there's no telling who we can't
recognise when we see them, but I can't say as I recall that
gentleman's face at the moment."
"He hasn't been here lately, then—not this year?''
Edward asked.
"If he has, he hasn't made himself known to me," said
the porter. "By the by, may I ask if those two gentlemen
have anything to do with that Clayton of Redmarsh Farm?
It never occurred to me before, as it isn't an uncommon name,
and to tell you the truth, I didn't connect you with it either,
although it was you, sir, I suppose, that saw the poor little
child the afternoon he was missed?"
"Yes, it was I," said Edward rather unwillingly, "and
the two men who were here were the child's uncles."
He had not realised that these questions would be likely
to be asked of him, and that his inquiring in this way after
the Claytons might look rather odd. He asked no further
questions, but accepted the porter's statement that he had
seen nothing of Frank Clayton.
That discreet functionary did not show that he thought
ft at all odd that he should have asked him, and Edward left
him, after doing what was necessary and perhaps not unex-
pected after so long an absence.
He strolled through the court towards the rooms which
had been his, and stood outside them for a little, trying to
call up the emotions of the past.
As he stood there a man came out of the low doorway, and
when he saw him touched his hat to him. "Well, Mr.
Knightly," he said, " we haven't seen you here for years."
Edward shook hands with him. It was Grant, his old
"gyp," who had waited on him in these very rooms.
After a few words it occurred to Edward to put his question
to Grant.
Grant looked up at him when he asked him if he remem-
bered two brothers of the name of Clayton being at the
eollege.
"Yes, sir. I remember them very well," he said, "and I
have been thinking a good deal about them lately."
Edward realised that, however it might have been with


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 189
the porter, Grant had connected them with the mystery of
Redmarsh Farm.
"They kept together in my house in Jesus Lane," he said,
"and I looked after them there. When Mr. Frank was sent
down, Mr. William came into college, and he didn't have a
gyp-"
(It should be explained, perhaps, that undergraduates at
Cambridge are looked after by a "bedmaker" when they
"keep " in college, and by a landlady when they are in lodg-
ings outside. A "gyp" is an extra luxury who valets the
more well-to-do, and sometimes waits at table when they are
giving a luncheon or dinner.)
"Was Frank Clayton sent down?" Edward asked.
"Well, I don't know about sent down, sir. He went down
rather suddenly."
"Do you know the story?"
"Yes, I do. I was there when it all happened, but I've
kept my mouth shut about it, as it was in my own house."
"I'm glad you did that. Do you mind telling it to me?"
Apparently Grant was rather pleased to have someone he
could tell the story to.
"If you'll come in here, sir," he said, "I've got a quarter
of an hour to spare, and Mr. Holland is away on an exeat."
He led the way into Edward's old rooms, which seemed
strangely familiar to him, in spite of different furniture and
a new wall-paper.
"They had been having a dinner," he said, "in their rooms
in Jesus Lane. They were a pretty lively lot, although Mr.
William sobered down a good deal afterwards. Well, I won't
say that they were all drunk, but you know how it is, sir,
when they begin drinking bumpers."
Edward knew very well how it was. A sociable under-
graduate is apt to drink as much champagne as possible on
these occasions, and to get into a state of advanced hilarity.
"Mr. Frank Clayton was drunk," Grant went on; "there
was no doubt about it. He was the noisiest of the lot, and
Mr. William Clayton was the quietest of the lot; although
he wasn't particularly quiet either. Still, he had got a stronger
head than the rest and could carry it better. After dinner
they began to play roulette, and they got to playing for pretty
high stakes. I went in once or twice, because they were


190 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
making a lot of noise, and I didn't want to have the proctora
round. The table was full of gold, and you might have thought
they were all millionaires the way they were splashing it about,
although I don't think any of them was particularly well off.
I couldn't see who was winning or losing, but I could see that
Mr. Frank was very excited about it and hardly knew what
he was doing.
"Well, by and by, Mr. William came out of the room and
called to me. He wanted me to change him a cheque for ten
pounds, or rather he wanted me to change it for his brother.
I'd often done it before for them, and the cheque looked all
right. It was signed by their father, and made out to Frank
Clayton. I had changed one Just the same made out to William
Clayton a few days before, so, of course, I thought that thii
was the one that had come for his brother at the same time.
"I did Just hesitate a bit, because I knew pretty well how it
was with them, and that this was their month's pocket-money.
I said, 'Don't you think you ought to stop him risking all
this?'
"' Oh, it's all right,' he said; 'he's detonnined to have
it. I have brought it because I don't want to have him coming
out and shouting all over the house.'
"Well, it wasn't any of my business how they spent their
money, so I let him have it.
"' If he wins,' he said, 'I dare say he'll want to give you
back the money and pay the cheque into the bank, so hold
it over till to-morrow morning.'
"Well, I couldn't very well have paid it in that night as
it was past eleven o'clock.
"He went back to their room, and I hoped it wouldn't all
be lost by the time they had to break up at twelve.
"But it seems it was all lost. Neither of them said anything
to me the next morning, and I paid the cheque into my bank.
They were both pretty quiet all that day, and in the evening
they dined together in Hall and came back to their rooms
afterwards and shut themselves in. I don't know what passed
between them, of course, but the next morning, when I went
up to call Mr. Frank, he was awake, and asked me, with a
very long face, if I had paid in the cheque. I said I had, and
he groaned and hid his face in the pillows.
"The next afternoon their eldest brother came up and


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 191
stayed the night. I could see there was something serious
on foot, and from what had happened I had a sort of sus-
picion of what was in the wind; but nobody said anything
to me, and it wasn't for me to say anything to them. It was
Just at the end of term, and, the morning after, they all
went down together, although I knew they hadn't been mean-
ing to go until two days later.
"That was absolutely the last I heard of it, but Mr. Frank
Clayton never came up again, and, as I say, Mr. William
Clayton lived a good deal quieter when he did come up. He
went into college, and it had been arranged that I should go
on gypping him here; but he told me he didn't want a gyp,
and I fancied he rather kept out of my way afterwards. He
didn't say anything about his brother, except when I asked
after him, and then he said he had gone down for good. I
don't believe he ever played roulette or cards again as long
as he was up here. He didn't do more work than he was
obliged, but he lived with a quieter set, and went in for
rowing."
Well, there was the story, and it was pretty plain that
Grant was aware of what it all meant; but he still seemed
to have something to say.
"I have been wondering, Mr. Knightly," he said, " whether
he can have had anything to do with this mystery. I always
liked him, in spite of his wildness, but I suppose there is no
doubt that he was what you would call a wrong 'un. If there
was anything wrong with that cheque, as I suppose there
was, I wouldn't blame him too much for that. He was young,
and he didn't know what he was doing at the time. Still,
you can't deny that a man who would forge a cheque like
that, even if he wasn't fully responsible for his actions, isn't
exactly what he ought to be; and there's no telling what he
might not grow into after twenty years."
Edward thought that the gyp's confidence in him deserved
some return.
"The cheque was forged," he said. "The Claytons' father
was a very stern man, and he took out a warrant for the
arrest of his son. The two elder brothers managed to get
him out of the country. Of course, you know that I live near
them; I have never seen him there since."
"Ah, there it is," said the gyp. "I suppose he's been


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 198
afterwards, as William Clayton seemed to have done, no doubt
gravely affected by the punishment it had brought on his
brother. That punishment, it seemed to Edward, had been
very wrongly administered, for it had taken away from the
culprit all chance of rehabilitating himself. At the age of
twenty he had been sent out a wanderer into the world, to
shift for himself; for it was quite obvious, as he had fled from
the wrath of his father, that his father could not have helped
him at all, and the money he might have got from his brothers,
and possibly from his mother, could have been very little.
He might have done well in a new country, thrown entirely
on his own resources; but if, as Edward was pretty sure,
he was the Watson to whom John Clayton had paid such
large sums of money of late years, here he was still sponging
on the elder brother who had treated him so well in the past.'
No. It did not look as if Frank Clayton had recovered
from that early misdeed. Although he was disappointed of
finding further evidence to show that he had been in England,
and thus to corroborate the old shepherd's story, he had
learnt a little more about him; and what he had learnt
seemed to show that it was not unreasonable to suspect him
of having had some sinister connection with the mystery of
Redmarsh Farm.
CHAPTER XXXII
CUMMER had long since gone, and autumn was blowing
^ itself out in fierce gales. Edward Knightly reached
Baycleft, a fishing village on the north-east coast, in the late
afternoon of a day on which wind and sea seemed to have
oombined in a fierce onslaught on the little town nestling
for shelter in its cleft in the cliffs. There was a very high
tide, and the great rolling breakers had run one by one right
up the street which sloped down to the shore and had broken
adrift some of the boats hauled up for shelter.
The summer visitors would hardly have recognised the
place. The time had come when its inhabitants must wage
their winter warfare with the elements for their living. AU


194 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
the men were gathered about this wider space at the foot of
the steep street, or were making preparations elsewhere to
deal with the onslaught of wind and waves. They were a
hardy race, these northern men of the sea, and went about
their business wrapped in their oilskins as if it were all in
the day's work.
Edward walked down from the station high about the town
to the inn at the very foot of it. It was nearest to the sea
of any of the houses and seemed to be receiving the full force
of the mighty wind that was blowing in on the land. By the
time he reached it he was wet with the spray that was being
driven far inland, and even in the shelter of the house the
noise of the wind was like big guns booming all around.
He lost no time in seeking out Kelly, under his new name
of Brown, and battled his way up to the exposed point of the
cliff on which his hut stood.
Kelly was drinking inside. They had told him in the
police-station, where he had made inquiries, that Kelly was
always drinking now, and generally drinking alone. The
rough, honest men of Baycleft disliked him and his ways;
only a few of the worst characters associated with him, and
he seldom caroused now in the public-houses, even in the
least reputable of them, but sat at home alone, or sometimes
with one or two of his cronies, and soaked himself in the
spirits of which he seemed to secure a never-failing supply.
He always had money, they said, although he did very little
work.
Kelly was crouching over the fire when Edward knocked
and went in without waiting to be invited.
The mean little room was full of smoke made by the gusts
that blew down the chimney and the strong tobacco he was
smoking. He had a great Jar of spirits by his side on the
earthen floor, and as Edward went in he was pouring water
from a kettle into a glass already more than half full of the
spirit. He Jumped up as if startled and stood blinking at him
through the thick smoke, swaying a little unsteadily. At first
he did not recognise him, but when Edward shut the door
behind him and said, "I've come up here to have a word
with you," he asked him, with an oath, what he wanted of
him.
Edward was overcome by the atmosphere and could hardly


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 195
speak for a fit of coughing. By the time he had come to the
end of it Kelly seemed to have taken hold of himself and to
have decided that rudeness would not serve his turn.
"I am sure I am very pleased to have a visitor from the
old place," he said, with a disagreeable laugh. "But you'll
kindly remember I'm what they call incognito here, and I
don't want remarks made about things that have happened."
"You needn't be afraid of me," Edward said shortly,
disgusted with the man's manner and appearance, for he was
frowsy and dirty, smelt horribly of liquor, and looked far
worse than he had done in his worst days at Rede Harbour,
with his bloodshot eyes and his bad, leering face.
"I mustn't forget my manners," he said. "I can always
give a drop of good drink to a visitor," and he lurched to a
cupboard and got out another glass.
I don't want to drink with you," Edward said.
It might perhaps have been better to have put him in a
good humour by taking a glass with him; but if the success
of his mission had depended on it Edward could not have
brought himself to sit down and drink in his company. He
grumbled in a maudlin way at his refusal, said that he was
an ill-treated man, that he had never done any harm to any-
body, and yet everybody was against him, and almost shed
tears at the idea of the harshness and inJustice with which
he was treated.
"You oughtn't to be so badly off," Edward said. "People
ought to pay you well for what you do for them."
But it was no use trying to catch him. The cunning leer
came over his face at once. "I don't do nothing for anybody
except myself," he said, "and I don't know who's going to
pay me for that."
Edward went straight to the point. "I'll pay you," he
said. "I'll pay you very handsomely."
It might have been a perfectly sober man who asked
sharply in return, "What for?"
"Why, for telling me everything you know."
"Everything I know? That might be rather a lot, mister.
I'll tell you one thing: we're going to have some of the
roughest weather we've had for a long time. This is only
Just the beginning of it. Now, how much will you pay me
for that?"


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 197
"What were you doing in Greathampton on the tenth of
May ?" he asked sharply.
Kelly stared at him. For the moment he was as sober as
Edward himself. Then the fumes of drink clouded his brain
again and he gave a screeching laugh.
"That's good," he shouted; "that's very good, trying
to get me to give myself away. Now, I'll tell you what it is,
Mr. Knightly, you ain't acting fair by me. You're making
me drink by myself and sitting there solemn as an owl
trying to frighten me out of my wits. Now I'd like to ask
you, do you call that the action of a gentleman? For I
don't. Why, I'd scorn to act in that way myself, and I
haven't had anything near like the education that you
have."
"What were you doing in Greathampton?" Edward
asked again.
Kelly repeated the question, "What were you doing in
Greathampton ?" imitating with drunken humour Edward's
voice. He kept on repeating the question with absurd
mimicry, and then burst out laughing again. "Now, I'll
tell you what," he said, becoming suddenly serious again,
*' if you'll let me fill up this glass and drink fair with me, you
might get something out of me. If you sit there like that I
won't say another word."
"I've told you I won't drink," said Edward shortly.
"Now I've shown you one thing I know about your move-
ments, and I'll tell you this—I know a great deal more than
you think for. We're on the track of the truth, and we can
get at it without you. You can take your choice. Tell me
what you know and earn the money I've offered you, or leave
it alone and let us find out without you, as we can. In that
case you won't get a penny, and you'll stand to get punished
for whatever it is you've done."
Kelly was in a new mood altogether now. "It's no use
trying to come over me with that yarn," he said roughly,
but quite clearly. "I've been tried and I've been acquitted,
and I can't be had up again."
"Not on the same charge," replied Edward, "but there's
nothing to prevent your being brought up on another. Do
you know what you can get for being concerned in the kid-
napping of a child?" He watched him closely as he said


198 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
these words, ready for the smallest sign to show that they
had gone home. But there was no sign; the man was so far
on in his drinking bout that he could not keep his mind or
his speech clear for long, and broke out again into his harsh,
tuneless, incoherent singing.
Edward saw that it was of little use to try to get anything
out of him while he was in this state. He stood up. "You'd
better think it over," he said. "I'll come back and see you
when you're sober."
Kelly was deeply offended at this. "Sober!" he ex-
claimed. "I'm as sober as you are. What do you take me
for? Can't a man have a little refreshment in his own house
without being talked to in that way?"
"I'll come and see you to-morrow," Edward said. He
still had one or two things to bring out which he thought
might startle Mr. Kelly, but in his present state he did not
know whether he would understand them or not. "You'd
better think it over," he said, "and remember that I know
that you were in Greathampton, and that I know what yBu
went there for."
"Well, if you know that, then," said Kelly, "you know a
good deal more than I do. I don't want to see nothing more
of you."
"You had better think over what I say," Edward said.
"If you make a clean breast of it, there's money for you.
If you don't, we shall find out what we want to know without
you. You won't get a penny and you'll get into trouble
besides." Then he left him.
CHAPTER XXXIII
TZELLY had been right in one thing; the wind, which it
had seemed to Edward could hardly have blown
stronger, increased in violence through the night. He could
hardly sleep through it, although his bedroom was on the
opposite side of the inn to that on which it blew with such
violence.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 199
As he lay awake through the early hours of the night the
never-ceasing strife of the elements seemed to mix them-
selves with the disturbance in his own mind. He felt that
if he were to act carefully there was something to be got out
of this man, something that would clear up the whole mystery
and leave him free from the anxiety and the distress of which
his mind was now so full. But whether he could get it out
of him was another matter.
His thoughts wandered off to Barbara, whom he pictured
tenderly as lying awake in the storm, not very far away, and
listening to the same sounds which filled his own ears. He
was going to see her the next day. He had determined to go
to High Moor Farm before trying to see Kelly again. He
could tell her very little of what he was doing. He was too
deeply mixed up in it now, and had gone too far to be able
to draw back. It would be difficult to talk to her without
mentioning anything of what he had done or was doing,
but he longed so much to see her, and hoped so much that
when they came face to face the misunderstanding between
them would be cleared up, that he did not think very much
of that, but fed his mind on the pleasure of being near her
and the prospect of seeing once more her dear face.
By and by he fell asleep, but only for a short time. The
tide came up again, and the great waves beat against the
walls of the inn, shaking it at every impact, strongly built
of stone as it was. And he arose when the pale light began
to filter through his curtains, very little refreshed by his
night's sleep.
After breakfast he set out for the moor. The rain was
beating down now, and he had never had so difficult and
uncomfortable a walk. It took him over an hour and a half
to get to High Moor Farm, which was about four miles away,
and when he got there his hopes were dashed, for they told
him that Barbara had gone home two days before.
The disappointment was so great that he refused the
hospitable offer of refreshment and shelter that Barbara's
cousins made him, and walked straight back to Baycleft,
reaching the inn exhausted and wet through. He changed
his clothes, had a meal, and set out immediately afterwards
for Kelly's hut.
"Oh, here you are, worrying again," Kelly said when


200 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
he came in. "Why can't you keep away and leave me
alone? Anyone would think a man hadn't any right to sit
quietly in his own house.'"
Edward took no notice of this, but sat down in a chair
opposite to him. "I dare say you've thought over what I
said yesterday," he said. "In case you don't remember all
of it, I'll Just remind you that I told you then that I know a
good deal more than you think, and that if you don't tell me
the rest of what I want to know you'll lose your last chance
of making anything out of it, and your last chance of escaping
the consequences of whatever share you had in it."
"Oh, I remember what you said plainly enough," grumbled
Kelly. "I dare say I don't behave altogether as if I was in a
drawing-room when I've got a bit of drink inside me, but
I've got my wits about me all the same."
"Very well, then," said Edward. "I needn't repeat it.
If you've got your wits about you now you'll see where your
own advantage lies."
"Well," said Kelly, "I'm not going to deny that I can
tell you something that you don't know. But whether it's
something you'll ivant to know is a different matter. I never
denied that I knew something. All I've denied is what I was
had up for, and I'll tell you this, if the police had behaved
properly to me instead of behaving as they did, they'd have
got something out of me before now. But there, you don't
know nothing about that."
"I know everything about it," Edward said. "I know
that you tried to bargain with them and they wouldn't bar-
gain. Well, now, what you've got to consider is that I am
offering you practically all you've asked for from them.
You've got your freedom already, and you can get your
hundred pounds."
"I'm not at all sure I'm going to tell you anything," said
Kelly. "But if I do, it won't be for a hundred pounds, so you
may put that out of your mind at once. Things have altered
since I made that offer. I don't mind saying that I did
make it, as you seem to know all about it."
"I suppose what you mean," said Edward shrewdly, "is
that you're already being paid to hold your tongue, as you
were paid before, and you don't want to run the risk of losing
that."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 201
"I don't mean nothing of the sort," said Kelly sulkily.
* No one's paying me a farthing except what I earns for
myself."
Edward had good reason to believe that this was untrue,
but let it pass with a mental note that it was unsafe to trust
anything that Kelly said, and that if he could get him to say
anything at all of importance he must demand proofs of
every statement.
"And I don't know what you mean either," Kelly went
on, in the same grumbling voice, "by saying that I am paid
to hold my tongue as I was before. When was I paid to hold
my tongue before?"
"When you helped to get Mr. Frank Clayton out of the
country," said Edward. "You were well paid for that."
"Well, I won't deny it," said Kelly, "if that's all you
mean. I wish I had gone out of the beastly country myself
at the same time."
"It might have been a good thing if you had," said Ed-
ward. "You might have got on as well as he has."
It was a bow drawn at a venture, but it missed its mark.
"Why, do you know how he's got on ?" he said, with an
insolent stare, well knowing that he had been invited to give
himself away. "Well, it's more than I do. Come, now,
Mr. Knightly, there's no good beating about the bush like this.
You won't get anything out of me that I don't want to tell
you. What have you found out for yourself? You've got
to tell me that before I tells you another word."
"I told you something that I knew yesterday," said Ed-
ward. "I asked you a question. To show you what I know
I'll give you part of the answer to it. One of the reasons why
you went to Greathampton was to see your sister off in the
Ccesar to Australia. The other part of the answer I want
you to give me is, whom she took with her."
He had shot one of his bolts, and it fell harmlessly. Kelly
was either fully prepared to hear this, which seemed unlikely,
or he had an incredible amount of control over himself. He
simply stared. "I wonder what fairy story you'll be bringing
to me next," he said.
"Do you deny," Edward asked, "that your sister went
to Australia?"
"Of course I don't," Kelly answered; "why should It"


202 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"Do you deny that you saw her and her husband off in
the ship?"
"Of course I do," Kelly said impudently; "why shouldn't
I?"
Edward was baffled. "What are you driving at?" he
asked. "You said that before you told me what you knew
you wanted to know what I knew. I'm telling you what
I know."
"Well, then, go on telling me," said Kelly, and Edward
understood that his denial was a matter of form. He would
deny everything until he had made up his mind what he
meant to admit.
He drew another bow at a venture. "Do you know any-
thing about a man called Watson," he asked, "who went
out in the same ship?"
Again nothing could be made out from the tone in which
Kelly said, " Never heard of him in my life."
The wind, which all the time had been blowing fiercely
found the crazy little hut, suddenly rose still higher with a
furious shriek and seemed to be taking hold of it and shaking
it in uncontrollable fury. It was almost as if Kelly's words
had brought the onslaught, and that there was some power
outside that was listening to all that was being said and was
expressing its rage at a lying statement. So it seemed to
Edward, and even Kelly seemed to cower at the raging gust
that for a moment rose too high for words to be heard through
it.
"We shall have the place about our ears," he muttered,
"if this goes on."
The gust died away, but the noise of the wind was still so
great that Edward had to speak loudly to make himself
heard. He was irritated at Kelly's impudent denials, and
went a little farther than he had intended when he said, "I
suppose you've no idea of Frank Clayton and Watson being
the same person."
Kelly stared at him. "Eh? What's that?" he said.
"Frank Clayton!" Then he laughed disagreeably. "Well,
go on, mister," he said.
"I think it's time you said something," said Edward.
"I've shown you that I know a good deal more than you
think for."


804 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
interrupted, " when you've given him away. But I will, and
111 pay yon more money than he will. Now you've got it
straight."
"Yes, that's all very well," said Kelly again, "but I've
got to know how close you've got to the truth before I say
anything, so it's no good you trying to keep nothing up your
sleeve. Of course, if he's been seen—well, that might settle
it."
Again Edward did not observe his cunning leer. It seemed
that nothing was to be drawn from him unless he were fully
persuaded that the game was up.
"Frank Clayton was seen leading the child to the castle,"
he said, expanding a little the shepherd's statement, "and
I've got the witness ready to say that he saw him; so you
see there's no obJect in your holding back any further."
For answer Kelly went off into another of his fits of horrible
mirth. "Well, then, there don't seem to be no reason for
me to keep any of it to myself no longer," he said, when he
had had his laugh out. "But where does the Watson come
in? Just tell me that, Mr. Knightly."
"You know where it comes in as well as I do," said Edward.
"You know that now we're on the track we shan't have any
difficulty in identifying the Watson who went out in the
same ship as your sister."
Again Kelly screeched with laughter. "Well, there ain't
much that escapes you," he said. "I might Just as well have
told it all at the trial, mightn't I, instead of keeping it to
myself? Well, it ain't fair as you should be telling me every-
thing and I shouldn't tell you nothing in return for that
hundred pounds you're going to put down for me. He was
always a bad lot, this 'ere Frank Clayton. Why, do you
know what he done when he was a youngster? You 'eard
he'd done something that made 'em ship bum off, at the trial;
but you don't know what it was he done?"
Edward did not reply. He wanted to see whether Kelly
would tell him the truth about this.
"He done something so dishonest," Kelly went on, "that
I was glad enough to help 'em ship him off. I was an honest
man even in those days, and it made me fair tremble to think
of having anything to do with such a character as that.
Why, he forged his father's name to a cheque for a hundred


206 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"Yes, I do," said Edward shortly.
"Oh!" Kelly seemed somewhat taken aback. "Then
you'd better ask her," he said.
The wind again rose to a sudden shriek. Edward's nerves
were all on edge. He rose and went to the window; then
he turned and came back to Kelly and stood over him with a
threatening attitude. "If you want me to keep my hands
off you," he said, "you'd better drop this tone."
A very nasty look came over Kelly's face. "If it's a rough-
and-tumble you want, mister," he said, "I don't know as I
won't oblige you, and I think I know who'd get the best of
it. But if you want to get anything out of me you'd better
sit down and treat me proper."
Edward controlled his anger and turned away again. "I'm
getting tired of it," he said. "I'll ask you one more question,
and then you'll answer all my questions together without
fencing any more, or I'll leave you for good. Who was the
child your sister took out to Australia with her?"
He had hit him this time. Kelly stared at him with open
mouth, and he was quick to take advantage of his attitude.
"You see," he said, pointing a warning finger at him, "I
know a good deal, and you'd better not let this chance go by."
Kelly recovered himself. "I don't know what you're
driving at," he said sulkily. "You don't suppose it was the
kid who was found in the river, do you?"
"Who was the child they took out with them ?" Edward
asked again.
Kelly would not answer the question. "What's the good
of making all this fuss about a kid?" he said. "Why, there
are dozens of kids all over the place as good as that one.
Anyone would think it was a fine man like me whose body
had been found in the river, for all the fuss that's been made
of it. Now, there would be a loss you might have talked
about! But a measly kid!"
Edward sprang up again in fierce anger. "You foul-
mouthed brute!" he cried. "I'll listen to you no more.
You've lost your chance. There's nothing you can tell me
I can't find out. I know where to find your precious sister,
and I'm going to Australia to find her, and I'll find out every-
thing else when I get there, and everything about you, too, you
swine! And you won't escape this time. Now I'm going."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 207
Kelly's face was white. "Here, don't go, mister," he
cried. "I'll tell you everything."
But Edward had already gone out of the hut and banged
the door behind him.
'HE gale had reached ita full height as Edward left
Kelly's hut. It seemed impossible that there could
ever be more fury of wind and weather. As he came round
the corner of the hut the wind caught him with such a force
that it almost threw him down, and for a moment he had to
fight for breath. He was on the top of a grassy knoll about a
hundred feet from the beach, but the spray from the great
breakers, which were battering at the rocks beneath, was all
round him in choking mist. He fought his way, crouching near
to the ground, to a set of winding stone steps that ran down
into the village between rows of closely built cottages, and
got into shelter. He stayed for a moment at the top of the
steps to regain his breath. The struggle with the wind had
had the effect of releasing his mind from the hot anger with
which he had flung himself out of Kelly's hut. He still
thought with detestation of the horrible mind that the man
had shown in Jeering at all the misery he had been instru-
mental in bringing about. Surely there must be punishment
Bomewhere for so bad a man as that.
The wind had shifted a little to the south, and as Edward
reached the paved sloping platform at the foot of the main
street, on which some of the fishing-boats were drawn up,
he found a crowd of men collected in the slight shelter formed
by some of the houses. They were talking eagerly together,
and instead of going up the steps to the inn he went down
among them and asked what had happened.
The man whom he spoke to, a stout old fisherman, looked
at him with some surprise and pointed out over the sea.
At first Edward could see nothing. Dusk was already
falling, and the air was so full of driven spray that it was
CHAPTER XXXIV


208 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
difficult to distinguish anything through it. It seemed as if
sky and sea were all mixed up together. But when his eyes
got a little used to the stinging of the salt water he could
Just distinguish a vessel some way from the shore, and by
and by the glimpses he obtained of her showed him that her
sails were in ribbons, that one of her masts was gone, and
that she was driving before the wind under no control, except
that of the fierce gale itself. "She'll go ashore on the Whale's
Back," said the old fisherman; "or, if she don't do that,
she'll go on the rooks. 'Twill be all one."
A rocket flared up from the doomed ship. It was a pathetio
cry for help where no help was possible.
"She might have made for here if she'd been able to keep
a stitch o' canvas on her," said the fisherman, "but there's
nothing can save her now."
"Can't anything be done at all?" asked Edward. It
seemed horrible to think of the men on board the boat,
driving straight to their death, while those who were almost
within hail of them were in safety and could gain at any
moment they wished the shelter of walls and roofs. "Isn't
the lifeboat going out? Where are the coastguards?"
"They've gone up to the cliff where she'll go ashore," said
the fisherman. "They'll try and get ropes over her and
maybe save one or two, but it isn't likely—the wind'd carry
them like cotton. No good sending out the lifeboat—they'd
all be smothered with water before they rowed a dozen
strokes."
A wild shriek rang in Edward's ears. He turned round,
startled. A woman was coming down the steep road, her
skirts flying about her, holding a shawl round her head.
"Ay, that's poor Crow's wife," said the old fisherman.
"He's aboard of her. She'll never see him no more."
The woman was in the midst of the group. "Where's the
lifeboat?" she cried. "Why aren't you going out to them?
Oh, you cowards, standing there warm and dry and letting
men drown!"
The doors of the lifeboat-house were open. In a moment
the boat could have been run down the slope into the sea,
but she rested there in shelter as if she were human and knew
that the task was beyond her.
"Why don't you launch her ?" cried the woman. "Isn't


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 209
there one man among you all?" She seized hold of the old
fisherman's arm, as if she would have forced him into action.
"There, don't take on so, missus," he said kindly. "You
know there's plenty as would go if there was any chance at
all. But look out there!"
He pointed to the wild tossing waste of breakers, churned
into grey yeast by the howling wind, but she took no notice
of it. Her voice rose into a shriek as she wrung her hands
and cried out again, "Isn't there a man among the lot of
you?" Her despair was awful to witness.
The ship was now very near the rocks and nothing could
save her from them. Only by a miracle could any of her
crew be rescued.
Edward had a wild impulse to volunteer himself and to
call for a crew, but he knew that if these men about him
refused to venture forth on such an errand it must indeed
be hopeless.
The woman left the old fisherman and seized hold of a burly
young giant standing near him. "You, George Pickering,"
she cried, "you've got no wife nor bairns—why don't you
go and save my man? There's five little ones at home and
another one coming. Oh! what shall us do without him?"
She broke out into wailing grief. It was a tragedy that
nearly all of these men, living on this rocky northern coast,
were familiar with, but it affected their big honest hearts
none the less.
"I'll go," said the young giant, "if others will go with
me."
His words were like a match to tinder.
There was an instant confusion of voices; other men
saying that they would go; older men half holding them
back, half encouraging them, and women whose husbands
had volunteered remonstrating with hardly less vehemence
than had been shown by the woman whose husband was
being hurried to his death.
All of them knew that it was near as hopeless as it could
be. All of them knew that, if they put out to try to save tlie
men in danger in the ship they would be running into hardly
less danger themselves. But already there were men swarm-
ing about the boat and the crew was being made up. Thirteen
men were wanted, and twelve of them were getting ready


210 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
for the desperate venture. The thirteenth was a big, burly
man, whose wife hung round him, filling the air with her
lamentations. His face was doggedly set.
"We've got no bairns," he said, "and if there's nobody
else to go, I must go and do my duty."
"You've got no bairns," cried the poor woman, "but
you've got me. Don't go, John; leave it to somebody else."
A dark figure pushed through the crowd and said with a
discordant laugh that Edward was startled to recognise,
"You take him home, missus, and tuck him up in bed. I'll
go instead of him."
It was Kelly. A cheer went up from the crowd, but it was
cut short. "It's that Brown," said somebody standing near
Edward. "It won't do him any harm to go. He'll never be
missed if he don't come back at all."
The boat was manned and run down the slips into the
sea. Edward held his breath as he saw it tossed up and down
on the heaving mountains of water as if it were no heavier
than a straw, while the twelve powerful men bent to their
oars and slowly forged out into the mist and the darkness.
Edward waited where he was for half an hour. Then he
went into the inn. They asked him if he was ready for his
tea. While this tragedy of the sea was going on outside,
indoors they were going about their business as usual, and
many men were drinking at the bar, not because they were
callous to the tragedy that was being enacted, but because in
the midst of danger and death life does always persist and
go on much the same as usual so long as there is any life
left at all.
The question brought Edward to himself. He was wet
through and shivering with cold. He had caught a bad cold
the day before, and now realised that it was worse than he
had thought and that he was feeling ill. He ordered some-
thing hot to drink, and went upstairs to change his clothes.
When he came down again there was news, and terrible
news. The lifeboat had been washed ashore with two of
her crew clinging to her. She must have capsized very soon
after she had put out. These two men were alive, and another
man, who had been drawn from the sea immediately after
she had come ashore, they hoped would be resuscitated.
They were doing what they could for him now. But for the


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 211
rest of the crew there was no hope. Every one of them by
this time must have been drowned.
By the next morning the fury of the gale had abated.
The pale sun shone fitfully through the scudding clouds, and,
although the waves were still rolling in mountain high, both
wind and sea were going down every hour.
When Edward arose after a restless, feverish night, and
went down to the sitting-room, from which he could look
out to sea, there was the ugly hummock of rock which was
called the Whale's Back under the cliff half a mile away,
and by the side of it two great fragments of the wrecked
ship, broken off completely from one another, with a stump
of mast sticking up from one of them, but everything else
swept bare. The tide was low, and they could plainly be seen
wedged against the rock and sticking there almost as if they
were part of it.
Not one of the crew of the ship had been saved. The man
who had been dragged ashore the night before had been
revived, and the two other men of the lifeboat crew were
walking about as if nothing had happened to them; the
rest were all drowned. Two more bodies had been recovered
that morning.
The landlord of the inn gave Edward this news. "It's a
terrible bad business," he said. "They ought never to have
gone out. But there, what can you do when the women come
crying after you to save their men?"
Edward asked him who were the men whose bodies had
been found. One was Pickering, the young giant who had
first volunteered; the other was Kelly—or, as they called
him, Brown.
Edward asked where the bodies were. Pickering had been
taken to his mother's home. Kelly was lying in a shed
attached to the lifeboat-house. There was no one to mourn
for him or to care how his body was disposed of.
As he was eating his breakfast a policeman came in to see
him. "It will have to be known who he was now," he said,
and they had discussed the drowning of Kelly. "I have
wired up for instructions about him. They will communicate
with his relations, if he has any."
"He has none who will want the connection known,"
Edward said. "I should like to see the body."


212 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
They went across the street to the shed, and the policeman
unlocked the door and shut it again when they went in,
leaving them in a ghostly twilight.
On the floor lay the stiff, straight form, covered with a sail,
which the policeman drew aside. Edward looked down upon
the face of the man whom he had left the day before in hot
anger. Except for a wound on the forehead, half concealed
by the thick black hair, there were no signs of violence on the
face. It seemed even in death to be wearing a mocking
smile, as if this bad man had gloated, even in the last moments
of his life, at having taken his secrets with him and cheated
them all. That he had been a bad man there was no doubt,
but no man in the world's history has ever been so utterly
bad as to have no spark of good in him; and by the manner
of his death Kelly had atoned for a good deal. With all his
faults he had possessed physical courage, and he had used it at
last in the best way in which courage can be used, and given
up his life in the attempt to save the lives of others. Perhaps
that one good deed in an evil life would be allowed to plead
for him when he appeared before the great Judgment Bar.
Edward turned away, and the policeman covered up the
dead face, and they went out, glad to see the winter sun-
shine again.
"I can't see any necessity in letting it be known who he
was," Edward said. "Nobody will want to claim his body,
and I doubt whether he will have much money to leave."
"There will be an inquest, of course," said the policeman.
"If you're here you may be called to identify him, if it's
known you knew him before."
"I don't want that," Edward said, "and nobody knows
it but you. I'll get off this morning, and when I get to London
111 go to Scotland Yard and try to get them to keep it dark."
Edward was glad enough to be able to get away at once.
His errand had ended in a disappointment which he was
hardly able as yet to fully realise; the events of the past
night had affected him deeply; and he was now feeling ill,
and anxious to get at least to where he could be looked after
if his illness should turn out to be serious. He was already
either burning hot or shivering with cold, and there was a
sharp pain about his ribs which made breathing difficult.
He doubted if he would be able to get as far as Cliffthorpe


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 213
in any case, and he was not very anxious to go there. The
rooms in which he stayed in London were kept by a woman
whom he liked and who liked him, and he thought that if
he were in for a bout of illness he might as well go there as
anywhere.
His Journey was a misery to him. When he reached London
he could scarcely crawl from the railway carriage to his cab,
and when he reached his rooms in Jermyn Street he was
unable to walk upstairs without assistance.
He went to bed and the doctor was sent for, who pronounced
him to be suffering in the early stages of a bad attack of
pneumonia.
It was not known, except to the police, that the Brown
who had been drowned with nine others of the lifeboat crew
was the notorious Kelly who had been concerned in the
mystery of Redmarsh Farm.
At the inquest he was identified as a man of whom nothing
was known, except that he had been living in Baycleft for
some months and had apparently no relations. There was
enough money found in his possession to give him a decent
burial, and he lies in the cliff-top graveyard of Baycleft with
a stone above him which tells of the gallant deed by which
his life was ended, but nothing of the base deeds which went
before it.
CHAPTER XXXV
PDWARD went down into the valley of the shadow of
death, and but for the healthy, temperate life he had
led he would never have emerged from it again. The good
woman whose rooms he occupied did everything she could
for him. They moved him into the sitting-room, which was
brighter than the bedroom at the back of it, and he lay there
for the best part of a week fighting for his life. He had two
nurses, who were with him night and day, and a good doctor,
who had been a friend of his at Cambridge.
Very often he was unconscious, but at the beginning of


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 215
That lady was glad enough to do so. She was Just on the
point of leaving Cliffthorpe for her two months in London,
and before she did so she let it be known there that the young
Squire was lying very ill and that she had been summoned
to his side.
John Clayton heard of this at market. As the tale reached
him, Edward had been very ill indeed, and had constantly
been calling for Enid Mannering. Mrs. Mannering had
already left for London. He went home grieved for the sake
of Barbara, but furiously angry with Edward.
Barbara met him with the doctor's letter. She was terribly
distressed. She had heard nothing from Edward for weeks,
but had forgotten all that, and, exactly as he had hoped,
wanted to fly at once to his side.
"Put him out of your mind," said her father, and told
her what he had heard.
She was beyond measure surprised. That he might be in
love with his cousin, Lady Grace, had seemed to her likely.
That he could possibly want Enid Mannering with him was
incredible to her.
"There must be some mistake, father," she said.
"My dear, there is no mistake. This has been going on
for a long time. When his mother was away, a week or two
ago, he came home for one night on purpose to be with these
Mannerings. I knew all about it then, but I haven't told you.
Still, you had better know everything now. It will help you
to put him out of your mind altogether, and there's no doubt
about the Mannerings being sent for. Mrs. Mannering had a
telegram two days ago."
"But how could he have asked for me and for them at
the same time?" said Barbara. "This letter is plain
enough."
John Clayton took the letter and read it. It was quite
short; Just made the statement that Edward had had a bad
attack of double pneumonia, but that the crisis was now over,
and he had asked the doctor to write to her, with the request
that she should come to London and see him.
. "I suppose," said John Clayton, handing her back the
letter, "that he's had a narrow squeak for his life and he
wants to do the straight thing now and tell you that it has
all been a mistake. It looks like that. These Mannerings


216 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
were sent for the day before this letter was written. You
don't want to go up there and meet them, do you?"
No, Barbara did not want that. She could not understand
in the least what had happened. It seemed natural to her
that Edward should send for her, but not that he should send
for her to find the Mannerings with him and to tell her in the
most painful way possible to her that it had all been a mis-
take, for it was Enid Mannering of all others whom he had
loved, and not her. If that was really how he would behave,
then she must have been mistaken in him altogether. While
she had thought that it was his cousin whom he loved, she had
still been able to think kindly and even tenderly of him;
but if it was Enid Mannering, then he had behaved badly
to her, and she ought no longer to think of him at all.
"Give me the letter," said her father. "I will answer it."
He took it from her and went out of the room. "Put him
out of your mind altogether, Barbara," he said before he
left her. "He's not worth thinking about."
Mrs. Mannering, to do her Justice, was greatly shocked at
Edward's appearance, and did her utmost, according to her
lights, to assist in his recovery. She made no suggestion of
bringing Enid to see him. It would be time for that by and
by. She brought him flowers, paid him many little attentions
which his nurses could not pay him, and did not worry him
with overmuch talk.
Women are at their best where illness is concerned, even
telfish, worldly women like Mrs. Mannering. And Edward
was not sorry to see a face from his home. He did not even
resent it when she told him that his mother was hurrying
back to England to be with him. In convalescence from a
dangerous illness, the patient seems to be making a new
start in life, old influences are wiped out, and it is difficult
to keep up irritation against anyone when he is surrounded
with so much care and kindness. He would not be sorry to
see his mother, in spite of their quarrel. Perhaps she would
give way now, and as she had got him back from the very
gates of death, perhaps she would help him to get what he
wanted and stand out against his happiness no longer.
He did not want to mention Barbara's name to Mrs.
Mannering, but he very much wanted her to mention it to
him. She may have divined this, for she said during one of


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 219
and she almost lost it, in spite of her usual awe of Lady
Charlotte, at this speech. "I hope," she said, "that you
are not going back upon what we have agreed upon between
us."
"I don't know that we agreed upon anything in particular,"
said Lady Charlotte. "I did say that if Edward showed
any signs of being attracted by your girl I should much
prefer that he should marry her instead of that Barbara
Clayton."
"There is a very strong attachment growing up between
them," said Mrs. Mannering. "If you had seen them together
that night when he dined with us, you would have said
that it was quite plain."
"I dare say it is quite plain on the side of your girl," said
Lady Charlotte, rather rudely, for she had not spared her-
self in attentions to the invalid and was inclined to be cross
from want of sleep.
Mrs. Mannering saw everything that she had desired slip-
ping away from her. It had been easy enough, with Lady
Charlotte on her side, to deceive herself with that fiction of
Edward being in love with Enid. But if Lady Charlotte
were going to turn against her it would not be easy at all.
She knew well enough in her heart of hearts that Edward
was not in love with Enid, and that it would need a great
deal of manoeuvring to bring them together. It was time
to take strong measures.
When she was roused she was as direct in her speech as
Lady Charlotte herself. "If you are going to set yourself
to work to keep them apart," she said, "as you did to get
him away from Barbara Clayton, I shall go straight to Bar-
bara and tell her everything that has happened between us.
You can choose between her and Enid. It is outrageous
that you should think you can kick us away when we have
served your turn. Besides, you will be doing a very wicked
thing if you try to come between these two young people
now."
Lady Charlotte's brain could work quickly enough when
it was spurred in this way. She saw at once that Airs. Man-
nering had it in her power to upset all her plans. She could
not afford to make an enemy of her now, whatever she might
do later.


220 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"You are taking an extraordinary tone," she said stiffly.
"I have no wish to keep them apart at all. I only have to
think of my son and what is best for him. When he is better,
bring your girl to see him by all means; only she ought not
to come for another week or so."
Mrs. Mannering was all silkiness again at once, and they
parted amicably on the surface, but each deeply suspicious
of the other underneath.
Edward got slowly better. Whatever dreary, hopeless
thoughts passed through his mind as he lay hour after hour
in bed, or, when his convalescence was more advanced, sat
in a great easy chair looking into the fire, he said nothing
of them to his mother. But by and by he began to
talk to her of what he would do when he should recover,
and gradually it came to be settled, his friend the doctor
encouraging him, that the best thing he could do to set him
completely on his legs again was to take a long sea-voyage.
Lady Charlotte did not try to dissuade him. She hoped that
if he was away long enough he could come back, having
forgotten all about Barbara Clayton and Enid Mannering
alike, and that she should hear no more of his leaving Cliff-
thorpe.
When it was settled that he should go out to Australia,
which seemed quite natural to herself and the doctor as being
about the longest continuous voyage that he could take,
she was quite ready to admit the Mannerings to see him.
Miss Enid behaved admirably. She was cheerful and
quiet at the same time, and always ready to play games with
the invalid or to read to him or to talk to him, or to do any-
thing that he wanted. He came to be quite glad to see her,
and thought that he had made a mistake about her in the
past, as she was really quite a nice girl, and would make a
good wife to somebody or other. But he never mentioned
Barbara Clayton to her.
He was well enough to go home to Cliffthorpe by Christmas.
He never asked after Barbara, but heard that she had gone
again to visit her cousins in Yorkshire.
Early in the new year he went up to London, and after m
week sailed for Australia.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 221
CHAPTER XXXVI
r\URING these late autumn and early winter months
Flora Clayton had gradually come to realise that her
relations with her husband had altered, and the realisation
disturbed her exceedingly.
The affair of the dressmaker's bill had not blown over as
similar affairs had always done in the past. William was
always referring to it, which she thought very unfair, as she
had expressed her regret for so far outrunning her handsome
allowance and had hardly outrun it at all since.
And he had made himself extraordinarily unpleasant about
that other little affair which had come out at Redmarsh Farm.
He had really frightened her about that.
A day or two after they returned to London he had made
a disturbance about the household bills, and that was a
thing he had never done before in his life.
She had brought him the totals as usual added up on a
slip of paper. She always prided herself upon the careful
way in which she did her housekeeping. It was true that
she ordered exactly what she wanted, never asked the price
of anything, and had not the slightest idea whether she was
robbed in the kitchen or not. But, on the other hand, there
was seldom anything wrong with her addition, and she was
on the best of terms with her tradespeople, because she never
questioned their accounts and always paid them regularly
every week.
On this occasion, however, William had thrown the paper
down on the table and said in an angry voice, " Over twelve
pounds for housekeeping alone! It's perfectly preposterous!"
Flora stared at him. "It is a little high this week," she
said, "but it is never very much less, and you've never
grumbled before."
"The fact is," said William, "you're bringing me to ruin,
and you don't care a little bit in the world as long as you
can amuse yourself and spend a fortune in clothes."
"Oh, how unfair you are!" exclaimed Flora, scandalised
at this charge. "There isn't a man in the world has a better
wife than you have, and one who thinks of him more."
William turned upon her. "Do you know what you


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 228
"They have not been more than ten pounds a week for
the last month," she said. "I have been very careful indeed,
William. Do let me have the money to pay them off."
"Ten pounds is a great deal more than it ought to be,"
he grumbled. "But still, I think you have been a bit mora
careful. But the fact is I'm very close pushed Just at present.
This Matagonian business has hung on for months longer
than I thought it would, and I have had to use every half-
penny I could raise to keep it going."
Flora knew all about the Matagonian business.
Early in the year William had brought her in a large,
flat paper parcel. "Tell me what you think of this," he had
said.
Flora untied the parcel and found it to contain several
yards of ivory satin. She exclaimed with delight. But when
she had fingered the material her face fell. "Why, it's
imitation!" she said.
William's face fell too. "It's precious like the real stuff,
isn't it?" he said.
"Well, it is, to look at," she admitted; "but no woman
would ever take it for real satin if she looked at it
twice."
"Perhaps not," said William; "but you couldn't tell
the difference if a woman wore a dress of it unless you ex-
amined it closely. Now, have you ever seen an imitation
anything like as good?"
Flora said that she never had, and then William told her
the romantic story of the discovery of Matagonian silk.
A man had come into his office some months before with
the news of a great discovery. The story was that he had
been shipwrecked on a Pacific island far away from the
ordinary trade routes, and had remained there for many
weeks, being kindly treated by the natives. He had noticed
that some of the chief inhabitants had worn garments appar-
ently of rich silk, and had found out that this material was
made out of a creeping plant which he had not identified,
but which ran over miles of otherwise waste land, something
after the fashion of a prickly pear.
Ho had made friends with one of the chief men of the
island and had found out the simple but rather ingenious
process of manufacture. Then he had been rescued, and had


224 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
brought away with him some of the finished material and
enough of the plant itself to experiment with.
William had first treated his story with considerable sus-
picion. He had heard stories of that sort before, and there
had always been fraud in them somewhere.
But this story he had been able to corroborate to some
extent. The man had been shipwrecked in such and such a
ship, which was known to have been lost at about that
point, and he had been picked up on another one, which
could also be identified as having called at this island of
Matagonia. Besides, there was the material, and there was
the plant, which no botanist had been able to identify.
By a process of manufacture, based on that used by the
natives, but considerably improved, imitation silks and
satins had been made, and the piece that he had brought
to Flora was one of the first.
William was very much excited about it. "We have
formed a syndicate," he said, "and it will be one of the
biggest things ever known. If you want to spend money,
my girl, there'll be plenty of it in a year or so's time."
This, of course, had pleased Flora immensely, and she
had taken advantage of William's statement to anticipate
the time when there should be a great deal of money at her
disposal, with the results already recorded.
But, like so many undertakings of this sort, Matagonian
silk had hung fire considerably and brought many anxieties
to William and those who were interested in it with him.
"It has been a very hard struggle," he said. "None of
these things ever go smoothly, but I have never known
anything so good as this with so many difficulties to get
over. It has been touch and go many times, and it's touch
and go now, as far as I am concerned, until we get news
of the ship we've chartered to bring home the first cargo of
the stuff, and bring out the company. So what you've got
to do, my girl, is to draw in your horns as much as possible,
and as for these tradespeople, it won't do them the slightest
harm to be kept waiting for a month or two. They are used
to it from other people, and we've always paid up on the
nail. I shan't have a penny to spare for some weeks to
come."
Flora did not like the idea of letting the bills run on for


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 225
weeks. "If you have tied up as much money as all that,"
she said, "couldn't you borrow some until the company is
brought out? I'm sure John would lend you something to
go on with, if he knew it would be all right in January."
William's face darkened. "I'm not going to John for
money again," he said. "It was over this Matagonian silk
that we had a row. If he had gone into it he could have
looked forward to being as rich as I'm going to be. He was
a fool not to. It would have got rid of all his difficulties for
him, but he refused, and he's lost his chance. I'm not going
to him again."
Flora was emboldened by the confidence William was
showing her to ask, "How has he spent all his money?"
"Oh, I don't know," said William, with some impatience.
"Going into foolish speculations, I suppose, without con-
sulting me about them."
"Who is this man Watson ?" asked Flora, "to whom he
paid such large amounts?"
"I don't know," said William shortly, and Flora was
rather sorry that she had asked the question, because it
brought their conversation to an end.
William did not talk to her again about the Matagonian
Silk Company. The weeks went on, and whenever she asked
him if news had been heard of the ship, he said that it had
not, but said nothing more. But she could tell that he was
getting increasingly worried; and the supply of money from
him dried up to such an extent that she was sometimes hard
put to it to find silver for her taxicabs, of which she took a
large number in the course of the week.
One morning William said to her shortly, "There is a
man coming to value the furniture to-day for insurance
purposes. See that he sees everything that he wants to."
"But it's already insured, isn't it ?" she asked.
"I'm readJusting the insurance," he said, and went out.
The man came. Flora showed him the contents of her own
little room herself.
"There are a lot of very valuable things here," she said.
** I should break my heart if they were to be burnt. You
must put a high price on them, so that we shall get some-
thing worth having to make up for it if there is a fire."
The man looked at her curiously, but made no reply.


226 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
A few days afterwards her dearest friend came to call on
her, and taking advantage of a close intimacy, asked her if
it was true that her husband was in financial difficulties.
"Good gracious me, no!" said Flora. "Why, he's in
something that will make us heaps and heaps of money!"
It then came out that her friend had heard through her
husband that William had raised money on a bill of sale on
his furniture.
This plunged Flora into the depths of apprehension. She
had no idea what it meant, but it sounded dreadful. William
said nothing to her about it until she told him what she had
heard, and then he was very annoyed.
"It's nothing to make a fuss about," he said. "I must
have money to carry on with until this company is formed.
Nothing will happen, and I shall pay it back very shortly."
Flora's fears were somewhat allayed. But when she asked
William, as he had got money now, whether she could not
have some of it, he gave her only five pounds, and said he
wanted the rest for office expenses.
At Christmas time no news had been heard of the ship,
and William and Flora spent a very dull time. They had
always gone to Redmarsh Farm for Christmas, but this year
John Clayton and Barbara were going to Yorkshire, and
they spent Christmas in London.
On Christmas Day William told his wife that he had been
sent for to discuss matters with one of his partners in the
Matagonian Syndicate, and went out early in the morning
and left her alone for the rest of the day.
CHAPTER XXXVn
O ARBARA and her father came back to Redmarsh Farm
at the beginning of the year. Edward Knightly had
Just left; Lady Charlotte had gone up to London with him
to see him off for Australia.
Mrs. Mannering and her daughters were settled once more
ftt the Lodge. They had given out that they had growc


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 227
tired of London after a month and were very glad to get
back to Cliffthorpe, but it was pretty generally supposed that
they had cut short their intended stay because Edward was
no longer there.
The people all about knew pretty well that Mrs. Mannering
was "after" Edward on behalf of Miss Enid, and were
mildly amused, as people are apt to be, in looking on at
such pursuits. But it was also generally thought that this
particular pursuit had been successful, and that if Edward
Knightly was not already engaged to Enid Mannering he
would be directly he returned from his travels. Some people
thought he had behaved rather badly to Barbara; others,
who had not yet forgiven John Clayton for being tried for
the murder of his child, thought that he was well free of her.
These various opinions filtered through to John Clayton,
but Barbara heard nothing of them. To her everything
was dark; Edward had left England for some months with-
out a word to her, and although it was by her own expressed
wish that he had broken off communications with her, still
she could not escape altogether the feeling that he had
thrown her over and deserted her. When she woke in the
mornings it was with a sense of desolation, as if all her life-
were gloomy and hopeless. She bravely put that feeling
away from her and faced each day as it came, doing all she
could to make his home bright for her father and to make
up to him for the cloud under which he was living.
On the Sunday after they had reached home they went to
church as usual. As they came out John Clayton walked
ahead with one of his neighbours, and Mrs. Mannering came
up to Barbara and held out her hand with a manner that
might almost be described as gushing.
"How very much better you look!" she said. "Quite
like your old self once more."
Barbara did not take the outstretched hand, but allowed
her wide grey eyes to rest inquiringly upon Mrs. Mannering's
face.
It had been in that lady's mind to triumph a little over
her, and this reception turned her effusiveness into spite.
"I suppose you have heard," she said, "that Edward
Knightly has gone off to the other side of the world. I am
sure he would have come down to say good-bye to you, but


228 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
he and Enid spent so much of their time together during his
last few days that he hadn't time for anything."
Barbara turned away and went forward to Join her father,
leaving Mrs. Mannering planted there. "There's manners
for you!" she said to her daughters, who had been Just
behind her and had not Joined in her greeting to Barbara.
"I don't know why we ever had anything to do with a girl
like that."
"Well, we needn't have anything more to do with her,"
said Miss Muriel, "and I don't know why you wanted to
speak to her, mother."
Mrs. Mannering did not explain that she had wanted, in
vulgar language, to get a rise out of Barbara, but it was
quite obvious that she was annoyed at the failure of her
attempt. Before she had reached home she had taken away
every shred of her character, and Miss Enid and Miss Muriel,
who had at one time been her friends, quite agreed that she
had been most vulgarly pushing, and that they themselves
would rather have died than behave in the unmaidenly way
that Barbara had done; also that it served her well right
that her base plans had miscarried.
As for Barbara, she thought rather drearily, as she walked
down the hill with her father, that Mrs. Mannering, in spite
of her spiteful vulgarity, would hardly have said that Edward
had spent all his time with Enid unless it had been true, and
then tried to put her and him out of her mind for the rest
of the day, but not very successfully.
The quiet life of the farm went on for a week or so longer,
and then they were startled once more by sudden and un-
expected events.
One evening Barbara and her father were sitting in the
dining-room, she with her needlework and he with a book,
which he laid down every now and then to say a few words
to her.
John Clayton was very tender with his daughter now.
They never spoke of the new trouble that had come to her,
but he knew that she was suffering and that she was doing
all she could to put her trouble behind her and devote herself
to him. Her quiet presence in the house made all the difference
in the world to him. He was beginning a little to get used
to his own troubles and to feel that as long as he had Barbara


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 229
with him life could yet contain some solace for him. And
he enJoyed especially these quiet evening hours in the
warm lamplit room as he sat there with her after his day
in the open air.
Presently both of them were startled by the sound of
wheels outside, which could be plainly heard in the deep
stillness about them. It was past ten o'clock.
"Who on earth can that be at this time of night?" he
exclaimed.
The heavy bell of the front door clanged through the
house.
"I had better go," said Barbara, "the maids will be in
bed."
"No, IH go," said her father, and went out of the room
and shut the door behind him.
He undid the heavy bolts and chains of the front door,
which was seldom used m winter time. A fly was standing
on the gravel, with luggage on the top of it, and a woman
in thick furs was on the doorstep.
It was Flora Clayton.
"Oh, John," she said, in a low but tense voice, "William
has left me, and I've come to you."
John Clayton stared at her for a moment in his slow,
rather heavy way; then he said, " Barbara is in the dining-
room. Go in to her and I will see about the luggage and the
fly."
He helped the flyman lift the heavy box into the hall and
brought in all Flora's paraphernalia of bags and hat-boxes
and coats; then he paid the flyman, locked and bolted the
door again, and went back into the dining-room.
Flora was sitting by the fire, crying and rocking herself
to and fro, and Barbara was standing over her trying to
comfort her.
She pulled herself together a little and told her tale, which
was often interrupted by outbreaks of sobbing, and was not
very coherent; in its effect, however, it was plain enough,
although she rambled from one point to another and talked
as much of her own feelings as of what had actually happened.
William had left her a great deal alone now for weeks and
months past and had been away a great deal. He had also
kept her very short of money and seemed to be worried about


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 231
He prepared himself to take her burden upon his shoulders,
although as yet what had happened was quite inexplicable
to him.
"The best thing you can do," he said, "is to go to bed
now. You can trust me, Flora, to do everything I can for
you, and we'll talk it all over to-morrow morning."
Poor Flora was grateful. "I knew you'd be as kind as
possible," she said.
But there was a good deal she had to tell him before she
allowed Barbara to take her upstairs. She had been thinking
it all over on her slow Journey down, and had worked herself
into a state of terror about the bill of sale on the furniture,
which was indeed likely to be a serious matter, if William
had taken away valuable things out of the house.
John Clayton's face grew very grave when she told him
about that, but he calmed Flora's fears as much as he could.
"I don't understand about his taking the things away,"
he said, "or about the bill of sale. I don't think he would
have done anything dishonest. They ought to know at his
office where he has gone to, and I will go up to London
to-morrow and find out all about it."
"I am sure he has run away and left me," Flora broke
out again. "I am sure that there has been something going
on for a long time that I have known nothing about. I believe
William has done something bad. I believe the police are
after him. I believe they have been watching him for a
long time."
Here was more disturbing news.
"Oh! What shall I do?" she cried. "There is more
disgrace coming on us, and I really can't bear it."
The disgrace that had come upon the name of Clayton
had not hitherto borne very heavily on Flora, but she was
overwhelmed at the thought that it might do so now.
Barbara took her up to bed and then came down again to
reJoin her father. He was sitting in front of the fire deep
in thought, and she looked at him inquiringly.
"Do you think it's as bad as she thinks ?" she asked.
"It looks very bad indeed," he said. "Poor William!
he must have been going through a time of terrible anxiety.
I wish he had come to me and asked me to help him. I
would have done what I could."


282 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
He spoke quietly, and Barbara bent over him and kissed
him. She was touched by this speech, which showed how
unselfish her father was and how ready to take other people's
troubles on himself. There was no censure of his brother,
but only regret that he had been driven into such actions.
"We must hope," he said, " she is making a mistake about
some things. She is not very reliable in her statements. I
can't think that William would go off and leave her like that,
without a word. She hasn't been much of a helpmate to
him, but he has always treated her well, and this doesn't
seem like him at all."
To Barbara it did not seem quite so unlike him as it did
to her father. She would not believe that he was implicated
in that other still graver charge, but the fact that she had
allowed a certain measure of suspicion of him to enter her mind,
and that Edward Knightly and Mr. Chinnering had actually
suspected him, affected her somewhat. She could not con-
sider it in exactly the same light as she would have done
six months before, when she would have been horrified at
the very idea of her uncle doing anything dishonest, and
would have instantly reJected it.
"You must try to keep her mind off it as much as possible,"
said John. "I will go up to London the first thing to-morrow
and find out whatever there is to be found out. We can't
do anything more for the present, and I think we'd better go
to bed."
CHAPTER XXXVIII
JOHN CLAYTON went up to London early the next
** morning and called first at the office of William's firm,
Watt and Clayton, in Copthall Court.
Considerably to his surprise he found that although the
offices were apparently the same, William's name had dis-
appeared, and the name on the windows was now Watt and
Co.
He took a turn or two up and down before he determined
to go in and see Mr. Watt, whom he knew very little.


234 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
in for the last three years—he'll tell you how much if he
wants to."
"And he got it in cash?"
"Yes; he got it in cash down. I should think he's sunk
it all in some wild-cat scheme or other by this time. There
doesn't seem to be anything too rotten for him to go into,
though I should have thought that his experience with this
Matagonian business might have taught him a lesson."
"What has happened to that?" asked John.
Mr. Watt looked at him curiously. "He hasn't been
telling you much of what he's been doing lately," he said.
John hesitated for a moment. He wanted to hear what
had happened, but thought it unlikely that Mr. Watt would
tell him anything that he could get from William himself.
"He has told me nothing for a long time," he said. "I
should like to know about this Matagonian Syndicate."
"Well, I think you'd better ask him, Mr. Clayton."
"I can't ask him—he's gone away."
Mr. Watt whistled. "That looks bad," he said. "I'll
tell you what it is. I'm extraordinarily sorry that William
has been behaving as he has. I don't understand it. He
was one of the nicest fellows anybody could have had to do
with as long as he stuck to his Job; and we'd worked up a
very good business between us. I suppose it was that ex-
travagant wife of his. It was get rich quick with him or go
under. And it looks very much as if he'd gone under. Do
you mean to say that he's cleared out altogether?"
John hesitated again.
"I shan't repeat anything you tell me," said Mr. Watt.
"If you want me to tell you what I know, you might as
well tell me what you know."
Then John told him that William had left his flat and left
no word of where he had gone.
Mr. Watt whistled again with a very concerned expression
of face. "I hope to goodness," he said, "that he hasn't
done anything that made it necessary for him to run away.
Of course I know that he's been in money difficulties. He
gave a bill of sale on his furniture some time ago.' But what
he took out of this firm ought to have put that all right."
John did not tell him about the things of value William
had taken out of his flat.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 235
"Well, this Matagonian Silk business," said Mr. Watt.
*' That really did look as if it were going to turn out a good
thing, although I refused to touch it myself. William had let
me down before over that class of business. You know they
chartered a ship to bring over a lot of that stuff to make
their artificial silk with?"
"I didn't know that," said John. "I refused to go into
it myself, and my brother was rather annoyed with me and
has told me nothing about it for a long time."
"Ah! Well, everything seemed to be all right. They
got their concessions and everything, and there was no doubt
about the material being right. I know William wanted to
bring out the company long ago, but his partners in the
syndicate wouldn't do it until they knew there would be no
hitch. And it seems they were right. The man who went
over to make the arrangements cabled from San Francisco
when he got back there that the crop of this plant had abso-
lutely failed this year, and when his letter came to hand they
learnt that this wasn't the first syndicate that had taken
on the Job. Two others had tried it before in America, and
they had all come to grief for the same reason. There wasn't
nearly as much of the plant as they had thought. It only
grows in a few patches and only comes up every now and
then when the climatic conditions are absolutely right.
There hadn't been so much of it as the year that fellow was
wrecked for many years, and if they'd got to work and
gathered it then—only it's doubtful now whether the natives
would have let them—they might have got enough to start
work with. But there's no knowing when the next good
season will be; it may be next year or not for another five
years or ten years; so, of course, the bottom's knocked out
of the whole thing and they've wound up the syndicate.
William must have dropped a pot of money on it, and I'm very
sorry for him, but he's always been unlucky over that sort of
game, and I can't say I'm altogether surprised. I'm afraid he
was pinning much too much faith on it. If it had come off all
right he would have made a great deal of money, but it's no use
depending on that sort of thing. Much better stick to your
legitimate business."
John Clayton thought over what he had heard. "I'm
much obliged to you for telling me," he said. "They may


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 287
lift the man, who had been looking hard at John, suddenly
Ba;d, " Excuse me, sir, but aren't you Mr. Clayton's brother?"
"Yes," said John shortly.
For answer he stopped the lift between two floors. "I
don't know whether you want to go there," he said; "the
police are in the flat."
John Clayton received a disagreeable shock, but he said,
"Yes, take me up."
The lift-man went out on to the landing with him and
officiously rang the bell.
"You needn't wait," said John sharply, but as he spoke
the door was opened and Mr. Chinnering stood in the entrance.
Mr. Chinnering was never at a loss, whatever happened.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Clayton," he said in a pleasant voice, as if
he were quite pleased to see the man whom he had caused
a few months before to be arrested on a charge of murder,
and expected that man to be Just as pleased to see him.
"Come in, sir; I dare say you can help us a little over this
business."
He led the way into the dining-room, and John Clayton
followed him with a frown on his face. He was not in the
least pleased to see Mr. Chinnering, but had no wish to run
away from him.
The detective said, "If you'll Just wait here a minute,
air, I'll get rid of the other people and we can have a little
chat all by ourselves. They've Just finished what wants
doing."
He left the room and shut the door after him with such
determination that it almost seemed as if he had locked it,
and John Clayton had the unpleasant sensation of being once
more in the hands of the police. He determined during the
short time in which he was left alone to give this particular
member of the police force no help at all.
Mr. Chinnering was soon back, and as he shut the door
he said, "Well, I'm sorry to say he's got clear away, sir.
And a most unfortunate thing it is. If he'd tried it a week
before we should have had him. Now if you can tell us any-
thing of his whereabouts—but I don't suppose you can—we
ought to be able to clear up a good many little matters that
have been puzzling us lately."
John Clayton was standing by the table. "There's a good


238 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
deal to talk over," said Mr. Chinnering cheerfully. We
shan't be disturbed now. Sit down, Mr. Clayton, and make
yourself comfortable."
He indicated one of the easy chairs by the fireplace and
seemed to be about to take the other one himself, but John
Clayton moved a chair up to the table and Mr. Chinnering
did the same.
"We've had our eye on him for a good many months,"
he said; "he's a very clever gentleman—Mr. William Clayton
—and a very slippery one, and he probably knew as well as
we did that we were on the look-out for him. However, he's
given us the slip. Now what's your news, sir?"
"I've no news to give you," said John Clayton stiffly,
"and I don't know what you're talking about."
"What, didn't you know he'd cleared out?" exclaimed
the detective.
"I heard that my brother had left home and I came up
to see if there was any word from him."
"Oh! that's how the wind blows, is it ?" said Mr. Chin-
nering, very much at his ease. "But you've got Mrs. Clayton
down at Redmarsh Farm, haven't you?"
"Yes," said John.
"Well, then, I should think you must know that the lady's
husband hasn't Just taken a little trip to Margate, and I
don't suppose you've come up here expecting to find him
home again."
Mr. Chinnering's tone was unpleasantly familiar. Possibly,
when you have been able to get a man sent to prison on a
criminal charge, you are not disposed afterwards to treat
him with the most respectful consideration. John, on his
side, was not disposed to take Mr. Chinnering's familiarity
kindly.
"You seem inclined to be impudent," he said. "If
you've got anything to say to me, say it properly."
Mr. Chinnering was not in the least taken aback. "Ah!
I'm afraid you bear me a bit of a grudge, Mr. Clayton," he
said. "I'm very sorry for what happened, but you've got
yourself partly to blame for it, and there's no reason why
we shouldn't be quite good friends now, especially as there's
a chance of clearing up those other little matters that hap-
pened down your way. We made a mistake before, which


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 239
I'm the first to acknowledge now. We're not likely to
make one again. I should like to ask you a question or two,
if you don't mind."
I don't know why you should want to ask me any ques-
tions," said John, "and I don't know why you're here at
all. I know nothing of my brother's movements, and I've no
reason to suppose that he won't be back here again himself
in a day or two."
"Is that what Mrs. Clayton thinks ?" asked the detective.
"If so, I'm afraid she'll be disappointed. Are you quite
sure that you think it yourself, sir 1"
John made no reply, but looked at him with dislike plainly
to be seen in his eyes.
"Well," said Mr. Chinnering, who met the look pleasantly,
and still seemed to be desirous of keeping the conversation
on a friendly plane, "I suppose somebody's got to take the
lead in a conversation like this, and as I don't know what
you know or what you don't know, I'll Just tell you a few
things about Mr. William Clayton that will interest you.
"We've had our eye on your brother, as I told you, for a
considerable time; I won't tell you all we've found out about
him, because you might go and repeat it, and that wouldn't
suit us. But his affairs haven't been going very smoothly,
and something happened a little time ago that made us
think he'd be very likely to take a trip for the benefit of his
health before long and not come back again. But we didn't
know that he'd do something before he left that would give
us a chance of getting hold of him, or else we might have
been more anxious not to make any mistake. I'm sorry to
say he was one too many for us, and we've lost him for the
time, but hope to be able to put our hands on him
shortly."
"Oh, what have you got to say?" said John Clayton
roughly. "I'm not going to sit here all the morning listening
to you. If there had been any reason for you to put your
hand on my brother, as you say, of course you wouldn't
have done it. You're nothing but a wind-bag."
Mr. Chinnering seemed to be hurt by this attack, but not
put out of countenance. "Ah, I keep on forgetting that
you've got something up against me, sir," he said. "Well,
I'll come to the point. Mr. William Clayton has got hold


240 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
of a good deal of money within the last few months, and he's
not lost hold of much of it either, from what we can make
out. Where he made the mistake was in trying to get hold
of a little extra that didn't rightly belong to him.
"There a bill of sale on everything in this cosy little box,
and I'm sure a more artistic-looking little establishment for
two people I never came across. Well, if you'll go over it
when we've finished talking you'll see that a good deal has
gone. We know where it has gone to all right, and if we'd
known it a day earlier there's something that wouldn't have
gone, and that's Mr. Clayton himself. However, there's no
good crying over spilt milk; as I say, he's been one too many
for us.
"The day before yesterday Mr. Clayton went off with a
good deal of luggage to catch the boat-train to Liverpool.
He had booked a passage to New York by the Capadocia,
and the man who had been keeping an eye on him, in a
friendly sort of way, thought he'd go to Euston Station Just
to see him safe on board the train. I won't disguise from
you that we should like to have stopped him going, but there
were reasons why we couldn't very well do that.
"Well, there he was sitting quite comfortably in the
corner of a first-class carriage, and as the train went off he
waved his hand quite friendly to our man on the platform.
You would almost have said that he knew all about him and
what he was there for. There were people up in Liverpool,
too, who also took a kindly interest in him and were going
to see if he had everything he wanted, so to speak, on board
the ship—a few flowers in his cabin, perhaps, or something
like that. But, lo and behold! when the Capadocia sailed
there was no Mr. William Clayton, as far as we could make
out, on board her. Still, she's a big boat, and they thought
he might have escaped them somehow, so we sent word to
some other friends in Queenstown, and the news came back
that he wasn't on the Capadocia at all, though most of his
luggage was.
"So there it is; if Mr. William Clayton has gone out of
England he has gone out by another door, and where he's
gone to we don't know. It's very trying, after all the atten-
tion we've been paying him, but we've done our best, and
now we shall have to set to work again."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 241
John Clayton listened to the recital with mixed feelings.
His dislike for Mr. Chinnering had urged him many times
to break in on it and stop the flow of Jocular speech. But
he wanted to hear what he had to tell him, and sat silent
until the end.
"What were you watching him for?" he asked shortly.
"Well, if you can't guess that, Mr. Clayton," said the
detective, "I won't waste further speech in trying to en-
lighten you, for there's some things I should have thought
you'd be Just as pleased to have cleared up as we should.
That's why I'm telling you all this. If you've kept to the
idea that Mr. William is the admirable character we all
thought he was a few months ago, it's time you formed another
opinion. I don't think you ought to bear any grudge against
me for the mistake I made about you, because I've shown
as plain as words can do, by telling you all this, that I've
given it up. You ought to be working with us, and as far
as I'm concerned, I'm quite willing to work with you. 1
don't suppose you'll hear anything more of your brother than
we shall, but if you do, it's for you to help us lay our hands
on him."
John Clayton rose from his chair. "Work with you ! *'
he exclaimed. "What, to try and fasten that crime on my
brother, as you tried to fasten it on me? I'll do nothing of
the sort. I don't deny that this business looks black against
him, but it has no connection whatever with what happened
in my home, and you've no more reason for charging him
with those crimes than you had for charging me."
"Well, I like to see a man stick up through thick and thin
for his own relations," said Mr. Chinnering admiringly. "It
does you credit, sir. And I suppose you would have thought
until yesterday that he was incapable of running away
and leaving his wife in the lurch and doing something that
amounts to robbery before he cleared out."
This was only too true, and John's face darkened.
Chinnering hesitated. "I don't know that it would be
exactly professional," he said, "to make a clean breast of
it to you. But I often find that if I give something away
I get something in return. That's the way I work, and I find
it pays."
I don't want to hear anything about that," said Clayton,


242 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
returning to his previous rough manner. "I've got no opinion
of you or your ways."
For the first time Mr. Chinnering seemed annoyed. "You're
not an easy gentleman to get on friendly terms with," he said.
"The last thing I want is to get on friendly terms with
you."
"Oh, very well, then, Mr. Clayton. If you're going to talk
like that we'll Just be businesslike. Only I'll tell you this.
When we do find out the truth about this matter you're Just
as likely to get into trouble about it as not, and as you've
behaved yourself so disagreeably to me, you won't expect me
to do anything to help you. How long is it since you saw
your younger brother, Frank?"
He rapped out the question sharply with the obvious in-
tention of taking Clayton by surprise.
Clayton did show surprise. He stared at him with his
habitual dark frown. "What on earth is the meaning of that
question?" he asked.
"Never mind the meaning of it. Just answer it."
John Clayton rose from his chair with a muttered ex-
clamation that was almost an oath. "What do you mean
by ordering me to answer your questions?" he exclaimed.
"You have no right to ask me questions, and I won't answer
any of them."
Chinnering rose too. His face was flushed. Although his
manner was usually so cheerful and friendly, he had a hot
temper which had sometimes gone against him in his pro-
fession, and John Clayton had roused it.
"All right," he said. "You won't give me any help and
I'll do without you, and you can stand the racket of it.
You're behaving like a fool, but that's on your head and not
on mine."
Clayton took a threatening step towards him. "If you
talk to me like that!" he exclaimed. But he got no further,
for the detective whipped a police whistle out of his pocket
and said, " Now you be careful. I have my men within call,
and, by Jove! I'll call them if you begin to make any trouble.
You had better clear out of this, anyhow. I am in possession
here, and I don't want you hanging about and interfering
with me in my duties."
Clayton put strong control over himself. He rammed


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 248
both hands into his pockets to avoid the temptation of using
them on his adversary. Then he walked out of the room and
left the flat without another word.
"I'll have you for something or other yet," said Mr.
Chinnering when he was left alone. "I believe you know
more about it now than you would like me to know." Then
he went to the sideboard, where there was a decanter half
full of whisky, and poured himself out a glass, which he
diluted with water from a tap in the kitchen. When he had
drunk it off he felt more himself.
"Now I'll go through all the papers that the gentleman
left," he said, "though I'm afraid he's too sharp a customer
to have left anything of value."
He sat down at the desk in William's dressing-room, and
spent a busy hour looking at everything that he found there.
He did not scruple to break open a drawer that was locked,
and found it, somewhat to his surprise, full of photographs.
"Now, I wonder why he took the trouble to lock up these,"
he said to himself. "H'm. He seems to have been a bit
of a man for the ladies."
It was perhaps because he congratulated himself upon
his own eye for the ladies that Mr. Chinnering looked through
the photographs one after the other, passing various criticisms
upon them as he did so. They were of all sizes and shapes and
some of them were old, although the faces they pictured were
not. Some of them were of well-known actresses and many
were signed. But it was not until he got near to the bottom
of the pile and was hurrying through the last few, because he
had spent quite enough time over what he considered as a
pleasant recreation, that he came upon something which really
interested him.
It was a little carte-de-visite photograph of a young, dark-
haired girl, who looked very insignificant beside some of the
stage beauties who bore her company. Mr. Chinnering was
Just throwing it aside when suddenly he pursed up his mouth
and whistled.
"Fancy my not thinking that I might find this here and
not taking the trouble to look for it!" he said, with his eyes
fixed on the pretty common face simpering back at him.
"Yes, that's Emma Slade, right enough," he said, as he put
the card in his pocket. "So now we know something that


244 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
we only suspected before. It might have been wise of yon,
Mr. William Clayton, to have taken this with you along with
all the other things we should have liked you to have left
behind."
CHAPTER XXXIX
"D ARBARA had hard work with her Aunt Flora while
John Clayton was in London.
And yet through all her interminable complaints and
tearful regrets there ran a strain of real grief which made
Barbara forgive her readily enough for all the folly which she
showed. It was plain enough that she had loved her husband
as much as her shallow nature would permit her to love any-
body, and it was a terrible thing to think of that he should
have left her penniless and without a word, and not even have
scrupled to sell the things that were hers and to take away
with him all the money he could safely lay his hands upon,
so that whatever happened to her he would have enough on
which to begin life again.
When John Clayton came home he brought no good news
at all. He came by the last train, as Flora had done two
nights before. Supper was laid for him in the dining-room,
and the servants were in bed. Flora and Barbara met him
in the hall, and the hearts of both of them sank at the first
sight of his face.
"Then he has gone, and I shall never see him again!" cried
poor Flora. "Oh, what shall I do? What is to become of
me?"
When they had gone into the dining-room John Clayton
put his hand kindly on the shoulder of the sobbing woman.
"You have a home here, Flora," he said; "we will try and
make it up to you. He's gone, and you must try not to think
of him any more."
Flora was too overcome to express any gratitude, and by
and by she went up to bed, after hearing such details as John
those to tell her.
Barbara went up with her, but came down again in half


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 245
an hour to be with her father, who had finished his supper and
was sitting gloomily by the fire smoking.
Barbara drew a chair to his side and he pressed the hand
which she laid caressingly on his knee. "More trouble," he
said; "but we must try and make it up to that poor creature.
You don't mind having her in the house, do you, Barbara?
She won't add much, I am afraid, to your pleasures."
"Oh, no, father," said Barbara. "We must try and make
it up to her as much as we can. But how could Uncle William
treat her like that! It is the cruellest thing I ever heard of,
and it seems so unlike him, too."
John Clayton sighed. "We never know what people
are really like," he said, "except our very nearest and dearest.
William has always been careless about money. He has
made a great deal at one time and another, and I suppose
couldn't bear to be without it. Poor fellow, he must have been
very hard driven to make him behave in this way, and
wherever he has gone I am sure he will regret it to his dying
day."
"Dear father," said Barbara, "it is Just like you to try
and make allowances for him, but I don't think you ought to
think now that there is much good in him. It was all on the
surface. He was very kind and nice as long as everything
went well with him, but he must have been bad underneath
all the time, and I think you must remember things now that
showed what he was. Don't you?"
He did not reply to her at once. He sat looking into the
heart of the fire, and no doubt he saw castles there one by one
demolished. "I have shut my eyes to a good deal," he said.
"No doubt he was selfish and inconsiderate. There have
been many occasions on which he could have put himself out
to have made things easier for me, and he never did it unless
it suited him. Still, we were boys together, and he isn't by
any means all bad. See how he stuck to me through all that
trouble in the summer. Nobody could have been kinder than
he was. It is this gambling spirit which has brought him
down, and when the crash came he hadn't pluck enough to
stand to his guns and make it up by hard, steady work."
"I don't think any excuses ought to be made for him at
all," said Barbara firmly. "Poor Aunt Flora is rather silly,
and she has been very extravagant—she acknowledges it.


246 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
But she does love him, and it is the cruellest thing of him to
have run away and left her to bear the brunt of it all. I
suppose there is no doubt of it, father, that he Just scraped
together all the money that he could and took it away with
him?"
"I am afraid there is no doubt of it at all," said her father;
"but as for bearing the brunt, she won't have any more
trouble about the money part of it. I have put that all right,
and I have saved her as many of her personal possessions as
I could. I should have liked to save her everything, but it
was not possible. I couldn't afford it, and we shall have to
live with very strict economy for some time to make up for
what it has cost me to clear our name. You don't mind that,
my dear, do you?"
"Oh, no, father," said Barbara. "I will do everything
I can to help you. I am so glad you have done that."
They discussed for a time what economies were possible for
them to make. They decided to do with one maid and with-
out a stableman. Old Mrs. Barrow could have been spared
more easily, but neither of them was willing to send her away.
"I am a farmer's daughter," said Barbara, smiling at her
father, "and I am young and strong. You have brought me
up much too luxuriously. I want to work like other farmers'
daughters."
This was a matter that had sometimes been discussed
between them before. John Clayton wanted nothing better
than a working farmer's life for himself, but he had always
wished his daughter to live as her mother had done before her.
"Well, I hope it won't be for long," he said. "It's our
duty to do it now, and you must explain to poor Flora that
we will do our best for her, and that later on we shall hope
to live more in the way she has been accustomed to. You
needn't tell her that it's for her sake we are cutting things
short. If she has any sense I dare say she will see it and won't
grumble at living very plainly for a bit."
"I am afraid she hasn't much sense," said Barbara,
privately making up her mind that if there was any trouble
with her aunt she would not shrink from making it quite plain
to her how good her father had been in taking on his own
shoulders burdens that might have crushed her if she had
been left to bear them herself.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 249
For the first time she understood fully what her father's life
had been and how well he had come through it and in that
later terrible trial of her mother's death.
John Clayton sat silent for a time as if he had told her
everything. But there was more that she wanted to know.
"Did Uncle Frank do well in Australia?" she asked.
He roused himself again. "He worked very hard," he
said. "He was beyond measure horrified to think of what
he had done and was determined to make up for it. When
my father died I was able to send him some money, and he
bought a sheep station. At first he did very well with it,
but there was a terrible flood and it took him years to re-
cover. Then Just as he was getting straight again came the
long seven years' drought. He had to have more money to
keep going. After the third year I went into partnership with
him, but it was no use. The drought was the longest they
had ever had in Australia, and we had to drop it at last. A
great many people were ruined, and we were among those
who lost everything.
"But Frank wouldn't give up even then. I rather wish
he had kept to sheep, for things began to get better im-
mediately after we had got out. But he went down farther
south to go in for wheat growing. That was only last year.
He seemed to think that there was a great deal of money
to be made with that, and I managed to scrape up enough
to enable him to take up land and make a fresh start. There
was a fair harvest last year, and he made a little money, but
hadn't been able to clear enough land to take full advantage
of it. But he got the offer of a splendid place already cleared,
out of which he would have been able to make a great deal,
and it was that he wanted money for at the beginning of this
year that I couldn't send him. That is the story of my
financial troubles, Barbara, and that is all the story. You
can see now why I couldn't let it be known where my money
had gone to."
"I don't quite see it, father," said Barbara. "You had
done nothing with your money that you had reason to be
ashamed of."
"I couldn't let it be known," he said, "that it went to
my brother. For that would have brought up the old story,
and it would have been known against him that he hail


252 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
why he said this, but I knew that they had left off correspond-
ing for some time, and I believe that they had had some sort
of a quarrel.
"The end of it was that I made up Frank's share out of my
own pocket. I couldn't do it all at once, because I wanted
capital for the farm. Within a few years he had got all that he
would have had, but unfortunately it all went, with a good
deal of money of mine besides, during the drought."
"Did Uncle William know you were doing all that for
him?"
"I never told him, but I think he must have known."
"How abominably selfish of him!" said Barbara in-
dignantly.
"Well, it was selfish," her father admitted. "But he had
something to say for himself, and I did not let it stand between
us. Only it had this effect, that for years Frank's name was
never mentioned between us.
"After a time I really forgot all about it. When your
grandfather died I saw much more of William than I had done
before. He used to come here a great deal, and you remember
what good friends we always were and how he cheered us all
up.
It needed an effort of imagination now for Barbara to
remember how fond she had been of her Uncle William, and
of how little she had suspected what lay beneath his high
spirits and his easy kindness.
"He always showed the best side of himself here," said
her father, as if replying to her thoughts, " and we must never
forget that he had a very good side; but I am afraid he had a
bad one too. He always showed up worst where money was
concerned, and our relations were generally unfortunate in
that respect, although it wasn't altogether his fault. He was
lucky himself in speculation, but I would never let him
speculate with my money—at least not in the way in which
he used his own; Just gambling in stocks and shares, as I call
it. He had a great deal of money out of me for businesses
like this Matagonian Silk Company, over which he has come
to grief, but I nearly always lost it. I suppose, really, it was
Just as much gambling as the other would have been, and I
ought not to have done it; but it's in the blood, Barbara, and
all three of us have paid pretty heavily for it now."


254 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"Then it was that, father, that upset you so when you
went down to the sea on that day?"
"Yes," he said. "It upset me beyond measure. All my
life I had done what I could for my two brothers. I had got
myself into difficulties because of them, and it seemed to me
an outrageous thing that William should make a threat of
that sort, Just for the sake of putting pressure on me, and
not caring in the least what trouble he brought on Frank,
who had tried so hard to make up for his youthful fault, or
what trouble he brought upon our name."
"It was a horrible thing to say," said Barbara. "But
surely he couldn't have meant it! It wouldn't have done
him any good."
"Everything looked black to me," her father went on.
"It seemed as though nothing I could do would put things
right. I had believed in Frank, but he had been so unfor-
tunate that to entrust him with money seemed like pouring
it through a sieve. And William's charges against him had
made some impression upon me. I was not in a state to
throw off their influence, and I couldn't help the suspicion
arising that perhaps Frank had not dealt honestly with me
after all. It took me a long time to fight that down."
"Are you quite sure of him now, father?" Barbara
asked.
He hesitated. "I haven't heard from him for something
like nine months," he said shortly.
Barbara drew in her breath. "He did not even write to
you after he must have known what happened here?" she
exclaimed.
"No. I have not heard a word, although I have written
to him twice. I try not to think too much about it. But I
don't understand why he has not written. From what I
have read, the wheat harvest has been a splendid one this
year in Australia, and everything has gone well. Frank
ought at last to have made money out of his land, and I
should have thought he would have written to tell me so in
any case."
"Doesn't that prove, father, that he can't be dealing
honestly with you? If he has made money at last, wouldn'1
he have sent you your share?"
"Well, he wouldn't actually have got the money yet.


256 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
CHAPTER XL
'"PHEY had talked together for a long time, and it was
*- now very late. The fire had burnt low, and one of the
candles on the mantelpiece began to flicker in its socket.
John Clayton raised himself up in his chair and was Just
about to rise from it when suddenly both of them were
startled in the stillness of the night by a tap on the window-
pane.
Barbara went white and clutched her father's arm. She
had thought that only they two were awake out of all those
in the house and about it. The sudden noise was terrifying.
John Clayton went to the window and drew back the
heavy curtains. There was no one to be seen outside, but
only the deep blackness of the night. He went out of the
room quickly and opened the front door. Barbara, standing
with her hand to her heart, heard him say roughly, "You!
What on earth do you want to give us such a fright for at
this time of night?"
She heard a man's voice speaking from outside, and then
her father saying, "Well, come in, then." He returned to
the room, followed by the farm hand Ned Hodgson.
Hodgson touched his forelock to Barbara. His rather
sulky face bore a look of perplexity as he stood by the door,
which her father shut after him.
"He says," said John Clayton, "that he has had a letter
from Emma Slade."
"Yes, and I want to know what you've done with her,"
said Hodgson. "She never done you no harm; she was
going along with me."
"What do you mean—what have I done with her?"
said John Clayton sharply. "I know nothing about her at
all. I have never heard a word of her since she left here."
"She says you got her away," said Hodgson doggedly.
"It's in her letter as plain as print."
"Show me her letter," said Clayton, holding out his hand.
But Hodgson did not seem to be prepared to part with
it. "It's writ from Paris," he said. "Paris in France.
She says Mr. Clayton gave her money to go there. She says


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 257
it plain. What did you want to give her money to go away
from me for?"
"I tell you I know nothing about her. Give me the letter,"
said his master again.
"If she says' Mr. Clayton ' she means another Mr. Clayton,"
said Barbara. "You had better let us see what she says."
Hodgson's slow brain could not take in a new idea all of
a sudden. "A letter come this evening," he said, with
troubled, suspicious eyes still fixed on his master. "I didn't
know what to do about it. I was walking about outside
thinking of it and I saw the light here, and I said, 'I'll go
and ask him what he done with her.'"
"Well, I have told you that I know nothing about her,"
said John Clayton impatiently, holding out his hand. "As
Miss Barbara says, I am not the only Mr. Clayton. Let me
read your letter. I'll do what I can to help her and you too."
But it was Barbara who at last persuaded him to give it
up. "I don't mind you reading it, miss," he said, rather
unwillingly, as he handed it over to her. "You'll see that
no harm comes to her."
Emma Slade's letter was directed in a large unformed
hand to Mr. Ned Hodgson, Redmarsh Farm, Rede, and he
stood by, turning his cap in his hand, while John Clayton
and Barbara read it together. It ran as follows:
"Dear Ned,—This comes hoping that you are well as it
leaves me at present. I am in great trouble here and wish I
had never left the farm and you was always so kind to me
and I write to tell you about it, if you have not got another
girl yet as you're fond of, but I know you always wanted me
and I didn't behave proper to you and am sorry now for I
am in great trouble here and wish you was by me to tell me
what to do. I always did like you, Ned, and didn't mean
nothing by teasing you when we walked out together. I
never meant to come here, but as Mr. Clayton wanted me
to and put on Jude Kelly to persuade me and tell me how
to come here and give me money for it, and I can speak tlie
language a little but the food is awful and I would give a lot
for a plate of beef and potatoes and vegetables. And I do
want to come home but I'm afraid what they'll do to me.
But I had nothing to do with it and so I would swear on the


258 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
Testament if they put me in prison for it. And I have nev er
done what Mr. Clayton wanted me and now he has left me
without any money and if I can't get away from here in a
week they will turn me out and I shall have nowhere to go
to. Tell Mr. Clayton and ask him to send me some money
or Miss Barbara. She was always kind to me. But don't
tell mother till I come home as she will think I have been a
wicked girl and I haven't dear Ned., But if you still want
to marry me I will say yes, but I don't suppose you do now
and you've got another girl to walk out with. Good-bye,
Ned, from Emma Slade."
The letter as reproduced here is plainer than it was to
Barbara and her father, for it was ill-spelt and contained few
stops of any sort. They had to read it twice before they could
extract any sense out of it, and even then it was almost a
complete puzzle. What seemed, however, unhappily clear
was that William Clayton had enticed the girl away and
kept her hidden and had now deserted her, leaving her penni-
less, as he had left his wife.
When he had read the letter over a second time John Clay-
ton turned to Hodgson with a frown on his face and asked
him curtly, "Do you still want her?"
"Yes," said the poor fellow stoutly. "I have always
wanted her. I know she never meant no harm, and I don't
believe she ever done no harm. What did you want to go
and send her to them foreign parts for and leave her there
to be turned out on the street?"
"Look here, Hodgson," said John Clayton more kindly.
"Try and get it into your head that I have had nothing to
do with it at all. I am afraid it is clear that it was Mr. William
who took her away."
"Mr. William!" exclaimed Hodgson. "Well, then, I'd
better go to Mr. William. He'll see her righted, if you
won't."
"I will see her righted, and you can't go to Mr. William.
He has left the country. That is why he has left off sending
her money.
"Will you go over there and bring her back?"
Suspicion of his master was slowly melting away in Hodg-
son's brain.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 259
"Yes, I will. I'll go to-morrow, and you shall see her di-
rectly she comes here."
"Tell her I'm ready to many her then, and nobody shan't
bring up anything against her."
John Clayton put his hand on the young man's shoulder.
"You're a good fellow, Hodgson," he said, "but I shan't
give her that message until I know what has happened.
Now you can go, and leave this to me."
"Oh, father, what does it all mean?" cried Barbara,
when Hodgson had gone and they were alone together again.
"You will make her tell you the truth, won't you? Re-
member about the little shirt. She knows about that. Oh!
I am sure you will find out the truth now."
She spoke with great excitement, her hands clasped in
appeal. He said quietly, "I doubt if she knows anything
that will do us any good to hear. I think it was only a co-
incidence that she went off that evening. She says she knows
nothing, and if she did she would hardly write like that and
want to come back here."
"I am sure Uncle William had something to do with it,"
Barbara cried. "We know what he is now—wicked and selfish
and deceitful! Yes, I am sure that he and she together had
something to do with dear little Tony's death!"
"My dear," he said, calming her, "you must not say such
things as that. As I told you, she would keep in hiding if
she had anything to fear; and William isn't as bad as that."
"Not bad ?" repeated Barbara. "Why, father, think of
his persuading a young girl like that to go away with him,
and poor Aunt Flora knowing nothing of all his wickedness,
and trusting him! Nothing could be worse than that."
CHAPTER XLI
JOHN CLAYTON went to Paris the next day. He found
"Emma Slade in a quite respectable house in a quite
respectable quarter. But she looked shabby, and very
different from the smart pert maid she had been at Redmarah
Farm.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 261
the oft-repeated saying of Old Bob, "It's the gipsies as
did it."
Emma's statement seemed to confirm that conviction.
This gipsy father and mother had robbed his child of its
clothes for the sake of their own child and made away with
him for fear of discovery. A horrible crime indeed! but
one reads of murders committed for no greater gain.
"I shall ask you more about these people presently," he
said. "Now tell me your story. I could make out very
little from your letter."
"What did Ned Hodgson say when he got it ?" she asked.
"Does he want me still, or does he think I have been wicked?
I haven't, sir, indeed I haven't, though things look black
against me."
"Never mind about that now," said Clayton firmly.
"Tell me why you ran away."
"I didn't mean to run away," she said. "I was frightened
of what I thought I'd seen, and I wanted to beg him not to
take little Master Tony away. I thought he'd done it. But
I never thought he would be murdered. Oh, dear! oh, dear!
I've cried many a time thinking over that, and the dear little
child lying cold in the river. He was so fond of his Emma,
and was always running to her and calling out in his sweet
little voice."
She was crying now. John Clayton realised that it would
be a difficult business to get anything consecutive out of her
in the way of explanation of all that she had to explain.
She dried her tears, and her voice changed completely as
she flamed out at him, "Why has he treated me like this!
He's a wicked man, and I've given up my good name for his
sake, and he keeps me here for months hidden like a thief
and then goes away and leaves me without a word. Where
is he? Why doesn't he answer my letters? He knows I
can't come to no good in this horrible place if I am left without
any money; and I don't know how to get work here. Nobody
would take me into service without a character."
"If you mean my brother William," said John Clayton,
"he has gone, and you won't see him again. I have come
to take you back to England, and you need have no fear of
anything that will happen to you if you tell me the truth."
But she was not ready to begin yet. "You'll take me back


262 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
to England, sir!" she exclaimed. "Oh! if you will, I'll work
my fingers to the bone for you as long as I live, without
wanting any money. This is a heathen country. I have
never been happy here for a minute. I would live as poor
as poor in England rather than be rich here."
"Very well, then," said Clayton, repressing his impatience
with some difficulty, "now do for goodness' sake tell me
your story."
She calmed herself and began. "He was always worrying
me whenever he come down," she said, "and I wouldn't
have nothing to do with him."
"I don't want to know all about that," he interrupted
her, with increased irritation, "I can imagine it all for my-
self, and I know that he put Kelly on to you too, to get you
to come here. Well, I suppose he wanted you here when he
came over on business. That was it, wasn't it?"
"Yes. But I never meant for a moment to come. It was
Hodgson I was fond of, and I was Just having a lark like and
drawing him on, same as I did with others, and never meant
nothing by it; and I never meant to take the money that
Kelly gave me, with the address and how to get here, but
meant to send them back to him with a cheeky letter that
would put him in his place.
"Late in the afternoon as I was changing my dress up-
stairs I looked out of the window and saw somebody getting
in at the window of your room, sir. First of all I was going
to shriek out, and then I didn't because I made sure it was
him, and I thought, 'Now, there's impudence! He's come
sneaking back after all to have a word with me, and doesn't
want nobody to know. But he needn't think he's going to
get me like that. I'll Just keep out of his way and see his
face when I come in with the tea-things.' Well, I kept out
of the way of where I thought he'd be like to be for the rest
of the afternoon, but I thought he would come round, as he
often used to, to the yard or the dairy. After a bit I went out,
but I never saw anything of him. Then I began to wonder
whether it was him I saw at all, for I felt he would have tried
to find me. But I was quite sure it was, or I should have
told Mrs. Barrow that there was someone got into the
house."
"Did you see his face?" asked Clayton.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 268
"No. I only saw his back, and if it wasn't him it was
someone like him, but of course I know now it couldn't have
been him I saw."
"How do you know that?"
"Well, he swore on the Bible that it wasn't him, and it
couldn't have been him, because he could bring twenty
witnesses to say where he was at that time, which was miles
away from the farm."
"Then you only have his word for it that it wasn't he?"
"No, I haven't. I'd seen him go off in the motor and he
was dressed different."
"Wait a minute. What clothes had he on when he went
off in the car?"
"He had got a light suit and a cloth cap to match."
"Yes. Goon."
"Well, the man who got in at the window was dressed
more shabby, in a dark suit and an old felt hat."
Again John Clayton felt a sense of relief. He had wanted
to make quite certain that she had not deceived herself as to
William's clothes when he had left the farm. He remembered
himself what he had been wearing. The man in the dark
suit who had broken into his room was not his brother.
Emma Slade again seemed to be overcome with her recol-
lections. "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" she cried. "If only I
had never seen him at all!"
John Clayton left her a moment in which to compose
herself.
"Well, what made you run away ?" he asked her.
"I told you, sir, I didn't mean to run away," she said.
"I had nothing to run away for. If you think I had anything
to do with stealing that money, you are quite wrong, and I
told you so at the time."
"Well, what made you go away, then ?" Clayton amended
his question. "You did go away, and you've kept away."
"Well, I'll tell you, sir, if you'll listen to me quietly.
There's nothing in it I have cause to be ashamed of. When
you had me and Alice into your room after you had missed
the money, I was all put out, as you saw at the time."
"Yes, you were angry enough—or pretended to be. But
you said nothing about seeing a man climb in at the
window."


264 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"No, because I thought it was William. And it never
crossed my mind that he could have anything to do with
stealing your money."
Her use of his brother's name without the prefix of respect
gave John a sharp reminder of his brother's doings.
"Well, go on," he said curtly.
"Then, directly after that had happened, it was all put out
of my head by the hue and cry raised for poor little Master
Tony, and anybody will tell you at the farm that I was as
upset about it as anybody, and ran here and there and every-
where trying to find him."
"Yes, I believe that," said Clayton. "You were fond of
him."
"Oh, I was fond of him," she cried.
She burst into tears, and John Clayton respected the grief
which he saw to be genuine. She dried her eyes and went
on: "Then, all of a sudden," she said, "an awful thought
struck me. I thought Mr. William must have stolen the
money and gone and taken him away somewhere, Just to
make people talk about that and not about his thieving;
and I made up my mind I would go up to London and beg
him not to do nothing so wicked, and perhaps find little
Master Tony and bring him back with me. He had told me
of a place I could always go to in London if I wanted to see
him. It wasn't where he lived, and I had never meant to go
there, but I remembered the address."
This new proof of his brother's double life scarcely came
as a surprise to John.
"Give me that address," he said.
She gave him an address in Pimlico.
"If he wasn't there," she said, "and I went at any time,
I was to telephone to his office, but not to say who I was,
and he would come."
"Well, go on."
"I hardly knew what I was doing. I hadn't thought much
about it. I was Just longing to catch sight of little Master
Tony. But when I was in the train between Rede and
Grassford I thought of what he had said about coming over
here, and I made it out that he had expected me to come at
that very time and that he would go over in the same boat.
Of course I had been laughing with myself over his coming


266 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"I don't rightly remember. It was on the Monday night
or the Tuesday night, and he went back the next morning."
John Clayton remembered that on Monday William had
left Redmarsh Farm and gone to London, as he had said,
on the plea of business, and had returned the next evening.
He had said nothing about a visit to Paris.
"When he come," said Emma, "he thought I had come
here to be with him, and we had a terrible set-to. But I
kept him in his place. I told him I was a respectable girl
and he ought to be ashamed of himself for his goings on."
"Yes, yes," said Clayton. "You needn't tell me any-
thing more about that."
"Ah, but I must tell it," she said. "I am not going to
have nobody taking away my character. I can tell you I
have been sore tried with him threatening to do all sorts of
things if I wouldn't be as wicked as he wanted. But I have
kept myself good, in spite of him, and I want you to tell Ned
Hodgson that, and if you don't I won't say another word
about what's happened."
John Clayton looked at her searchingly. What he saw in
her face made him say, " I believe you, and I will tell Hodg-
son. Now go on. What did he tell you about what had hap-
pened at Redmarsh Farm?"
"He told me all what I had read in the paper afterwards,
and he was angry with me because I had suspected him of
having something to do with it. It took him a long time to
persuade me that he hadn't. Then he showed me that it
couldn't have been him what I had seen. I was sorry that
I had thought what I had, because he was Just as much cut
up about poor little Master Tony being so cruelly murdered
as I was. He was very fond of him, and he said it was a
dreadful thing for me to think he would do such an awful
crime."
"But how did he persuade you to keep here when all the
police in England were looking for you? If they had found
you it would have gone hard with you, as you had run away
on the very night and had kept in hiding."
"I don't know whether it was his cnnningness or not,
because, of course, he wanted to keep me here, that he made
me think I should get into awful trouble if I went back."
"What sort of trouble?"


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 267
"Well, he said there was no one could prove I hadn't gone
off with the money, and nobody would believe what I said
about a man getting in at the window, as there was nobody
saw it but me. Then he said that nobody would believe I
hadn't run away to be with him, and Kelly would say he
had given me money to come here, and it would be known
I had used it to come, and he shouldn't say why I had come,
whatever / might say."
The cunning of these arguments struck John Clayton
forcibly. If the whole of the girl's story was true, there
would have been nothing to prove any of it, and William had
unscrupulously used the predicament into which she had
put herself to keep her thoroughly frightened.
"I suppose he didn't say," he said, "that your going
back would get him into difficulty?"
"Yes, he did—he said that, too, and he said we should
both get into trouble together, but I should get into much
the worse trouble if I went back, but that if I kept here
quietly till it had all blown over, he would give me what
money I wanted and I could have a good time, and he wouldn't
worry me now that he knew I didn't want to have anything
to do with him."
"And have you had a good time?" asked Clayton sar-
donically.
"Oh, sir, I've been that wretched!" the poor girl ex-
claimed. "I'd have given anything to be back at the farm
again, where everybody was kind to me, and I didn't know
when I was well off! I hate this place! Oh, I do hate it!
You will take me back home, sir, won't you?"
"Yes, I'll take you back this very night," said Clayton.
"You need fear nothing now if you tell me the whole truth,
and I'll stand up for you, and see that no more blame attaches
to you than you deserve."
"Oh, sir, how kind you are!" she said tearfully. "So
different from him. I always thought you were hard and
unkind, and he was so different, with a pleasant word for
everybody. But it was all outside with him. He was Just
as selfish as he could be, and only wanted everybody to give
in to him and his bad ways. I know him through and through
now, and wish I had never set eyes on him."
"Did he leave you alone here, as he had promised?"


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 269
CHAPTER XLII
,N their Journey back to England John Clayton asked
further questions of Emma Slade as to the gipsies to
whom she had given the little garment which had been
found on the body of the drowned child.
At what date had she seen them? She could not be sure,
but it was not many weeks before the tragedy. Had she
ever seen them before? What were they doing on the marsh?
Was she sure that they were gipsies and not merely tramps?
Would she recognise them again?
Her answers to these questions, except to the last, were
rather vague. She was sure that she would know them again
if she saw them. The woman was very miserable, and the
man looked as if he bullied her. She would know the child
again. It was a pretty little creature, with fair hair, but
looked very ill. The woman had been very grateful for the
little flannel shirt.
"If the child had fair hair," Clayton said, "it would not
be likely to be a gipsy's child. What colour was the hair?
Was it like Master Tony's?"
"It was about the same colour," she said, " but straighter
and not so pretty."
John Clayton remembered the doubt that Barbara had
expressed as to the lock of hair she had saved being her little
brother's. And for the first time the idea came across his
mind that, perhaps, after all, there was room for hope,
supposing the child whose body had been found was, by an
extraordinary coincidence, that of the child of these supposed
gipsies, and not that of his son.
He sat for a long time turning over the possibilities in his
mind, hardly permitting himself to admit the hope, and yet
finding in what happened not a little foundation for it.
"How old was the child?" he asked suddenly, turning
to his companion.
"About as old as Master Tony," she replied. "Perhaps
rather older, but no bigger."
He knew now, as he called up recollections so painful that
he had never willingly dwelt on them, that any real identi-
fication of the child's body had been impossible. He had


270 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
gone by the size of the body, by the colour of the hair,
darkened and matted as it was by the water, by the sole
garment in which it had been wrapped. And all these facts
fitted this other child, who had been ill when Emma Slade
had seen it.
There were two alternatives, as far as he could see. One
was that these people had murdered his child for the sake
of its clothes and had put upon it the other garment.
Was this likely? Would people so poor, who could commit
bo dastardly a crime, clothe the body of the child they were
about to murder at all, and with a garment they would wish
to keep? No. It was not likely.
The other alternative was that their child had died, per-
haps when they were encamping in Rede Castle, as people
of their sort not infrequently did, and they had thrown its
body into the river rather than face an inquiry.
This alternative was much the more likely of the two.
As they steamed across the Channel, John Clayton looked
out over the dark, tossing waters at the lights of the English
shore, and his heart was lighter than it had been for many
a day. What if, after all, his little son should not be dead
and he should be able to get him back again to carry on the
old name and to bring such happiness to his daughter as
she had never hoped to experience again in life!
John Clayton, with Emma Slade arrived in England very
early in the morning, and reached Rede Station soon after
eight o'clock.
Emma Slade began to show some excitement as the train
crept over the familiar marshland and neared the old town
about which she had lived all her life until a few months before.
"Oh, I am so glad to be getting home again!" she said.
"But what shall I say, sir, when they recognise me?"
John Clayton had not thought much about that. Of
course, she would be recognised at Rede Station, and her
appearance would create considerable excitement.
You needn't say anything," he said shortly. "You can
leave all that to me. And there's another thing I want to
tell you. Miss Barbara will ask you about that little shirt.
Just tell her what you did with it and don't tell her more
than you can help about those people. It will only make
her unhappy."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 271
"Very well, sir," she said submissively.
A wagonette from Redmarsh Farm was waiting, and
Clayton drove away with the girl within a minute of their
getting out of the train. Before he had reached home it was
known all over Rede that Mr. Clayton had found Emma
Slade and had brought her back with him.
The news reached Lady Charlotte Knightly at breakfast-
time, and she immediately put the worst construction upon
it. "The impudence of it!" she exclaimed to herself.
"Now he thinks it has all blown over, he brings back his
accomplice. Thank Heaven that Edward is free of those
people!"
The news reached Cliffthorpe Lodge at about the same
time, and Mrs. Mannering put exactly the same construction
on it as Lady Charlotte had done, bringing in Barbara as
implicated in the conspiracy in addition.
"Fancy her having that girl in the house again after all
that has happened!" she said. "She knows a great deal
more about it all than we have supposed, I'll be bound. But
if there is any law in England we shall hear the truth at last,
and no doubt it will surprise a great many people, although
not me."
Miss Enid spoke up on behalf of her one-time friend. She
had altered a good deal during the last few months and
become ashamed of many things that she had done and said.
"How can you say such things of Barbara, mother?" she
exclaimed. "We have behaved badly to Barbara, but it is
beyond everything to accuse her of knowing about her little
brother's murder."
Mrs. Mannering looked surprised. "Why, whatever has
come over you ?" she exclaimed. "Are you going to begin
to stand up for Barbara Clayton at this time of day?"
"Yes, I am," said Enid Mannering boldly and a little
hysterically. "I saw her the other day, and I felt very sorry
for her and ashamed of myself for all the trouble we have
brought on her. I met her coming round the corner and she
looked away from me as if she had never known me. I don't
wonder at it, either. She is much better than we are, and
I was always very fond of her before." She burst into tears,
and her mother stared at her in arrogant surprise.
"Well, I never!" she exclaimed rudely. "And pray,


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 273
"I have shown her the hair," she replied. "She says it
is not Tony's—she is sure it is that of the other child."
He thought for a moment and then said, " My dear, I have
strong hopes that it may be so.
So glad a look came into her face as he had never seen
there for many months past.
"Oh !" she exclaimed, in a low voice tense with excite-
ment. "To think that my darling is still alive and I shall
see him again!"
The effect of her words was to make his spirits drop. "If
we allow ourselves to think that he may be alive," he said,
"how are we to find him? It is eight months since he has
been missed."
"Oh, but surely with that to go on we can find him now,"
she said.
"Why, what do you think can have happened?"
"Oh, father, isn't it plain? Those people took him away.
Emma says that that poor woman was fond of her child.
When he died she must have taken little Tony in his place.
If we find them—and it ought not to be difficult to find
them, for Emma says she would recognise them anywhere
—we shall find him too. Don't let us lose any time over it.
Let us telegraph to the police in London and set the search
in hand at once."
This possibility had not yet struck John Clayton. He
thought it over carefully. "If that is what happened," he
said, "it means that those people were here at the time
Tony was missed. And you must remember that every kind
of inquiry was made and no trace of them or anyone like
them could be found."
This had no weight with Barbara. "They would come
and go," she said. "What I think must have happened is
that they saw Tony here when they first came with their own
child, and after it had died they made up their minds to
take him. Of course, they would be as careful as possible
to wait until they had an opportunity. They must have
been hanging about, and when they saw the chance of stealing
your money too, they took that as well."
This was a new light again.
"Then you think it was they who stole the money," he
said. "But hasn't Emma told you that she saw a man


274 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
getting in at my window, and it wasn't this tramp she
saw ? %
"She couldn't tell who it was," said Barbara, "his back
was half turned towards her. It might have been this man,
and I am sure that it was."
"Does she say that it might have been? She didn't say
so to me—she thought it was William."
"She says she couldn't swear that it wasn't the tramp.
He had different clothes on, but he might have got those from
somewhere. Father, I am sure it must have been he. Doesn't
everything fit in?"
"I don't know," he said doubtfully. Still, there was no
doubt that the next thing to do was to find these people,
and to that end he supposed he should have to communicate
with the much-disliked London police, and probably have
to open up communication again with Mr. Chinnering.
John Clayton was right in his supposition that Mr. Chin-
nering would take this matter in hand himself, for he came
down that very afternoon and appeared at Redmarsh Farm
the same evening.
When he was shown into John Clayton's presence he said
at once with an engaging smile, " Mr. Clayton, I want to ask
you to overlook what passed between us when we last met.
You've had a great deal to put up with, sir, and I ought to
have been the last, considering the mistake I once made
about you, to make it any worse. I hope you'll overlook it
now and let's work together to find this little chap of yours;
for I tell you plainly that what this girl has let out puts quite
a different complexion on things, and I don't believe your
child was murdered at all."
John Clayton might not have been greatly affected by the
first part of his speech, but he was strongly moved by the
second. If the same idea that had struck him and Barbara
separately had also struck the detective, then there was
indeed hope, and the lift to his spirits was so great that he
said, not ungraciously, "It seems to me that you have made
a good many mistakes over this business since you made
the first one with regard to me, but now you are on the right
track I've no wish to bring them up against you; the matter
is much too important to dwell on grudges."
"I am glad to hear you speak like that, sir," said Mr.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 275
Chinnering heartily. "Now, with your permission, I'll have
this girl in and hear her story from herself, and then I'll have
another word with you."
His examination of Emma Slade did not last so very long,
but he put to her a few questions that neither John Clayton
nor Barbara had thought of asking, and he examined her
very closely as to the appearance of the man she had seen
getting in at her master's window.
"I'll have a look out of that same window to-morrow
morning myself," he said, "when it is light, and we'll get
somebody to get into it in Just the same position as this man
was. But in the meantime I want to know Just how much
you saw of his face and Just how much like to Mr. William
Clayton he was."
He examined her on this point. "You take your time,
my girl, and think over your answers carefully," he warned
her. "You won't get into any trouble if you tell the exact
truth. From what I can make out you seem to be a good
deal too ready to say what people want you to say. First of
all, you were certain it was Mr. William Clayton. Then you
were certain it couldn't be him. Then you said it might have
been this tramp or gipsy, or whatever he was. Now, was
this tramp at all like Mr. William Clayton ?—answer me
that. If he was, say so. If he wasn't, don't say so because
you think I want you to. I don't want you to say anything
that isn't the truth."
Emma, thus adJured, said that she was quite sure really
that it wasn't the tramp, and she was pretty sure that it
wasn't Mr. William Clayton, although she admitted that if
he hadn't proved to her that it couldn't have been he, she
would not have sworn that it wasn't.
"Well, now," said Mr. Chinnering at last, "I'm going to
ask you a straight question. We know that it couldn't
have been Mr. John Clayton that got into his own room in
that way—I say we know it couldn't have been him; but
supposing we had not known that and you hadn't know
that, could you have sworn it wasn't him and not his
brother?"
"Oh, I could have sworn it wasn't him," Emma said.
"Well, supposing they had had another brother, say
something like Mr. John and something like Mr. William—


276 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
because they are both something alike, you know—would
that be near enough?"
"Oh, yes," said Emma at once, "it was Just like that—
like Mr. William, if you understand, and yet not like him.
Yes, you are right, sir. It was Just as if he was his brother."
When Chinnering went into John Clayton's room after he
had finished with Emma he said at once, "Well, sir, I've
got something out of her, and it fits in with a curious sus-
picion that has been in my mind for a long time. You may
remember I gave you a hint about it the other day, and it
evidently caused you great surprise."
"I don't know what you're referring to," said Clayton
shortly.
"Well, sir, you've got one brother who has turned out
wrong."
"Yes," interrupted Clayton, "and you've no doubt had
a full explanation from Slade, and have found out that he
had nothing to do with it at all."
"I am not quite certain that he had nothing to do with it
at all, sir; but you will be able to Judge of that for yourself
when I tell you a good many things that you've got no idea
of. I am going to tell you the thing that will surprise you
most first. We have found out that your brother Frank was
seen on the afternoon of the tenth of May going from the
direction of this house towards Rede Castle.
No one could have misinterpreted the blank stare of
amazement which came over John Clayton's face as he heard
this surprising piece of information. "What on earth do you
mean ?" he exclaimed. "He is in Australia. He has been
there for the last twenty years."
"How do you know that, sir?"
"I have been in constant communication with him."
"When you say constant, sir, what do you mean exactly?
When did you last hear from him, for instance?"
John Clayton's face dropped. "It is true," he said, " that
I haven't heard from him for nearly a year."
Then Chinnering told him about what the old shepherd
had told Edward Knightly—how he had seen Frank Clayton
dodging along behind a dyke. The lost child had not been
seen with him, but that was accounted for by the height
of the dyke. The child must have been there, because the


278 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
too good reason to fear that the child died after all on the
voyage out."
John Clayton sat for a moment or two staring in front of
him. Then he buried his face in his arms on the table, and
when he looked up again his face was grey.
"Go on," he said, "tell me everything now."
Chinnering told him everything, and gave him an account
of Kelly's death and what Edward had tried to get out of
him up at Baycleft. "Mr. Knightly has gone out to Aus-
tralia now to see these people," he said, "and to get the
truth out of them. It isn't certain that the child that died
in the Red Sea was your child, sir, so you needn't give up all
hope, though I am afraid it won't do to build too much on it,
for it's more likely to have been him than not. And, of
course, it isn't by any means certain that he was the child
that was taken at all, or even that they did take a child in
the end. At any rate, we shall know everything when Mr.
Knightly gets out there."
"Have you put this case entirely into Mr. Edward
Knightly's hands ?" asked Clayton, with a slight return of
his early manner towards Chinnering.
"No. But honour where honour is due, and there's no
doubt he's given us a great deal of help in it. Nobody really
knows except me that he's gone out to Australia to inquire
into what wants inquiring into. Other people think he's
gone out there on account of his health; but, as a matter of
fact, he meant to go before he was taken ill."
"Then it is from him that you will hear about these people
who took a child out?"
"Yes. He will go up there first of all."
"Where are these people?"
"They have gone to a place in South Australia."
"To South Australia!"
"Yes—the name of the place has escaped me. They are
rather funny names they have in Australia. Wait a minute
now, I believe I've got it in my pocket-book."
He took out his notebook and turned over the pages.
"They are going in for wheat growing," he said. "They
say there's a lot of money to be made out of that over there,
and I believe they are hard-working people, although as far
as we can make out they were not unwilling to take your


280 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
cabin, the doctor said to him, " Did you notice a man who
came aboard at Naples when we were standing together near
the gangway?"
"I noticed a good many," said Edward; "they were
coming on board all the time."
"This was a tall man," said the doctor, "a good deal
muffled up, as if he wanted to escape notice; and directly
he saw us standing together he ducked his head and bolted
down below. I noticed it at the time, but I didn't say any-
thing to you."
"Now you mention it," said Edward, "I do remember
something of the sort, although I didn't pay any particular
attention to him. He put his hand in front of his face, as if
he had a twinge of toothache."
"Well, that's Just what he says he has got—or rather
neuralgia," said the doctor. "He is a man called Robinson,
in the second-class. He has a cabin to himself, and he hardly
ever leaves it."
"Can't you do anything for the poor fellow?" asked
Edward.
"No. I can't. I don't believe he has got neuralgia at all,
or anything else the matter with him. I believe he is running
away from something or somebody."
The doctor's story interested Edward.
"Doesn't he ever come up on deck?" he asked. "I
should like to catch a glimpse of him."
"He sleeps most of the day," said the doctor, "but he
looks like a fellow who has been used to having a good deal
of the open air, and I have reason to believe that he spends
an hour or two on deck late at night or very early in the
morning. At any rate, I have seen him twice—once at half-
past two and again at about four o'clock, when I have been
called up. And I shouldn't wonder if he didn't make a nightly
habit of it. He was walking up and down the second-class
deck vigorously and looked as fit as possible. I believe his
neuralgia is quite a put-up yarn. At any rate, it wouldn't
keep him in his cabin all day long."
Late that night Edward went up on deck. The second-
class deck was Just below the first-class, and at the end of
it there was a wide open space, which could be plainly seen
by anyone standing above. Edward leant against the bul-


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 281
warks in a corner, under the shadow of a boat hanging above
him, and waited. By and by, Just as he was beginning to
get tired of standing there, he saw a figure come out on the
other side of the deck below him, cross quickly over the open
space, and go back again.
The man, whoever he was, was wearing rubber shoes and
walking quickly, as if for the sake of taking exercise and
nothing else.
Edward crossed over to the other side of the boat and took
up a similar position, but hid himself more completely.
Again the man came out, now Just beneath him, crossed the
open deck, turned sharply and strode back again. The night
was dark, and Edward could not see his features. He thought
that his walk was unmistakable, and his figure, as much as
he could distinguish of it.
He waited until he had seen him a dozen times, then went
down again to his cabin. The man could not run away, at
any rate, before they reached Port Said.
Early the next morning he was up on deck and went into
the doctor's cabin for a cup of tea and a cigarette. "I have
recognised that fellow you told me about," he said, "and I
think it is quite possible that he is keeping out of my
way."
The doctor looked at him curiously. "I should like to ask
you a question," he said, " but I am not quite sure how you
would take it."
"Ask away," said Edward, who saw what was coming.
"Somebody told me yesterday," said the doctor, "that
you were the Mr. Knightly who was concerned in that mystery
of Redmarsh Farm that we were all so excited about a few
months ago."
"Yes, I am."
"Well, is this fellow mixed up in it?"
Edward hesitated before replying. The doctor said, "I
suppose I ought not to ask; it is only out of curiosity—you
needn't say anything to me unless you like."
Edward thought that the curiosity displayed was rather
inconvenient, but he had made friends with the doctor and
he also wanted him to help him, so he said, "I believe this
fellow knows something about it, although I don't think that
he murdered the child."


282 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"Well, we ought to keep an eye on him, oughtn't we?"
"I want to be certain that he doesn't get off the ship before
I have spoken to him."
"Well, it looks as if that is what he wanted to do. He
can hardly expect to keep up his neuralgia all day and get
rid of it all night for over a month."
"I wonder where he is bound for?"
"I can easily find that out for you."
"I should be very much obliged to you if you would, and
if you will keep to yourself what I have told you."
"Well, you haven't told me much," said the doctor, with
a smile, " but I won't ask any more questions."
Later in the morning he told Edward that Mr. Robinson
had booked a passage for Adelaide from Naples, and had
brought a good deal of luggage on board.
"If he means to get off the ship at Port Said," he said,
"we ought to know, because he will want to take his luggage
with him."
"He might leave it behind."
"If he does that will show that he is particularly anxious
to give you the slip."
Later in the afternoon the doctor came to him again and
said, "Mr. Robinson has been making inquiries about you.
He has been going through the passenger list and asked me
about various people and where they were bound for. You
were one of them, and, of course, he tried to make it appear
that he was not particularly interested in you more than the
rest. I said I thought you were going to Australia, but I
wasn't sure. Was that all right?
"Yes," said Edward. "Did he give any indications of
meaning to get off to-morrow?"
"No," said the doctor, "and he says he is much better
and hopes to get about again directly. It struck me that he
had made up his mind to brave you. I say, who is the fellow i
I won't tell anybody if you tell me."
"Well, if you really mean that," said Edward, rather
imwillingly, "I will tell you."
He was rather disturbed at having to do so, but thought
that perhaps he might want his friend's help, for if any
unexpected developments took place on arrival at the port
he would have to act quickly, and there might not be time


284 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"Why should you want to keep out of my way t " Edward
asked.
"Because I am clearing out to the other side of the world
to make a new start," said William Clayton, with the utmost
frankness. "Things have gone hadly with me, and it is the
only thing to be done. I have every chance of getting on top
again directly. But until I do I don't want anyone to know
where I am going to. It is Just like my luck finding you here
on board this very ship. What are you going to Australia
for, by the by?"
"I think, before I answer any of your questions," said
Edward stiffly, " you had better tell me a little more. Doesn't
your brother know where you have gone to? Doesn't your
wife know?"
"Oh, she knows, of course," said William. "She has
promised not to let on. No, my brother doesn't know, and
I hope you won't consider it necessary to tell him."
Edward knew neither what to say nor what to do. The
man's frank, open manner was beginning to have some effect
upon him even against his own will. Surely nobody fleeing
from disgrace and danger could behave in that way, even
if he were playing a part. And yet there was the fact that
William had done his utmost to hide from him and had
not shrunk from telling any lie in order that he might
do so.
But William gave him no time for thought.
"I am in a very awkward predicament," he said; "that's
why I tried to keep out of your way until I had made up my
mind what to say to you. Of course, I needn't tell you that
I had very much rather not say anything to you at all. But
since you are here, and we shan't be able to get very far away
from one another for the next month, I think I had better
make a clean breast of it."
"I think you had," said Edward, "and I think you had
better do it now."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 285
CHAPTER XLV
""T you mind if we walk up and down the upper deck?"
*~* asked William Clayton. "It is more airy than this
one, and I don't suppose anyone will want to stop a second-
class passenger from going where he is not entitled to go at
this time of night."
Edward Knightly led the way up to the wide upper deck,
and William said as they got there, "Ah! this is much
better; I wish I had taken a first-class passage. I think I
should have done if I had known you were going to be here,
but with such an almighty smash as I have had I want to
save all my money for the new world. There are heaps of
chances of making it over there for a fellow who doesn't
mind work, and I shall be coming back first-class before
very long."
He spoke with the utmost cheerfulness and friendliness
as if there were nothing at all that needed to be explained
between them, and in the face of this attitude Edward felt
that his position was one of great awkwardness. He was
some ten years younger than William Clayton, and as a
boy had always looked up to this clever companionable man
with all his great gifts of sociability. William now seemed
to be doing his utmost to keep the hold over him that he
had always had; but perhaps he rather overdid his careless
friendliness.
Edward said nothing as he talked on, but stiffened him-
self against him.
"Well, you're not very communicative," said William,
at last, turning towards him with a smile. "Do you want
me to do all the talking?"
"I was waiting until you had finished," said Edward
dryly. "This is all very well, but you seem to forget that
you have been keeping out of my way, and there are a good
manys things to explain."
"My dear fellow," said William, "I kept out of your way
because, as I told you, I didn't want anyone to know where
I was, and your being here had rather upset my plans. How-
ever, I couldn't expect to keep out of your way until we got
to Australia, and I shouldn't have tried to do so."


288 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
in the morning Edward went into the cabin of his friend the
doctor and told him what had happened.
"You watch him as closely as ever you can," said the
doctor. "He's meaning to get away, as sure as anything."
"I don't see how I am to prevent him if he has made up
his mind," said Edward. "But I will prevent him somehow.
Now, look here, I want you to send this telegram for me at
the very first moment. If I have got to stick close to him
all day long I may not be able to do it myself, and, at any
rate, I shouldn't want him to know that I was cabling."
"Right you are," said the doctor. "I'll get it ashore the
very first thing, and with luck you might get an answer
before we sail."
Edward's telegram was to Chinnering. It ran as follows:
"William Clayton Joined this ship, travelling second-class,
at Naples under name William Robinson; booked Adelaide.
Saw me and kept out of way three days. Says lost money
and going Australia, work on land. Cable here fully or, if
impossible, Colombo."
"That ought to do the trick," said the doctor, when he
had read the message at Edward's request. "All right, I'll
send it off for you. Now you must clear out, because I am
up to my eyes in work."
Edward went out on the deck and, somewhat to his sur-
prise, saw William Clayton himself standing immediately
below.
"Hallo!" William called up to him. "Will you come
ashore with me when we get in? We ought to be able to
amuse ourselves here for the day."
"Yes, I'll come," said Edward, rather relieved that the
request had come from him, and congratulating himself that
he had got the business of the telegram out of the way.
The great ship came to anchor, and was immediately
surrounded by the boats of the dark-skinned, gesticulating
Arabs and Egyptians, some of them bringing merchandise
to tempt the passengers, others begging for fares, while a
line of coal barges was drawn up by a tug and the half-naked
porters began to swarm like flies to and from them and the
ship.
Edward went down on to the second-class deck to where
the gangway was let down. William was waiting for him,


290 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
twenty years. He did a foolish thing when we were both at
Cambridge together, as you heard at poor old John's trial,
and that's where we shipped him off to."
"Are you going to Join him?" Edward asked.
"No," said William. "I don't know in what part of the
country he is. I haven't had any communication with him
for years. I don't particularly want to see him either. It
was really rather a blackguardly thing he did, and, from
what I have heard since, I don't suppose knocking about the
world has improved him."
Was this all lies, too? And was he fishing for information
in return 1
Edward tried to think of something to say to induce him
to fish farther.
"You are quite sure he hasn't been over in England since
he went out ?" he asked.
William threw a searching glance at him. "What makes
you say that ?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know," Edward said. "It would not have
been unnatural for him to want to have a look at his old home
again."
William was silent for a moment, then he said, "By the
tone in which you said that you seem to mean something,
Knightly?"
Edward was rather annoyed with himself for having
shown a little more of his hand than he had intended. At
the same time William had undoubtedly " risen," and whether
Edward's tone had merely aroused the sharp edge of a watch-
ful suspicion that never slept, or whether there was really
something in his question for suspicion to feed on, this seemed
to be the road to travel if he wanted to hear more that would
be of use to him.
"Was your brother Frank in England last year?" he
asked shortly.
William regarded him with a surprised look. "That's an
odd question to ask," he replied.
"I dare say it is," said Edward. "Will you answer it?"
But he knew that William, whatever he might let out,
would certainly not give him a direct answer to that question.
What he did was to ask another in return. After an instant's
pause, during which he looked away with his brows bent:


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 291
"Do you actually suspect Frank," he asked, "of being
mixed up with what they call the mystery of Redmarsh
Farm?"
"It doesn't matter much what I suspect," Edward began,
but William interrupted him:
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Knightly, it matters a good deal.
It matters more than you know."
What did he mean by that? Edward felt that he was on
the eve of discoveries.
"What you mean, I suppose," said Edward, "is that you
know enough to implicate your brother Frank, but you'll
keep it to yourself unless you have reason to suppose that
other people know it too?"
There was a long silence. Edward would have given a
good deal for a glimpse into William's brain as long as it
lasted. When they had walked once the length of the deck
and half-way back again, William said, "It's no good,
Knightly. I am not going to say a word to you until you tell
me more."
"Very well, then," said Edward, rather impatiently. "We
have reason to suppose that your brother Frank was in
England last year, and not only that, but that he was at
Redmarsh Farm on May 10th without your brother John
knowing it, and that he sailed for Australia by a boat leaving
Greathampton on the night you were there. Now then.
I have shown you a good deal more of my hand than I meant
to. What is your answer?"
William's answer was another long silence. Then he said
slowly, "I wish I had known all this before. When was it
discovered?"
"I shan't answer any more questions," Edward said.
"I want information from you now. Did you know he was
there and did you see him off by that boat?"
"What boat?"
The question came sharply, and Edward answered it.
"The Ccesar."
Again William considered, and then said, "I am not
going to answer your questions now. I must think it
over."
"Oh, why can't you act straight about it!" exclaimed
Edward impatiently. "You say you want this mystery


292 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
cleared up as much as we do. Why do you want time to
think over it?"
"Because," said William, turning to him and speaking
with a hint of his own impatience, "I am not going to let
out anything I have kept to myself for the sake of other
people without thinking it well over. I have not the slightest
doubt in my own mind but what you are keeping a good deal
from me for reasons that are good enough to you. You must
give me leave to act in the same way."
There was reason in this. Edward had told him nothing
about the shepherd, nor about the Smiths, nor about the
idea, which amounted almost to a conviction, that little
Tony had also been taken out to Australia in the Ccesar.
"Well, when will you answer my question ?" he asked.
"If I answer it at all—to-morrow night," said William.
"I am going to turn in now. You have given me a good
deal to think about."
He said good night shortly and went below, leaving Ed-
ward to lean over the ship's side looking on to the phospho-
rescent water slipping by, and wondering whether at last he
were on the point of learning something about the mystery
he had been thinking of so long, or whether this plausible,
slippery customer, whom he half liked and half despised,
would thwart him again, as Kelly had thwarted him.
The next night, when most of the other passengers had
turned in, William came up on deck to him again and they
began their long pacing to and fro.
"Well, Knightly," he said. "I have made up my mind
to make a clean breast of it. I am starting a new life, and
I don't see why, for my own sake, I should allow any sus-
picion to rest upon myself for the sake of shielding others,
who certainly wouldn't shield me if they were in my position."
Edward did not reflect, as he might have done, that when
a man whom you know to have no scruples in deceiving you
says that he is going to make a clean breast of anything, it
is time to beware of him, and William Clayton began hit
story.


294 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
did not suspect him of lying in this particular, as his state-
ment fitted in with other facts which he knew and William
did not know that he knew.
"Were they alone ?" he asked.
"Yes, they were alone," said William. "Who do you
suppose would be with them?"
He asked the question with a shade of suspicion, and
Edward said, "I don't know of anyone who could be with
them. I merely asked you."
"They were both roaring drunk," said William. "I was
going through a rather slummy street near the docks in my
car and they came stumbling out of a low-looking public-
house together, shouting and singing. It was about half-
past twelve. I was Just slowing down to go round a sharp,
narrow corner."
"Are you quite sure it was your brother? You hadn't
seen him, you say, for nearly twenty years."
"I don't say that I should have recognised him if he had
been alone. He had gone out of my life for years and was
hardly ever in my mind. But, of course, I saw Kelly first,
and then, looking at his companion, I could have no doubt
at all. You must remember that the brute is something like
me, and something like John, too. He hadn't altered much
except that he looked dissipated and a good deal the worse
for wear. He was dressed something like a gentleman, but
very shabbily, in an old serge suit with an old battered felt
hat. He looked as if he would do anything, but, of course,
at that time I had no idea of what had happened at Redmarsh
Farm and I didn't stop him or speak to him. Kelly was so
drunk that he didn't recognise me, although I was almost
at a standstill and they were almost as near to me as I am
to you. They were arm in arm, and wanted to cross the
road, and cursed me for getting in their way. They reeled
up the street together and I went on; and that was the last
I saw of them."
"Then that is all you have to tell me ?" said Edward, in
a disappointed voice.
"Yes. Isn't it enough?"
Then Edward told him of the old shepherd declaring that
he nad seen Frank on the, marsh, and William gave a long,
low whistle. "By Jove .'" he said, "the cowardly black-


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 295
guard! Then that settles it. I'll tell you what, Knightly,
Australia is a big country, but I won't rest until I have found
out that fellow and brought it home to him. He was always
a bad character, but I never guessed that he could have sunk
so low as that. I can't do anything until I have made some
money, but, by Jove! that will be something extra to work
for. Directly I'm free I'll search him out wherever he is and
I'll make him pay for the trouble he has brought upon us."
He spoke with passion, and Edward for the first time for
months felt sure of him—felt sure that in spite of what he
knew that he had done that was wrong, this crime moved
him to righteous anger, and that in anything he himself did
to clear it up William would be a willing and useful help.
But still he hesitated. There were those lies between them.
How could he confide in a man like that?
William turned upon him angrily. "Come, now," he
said, " what are you waiting for? I have been frank with you,
be frank with me."
Edward was irritated by his tone. "I dare say you have
been frank enough with me about this," he said, "I don't
say you haven't. But you haven't been frank with me about
other things. In fact, if you want it straight, you've told
me a pack of lies."
William looked at him, and Edward was not quite sure
whether it was altogether owing to the moonlight that his
face was so white.
"You told me," he blurted out, "that your wife knew
you were going away and you left her provided for. I know
that to be a lie."
William looked away and then said in a low voice, "I
won't ask you how you know that, but I acknowledge you're
right."
"Very well, then," said Edward. "Look at the way in
which you told it to me, with all the detail that you could
think of to make me believe it. How in the world am I to
put any faith at all in what you say unless I can check it by
what I know apart from it?"
William stood still. "Oh! I am sick of all this deception,"
he said. "It is quite true I told you a lie about that, and as
for the detail with which I told it to you, when I tell a lie I
am not ashamed of making it look as near the truth as I can."


298 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
it in that very way for himself. Probably that was the
truth.
At any rate his appeal had moved Edward. He thought
he knew the worst of the man now. He might be called a
bad character without much fear of contradiction; but there
were degrees of badness, and he had succeeded in persuading
Edward that whatever faults lay at his door he was in deadly
earnest in abhorring the crime that they both thought his
brother had committed, and in his desire to bring it home
to him.
He hesitated very little longer. There was now no land
between them and Australia, and during the ten days in
which they steamed through those tossing wastes of sea
Edward told him everything.
He told him of the Smiths, and of the strong presumption
that existed that the child had not been murdered but had
been taken away by them; of the doubt there was as to
whether he was still alive; of Frank being at the very place
to which the Smiths were going; of his endeavours to get
the truth out of Kelly, and of Kelly's death.
William listened to his long story almost in silence, putting
in a few questions here and there, and especially concerning
his conversations with Kelly, of which he wanted fuller
details than of anything else.
"Well," he said, when he had finished, "it is a surprising
story. We can only hope that the poor little chap got through
safely. If so, there will be Joy at home in England when they
get him back again. But whether he murdered him or not,
that blackguard has a lot to answer for, and I won't rest
until I've tracked him down."
"I am going up to this place, Murrumbah, directly I land,"
said Edward. "Will you come with me?"
"Yes, I will," said William at once. "111 look into this
business before I do anything. And look here, Knightly,
I've got something to say to you. I have been a blackguard
about leaving my wife in the way I have. Directly I get
ashore I am going to put that right. I am going to put an
end to my brother's rascality, and I may as well put an end
to my own at the same time."
When they parted for that night Edward shook hand*
with William. He had not done so before.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 299
CHAPTER XLVII
DWARD had a friend in Perth who met the ship when
*-* she came in, and took him off to spend the day with him.
She sailed at midnight, and, for an hour or two before, the
decks and the public rooms were crowded with people.
Edward and his friend, whose name was Fraser, sat in the
smoking-room, only half of whose occupants were passengers
who had come out from England. There was a great deal of
noise going on, and a great deal of liquor was being consumed.
"You ought to have rather a lively time going up the
coast," said Fraser. "A lot of these fellows have come down
from the goldfields, and if they haven't all made fortunes
they will all behave as if they had."
There was one party of about half a dozen seated round a
table in a corner of the room who were talking and laughing
more loudly than any. Some of them were drinking pretty
heavily too, but the merriest of all of them was a big bearded
man who had nothing in front of him but a long glass of
aerated water with a slice of lemon in it. As if to make up
for his abstention from strong drink, he was smoking all the
time an enormous pipe, whose capacity seemed to be about
half an ounce of tobacco. Fraser pointed this man out to
Edward."
"That's Teetotal Jack," he said. "He is a fellow who
has become quite a famous character during the last few
months. It was really he who discovered these new fields;
at least, he was one of the original lot who went out to prospect
for them. Of course, he hasn't made nearly as much as the
men who went in afterwards—pioneers never do—but he
has made a tidy bit, and now I dare say he's going back to
wherever he comes from to get rid of it. That's another way
pioneers have."
"He looks as if teetotalism agrees with him," said Edward.
"He gets chaffed about it no end," said Fraser. "But
he's quite capable of holding his own, and everybody likes
him."
By and by those who were not going on in the ship slowly
drifted off and lined the quay while she put out once more
to sea. But long after she had got out of the harbour and


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 30i
"No, I come from the Old Country, and now I have picked
up a bit at last I am going back there. I have never lost my
longing to go back, though I shan't stay there, mind you.
This country is good enough for me."
"Have you always been gold-mining or prospecting for
gold?"
"Oh, Lord, no! I am a farmer, and that's what I like
best in the world. I have never gone after gold before last
year, and then I got a chance I couldn't let slip. A man came
to me with a yarn about gold up at this new place that we've
christened Ophir. At least it wasn't exactly there. If it
had been I shouldn't have been leading the dance I have
been for the last nine or ten months. I believed his story, and
we made up a little party and scraped together Just enough
money. Well, we came down here, and we went up and
there wasn't any gold, except a mere handful, where he had
thought there was. The others were for giving it up and going
back, but I said, No, we'll go on a bit and try further. To cut
a long story short, we found Ophir, and most of us have done
pretty well out of it, though not by any means as well as we
ought to have done, considering, I reckon, that it will turn
out to be one of the richest goldfields in the world. I will
tell you all about our adventures some day, for they are
worth listening to."
"Then you are going back to your farm now ?" Edward
asked.
"That's it, sir," said Teetotal Jack cheerily. "I have seen
enough in this country of men going after a will-o'-the-wisp
and getting no good out of it. The fact is that we fellows
who make these discoveries don't stand a chance beside the
fellows who come in afterwards. It was I who found Ophir,
but I consider myself very lucky to have got out of it what
I have; and now I'm going to chuck it for ever and go
back to what I understand and what I like. I can make
money out of the land all right, although I have been a bit
unlucky so far; but with capital at my back and one or two
good seasons I'll make a good deal more than going wandering
about the bush looking for gold and very likely ending my
life travelling round and round in a circle with my tongue
hanging out for want of a drop of water."
"Well, I should say you were wise," said Edward. "I


802 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
believe a man is better off earning his money than trying to
pick it up, but it takes a good deal of character to settle down
to doing it."
"Ah!" said the teetotaller proudly, "that's where
signing off drink comes in. If you are strong enough to
resist that sort of temptation with everybody round going
for you over it, then you've got a bit up your sleeve to resist
other temptations, and I tell you it is a bit of a temptation
to swear off prospecting when you've had such a success as
I have. However, I've quite made up my mind, and there
never was a happier man than I am at this moment to be
going back to the place I have made for myself and then to
be going back to the Old Country to have a look at one or
two I have left behind me, and to put one or two things right
that I have never been able to put right before through lack
of money.
"I tell you what," he continued, turning a friendly eye
on Edward, "it does me good to look at a fellow like you,
who has got Old Country written all over him; it's like
getting back to civilisation again. Why, do you know that
until a week or two ago I never so much as saw a newspaper
for months and months? This is an extraordinary country.
If you keep where people are it's almost like being in
England, but if you go away from them you are Just as
much cut off from everything as if you were in the Desert
of Sahara."
He talked for some time longer of all his adventures, and
interested Edward deeply. There never was a man who
seemed so glad to have made the money that he had. He
told Edward exactly how much it was—between seven and
eight thousand pounds.
"It's a fleabite to what others have made," he said, "and
it's a fleabite compared with what I might have made myself
if I had stuck to it up there. Everybody said I was a fool
to sell out so early and for such a sum, but I know what I
want and I know what I can do. I am no business man, and
I might have lost the lot and more besides, and I had no
right to run the risk. There are good people at home I owe
it to to be careful. They don't know what's happened, and
I am not going to write and tell them. I am going home
myself in a month or two, and I shall walk in and say,'Hen


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 803
you are. You never thought I was going to do anything.
You thought I was always unlucky. Now, here's a matter of
seven or eight thousand pounds; you take your share of it
and 111 take mine.'
"Oh, Lord, shan't I look forward to that day! I have
thought of it time after time, stewing up there in that fright-
ful heat and wondering how we could ever have thought it
too chilly in England. I suppose you would call it chilly
now, but it's like wine to me to smell the sea and the salt of
it—at least, let's say it's like ginger-beer. My old home was
near the sea, and it's there still, thank God, Just as it used
to be."
"I live near the sea, too," said Edward.
Teetotal Jack turned to him with a pleasant air of attention.
"Ah, yes, tell me something about yourself," he said. "I've
been talking all the time, but nothing pleases me better than
to meet a man from the Old Country and hear about it.
What part of England do you come from?"
"Prom the south coast," Edward said, " near an old town
called Rede."
They were walking smartly along the deck, but as Edward
said this he was startled by his companion stopping dead
short and staring at him with wide-open eyes, while he
exclaimed: "Rede! Do you come ^from Rede? What's
your name?"
Edward stared at him in return. "My name is Knightly,"
he said, and received another and a greater surprise, for
Teetotal Jack seized him by the hand and pat the other on
his shoulder.
"Knightly!" he shouted. "Why, of course you are.
You're young Edward. You haven't changed a bit. If I
hadn't been so full of my own affairs I should have known
you at once."
"Then, in a flash, enlightenment came to Edward, too.
"Why, you're Frank Clayton 1" he exclaimed.


804 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
CHAPTER XLVIII
nPO say that Edward was astonished at this revelation
-*- would be to put it very mildly. For months past sus-
picion had been gathering round this man. One little fact
after another had helped it, and although there was no actual
proof that he was guilty of what he was suspected of, Edward
had come to be convinced in his own mind that he really was
bo; and now here was the man himself, and if he was not
the most consummate liar and hypocrite on the face of the
earth he was as innocent of everything as Edward himself.
No wonder that he could only stand and stare at him, while
his mind was in a ferment.
A slight shade had passed over Frank Clayton's face when
Edward had called out his name. "That's who I am," he
said, "but I am not called that here. I hate going under
another name; but now that everybody calls me Teetotal
Jack, which I don't obJect to, I don't mind so much."
"What do you call yourself ?" Edward asked, still trying
to pull his thoughts together.
"I came out under the name of Watson. I think you were
old enough when I left home to know that I came out in some
disgrace. I hope I have been able to put all that behind me.
I got into very bad trouble through drink when I was young,
and I have never touched a drop from that day to this."
This statement permitted of no shadow of doubt, for the man
was known far and wide for his teetotal principles. It cleared
Edward's thoughts about him as much as anything he could
have said, and it was not necessary to ask him whether he
had been in England during the last year, for his story of
his long Journeys and soJournings in the bush was as easily
capable of proof.
But Edward could not adJust his mind to all this at once.
"Haven't you heard what happened at Redmarsh Farm
last year ?" he asked.
"Not a word," said Frank Clayton cheerfully. "I dare say
I shall find some letters waiting for me from old John when I
get back; but he doesn't know where I've been, and I don't
mean him to till I get back to England with the boodle. But
what has happened? Old John's all right, I hope. He i*


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 305
the best brother a man ever had. There's nothing wrong
with him, is there?"
Then Edward told him the story, and any doubts that
could have remained in his mind that this man could have
been in any way mixed up with it were dispersed by the way
in which he received the news. He seemed to be quite over-
come by it. "Poor old John," he said again and again.
"What a ghastly thing to happen! His only son, too, who
was to carry on the place after he had gone! Oh, dear! oh,
dear! And Just as I had got such good news for him! Do
you mean to tell me that they tried John for the murder
of his own child?"
Edward told him that the whole country had been ringing
with the mystery of Redmarsh Farm at the time of John's
trial. "Do you mean to tell me," he asked in his turn,
"that you never heard a word of it out here?"
"/ haven't," said Frank. "As I told you, I didn't see a
paper for months and months, and there has been nothing
in them about it since I have got back to where I could see
them. Well, this spoils everything. They found the poor
little chap drowned, did they? What an awful thing to
happen, and who on earth could have done it?"
Edward had told him nothing so far except the bare facts
of the tragedy. He now had to consider, with all his plans
and ideas upset, exactly how much he should tell him, and
for the first time the realisation came to him that William
had after all lied to him grossly; and then, with a start,
that William was on board. He could not talk any more
without taking counsel of himself. "I'll tell you all about
it later," he said. "I must go down and shave now and have
a bath."
"I must go and have a bath, too," said Frank. "Well,
I never thought to hear such a story as that. I was hoping
that everything would be put straight now. It alters things
altogether. Poor old John! Yes, I would like to hear more
about it afterwards. We might have a yarn together after
breakfast. Dear, dear, it's a bad Job all round."
They both went below. Edward's seat at table was next
to his friend the doctor, and as he slipped into it half an hour
later the doctor said, "So that gentleman has given you the
slip after ail?"


806 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"What do you mean ?" exclaimed Edward.
"What! Didn't you know Mr. William Robinson cleared
out everything at Fremantle and went ashore? He told the
steward that he had made up his mind to go to the diggings."
So William had lied right through; had drawn from
Edward anything that he would have kept to himself if he
had not been bamboozled into trusting him, and had got
away after all, leaving behind him such a coil of difficulties
as was impossible to straighten out without entirely read-
Justing the mind to everything that had happened since the
beginning.
Edward's anger burned hotter and hotter against him as
he thought over one thing after the other that had taken
place between them. He had been so plausible and so clever
that for weeks past now any suspicion Edward may have had
of him had been lulled to rest. The man was a consummate
liar, and if the fresh suspicions that were now crowding in
on Edward's mind came to be Justified, then he was the most
consummate scoundrel as well.
He had not only been concerned indirectly in the mystery
of Redmarsh Farm, which Edward until recently had always
suspected. Everything now pointed to his having been the
chief agent in it. Otherwise, why should he have taken such
trouble to fasten the crime on to his brother, when he knew
that once confronted with that brother all his lies must be
immediately disproved?
The answer seemed plain enough. He had invented his
ingenious and plausible story, basing it upon things that
Edward himself had told him, Just so that he might put his
suspicions to rest for the time they were together on the
ship; and when he perceived that the game was up and
that no doublings and turnings on his part could hide the
truth, when Edward should once find out the Smiths, and
find Frank Clayton in the same place, as he must have sup-
posed, then he had got away. Edward was furious with
himself for having been so fooled, and still more furious
with the man whom he had let slip through his fingers.
In the breaking up of all the carefully put together ideas
which he had been working on he asked himself whether he
could trust anybody at all. William had deceived him,
Was he right in putting any faith in William's brother T


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 307
But there he impatiently reJected any suspicion. Frank
Clayton might have done wrong in his youth, but nobody
could be with him for ten minutes without being impressed
by his transparent honesty.
So when the time came for him to meet Frank Clayton
again he had put all doubt about him behind him. He had
made a great mistake in showing his hand to William, and
yet he determined that he would show the whole of his hand
to Frank and expected to lose nothing by doing so.
They met on deck, and when Edward saw him again he
wondered how it had been possible for him not to have had
some feeling of recognition for him. He wore a full beard
and moustache, which may have accounted for it, but in
spite of the hard work he had done for years in a hot climate
he looked younger than he was, and it was not difficult for
Edward now to recognise in the man of seven-and-thirty the
young man he had known as a boy. He was like both his
brothers, too, especially in figure, but he was entirely without
John's dark, troubled look, and in his face the amiability of
William gave place to a frank, simple heartiness which had
strength of character behind it, instead of the mere desire
to stand well with the world. His face was troubled now as
he put more questions to Edward about what had happened
at his home.
Then Edward told him of his tracing Kelly's sister and
brother-in-law to Greathampton, and of the possibility of
their having taken the child away.
"Kelly!" exclaimed Frank. "Fancy that scoundrel
being mixed up with it! He was a bad lot if you like. My
brother William was always very thick with him, and when
I came over here William brought him into it to help make
arrangements, which I was always sorry for, as I hated the
fellow. But do you really mean that there's a chance of the
child being alive after all?"
Edward told him how matters stood, and also that the
Smiths had gone up country to grow wheat at Murrumbah.
"Why, that's where my land is!" exclaimed Frank.
"And that's where I'm going now as fast as I can. Do you
mean to tell me there's a chance of finding the little chap
there?"
He grew more and more excited as he learned more. "By


808 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
Jove !" he exclaimed, " if I could only take him home to old
John and little Barbara, as well as the money I have made
for them. You hp.ve never told me anything about little
Barbara, by the by. She was the sweetest little creature
when I left home; quite a baby, you know, and I suppose
she is grown up now. What is she like?"
"I will tell you more about her afterwards," said Edward,
"but I've got something else very serious to tell you first.
You have kept in touch with your brother John. Have you
written to or heard from your brother William?"
Frank's face became graver. "No," he said. "William
and I have not been good friends—not for many years."
"Until yesterday," said Edward, "William was on thia
ship."
Frank Clayton stopped in his walk and stared at him.
"What's that you say?" he cried.
"William has had a financial smash," said Edward, "and
has run away with all the money he could lay hands on and
left his wife in the lurch. He Joined this ship at Naples and
Baw me when he came on board. For two or three days he
tried to keep out of my way, and when he couldn't do it any
longer he set himself deliberately to deceive me. I heard
only this morning that he had left the ship at Fremantle
and had gone up to the diggings. Whether that's true or not
I don't know. Probably not, as he said so. But at any rate
he has got away."
"Well, I should let him keep away if I were you," said
Frank. "He's a bad lot, and I have had reason to know it
for many years."
"I should be only too pleased to let him keep away if what
I have told you were all," Edward replied; "but I believe
now he had something to do with what happened at Red-
marsh Farm, and if so he ought to be caught and punished."
"Tell me about that," said Frank shortly. "It seems to
be a pretty coil of mystery and rascality all the way through."
"What I have got to tell you will probably make you very
angry. It may make you angry with me, but you must
remember that until this morning I knew nothing whatever
about you. It is you who have been suspected of being
concerned in what happened at Redmarsh Farm."
Again Frank evinced the utmost astonishment. "II


810 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"I have had a cahlegram from the police to say that the
girl Slade I told you about has been found. She thought she
saw you get in at the window of the room where the money
was stolen from."
"Why, how in the world can that have been? How old
fa this girl?"
"About nineteen or twenty, I should say."
"Well, then, she must have heen an infant in arms when
I left England. How can she have thought she saw me?"
"I expect, like the shepherd," said Edward, "she saw
somebody who was very like you. Exactly how it was I
don't know any more than you do, for I have only a few
words in a cablegram to go on."
"Well, I don't understand it either," said Frank. "Any-
body else?"
"Yes. William told me the most categorical story of his
seeing you at Greathampton on the night the Ccesar sailed
and being bowled over by it."
"William said that, did he? What was I supposed to be
doing?"
"Well, you were supposed to be reeling about in Kelly's
company very drunk."
This roused the ardent spirit of the teetotaller more than
anything. "He said that, the scoundrel! Did he?" he
cried, with his fist clenched. "And me who has never touched
a drop of liquor since that day he knows very well about!
My God, if I had him here!"
"I wish you had," said Edward grimly. "Nothing would
give me better pleasure than to mark him for myself. There
were a lot of other little circumstances which seemed to
point to your having been in England at that time and
come out here again. He got them all out of me and built
Dp his story on them."
"Well, go on," said Frank. "It's no news to me that
William is a selfish, unscrupulous liar. He would have spoilt
my life long ago if he had had his way. Fancy his trying to
fix a murder on me! Who would have believed that there
was such a fellow in the world?"
Edward went on to tell him everything, and at the end of
it Frank turned to him and said, " Now look here, Knightly.
I'll tell you something that I never thought to have told to


812 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"I thought of that. But when I say that I don't remember
anything of what happened, it isn't quite true. I have a
sort of glimmering of recollection coming through here and
there, and I am pretty sure that I do remember William
getting me to come to a side table and asking me to write
my name, and of my laughing at him and saying that it could
wait until to-morrow. There is nothing clear. There is
nothing I could bring up in evidence if I were accused of
forgery in a court of law, but I know as well as I stand here
that I never did it, and I know that William did. He was
like that. I could tell you stories of his shoving off trouble
on to me when we were boys together and in dread of our
father finding out some of our pranks. And you have seen
how he's Just the same now—actually doesn't shrink from
trying to fix me with a cruel murder, the blackguard! What
you have told me makes me a thousand times more certain
that I am right and that he did it."
"I can quite believe that he would have done it," said
Edward. "Didn't you take any steps to try and get out
the truth? And why have you made up your mind that
you will never tell John?"
"I don't say that I won't tell John now. I made up my
mind that I wouldn't tell him before because I would do
anything rather than upset him. He has stuck by me all
through, even although he thinks I did that. I don't want
any whitewashing in John's eyes, and I would put up with
anything rather than give him a moment's trouble. Besides,
as I told you, I couldn't prove it. William would only deny
it, as he denied it to me."
"Did you write to him?"
"Yes, I did, directly I got out here, when I was pretty
miserable, and asked him to put me straight. He wrote me
back a beastly kind of a letter, and I saw that I should get no
satisfaction out of him. We have never corresponded from
that day to this. I have done all I could to get straight, and
looked forward to going back long before this."
"But one of the reasons why John wouldn't say anything
about you at his trial was that he didn't want that story to
be brought up against you; and you know your father took
out a warrant for your arrest, which could still be put into
execution if you went back."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 313
Frank's answer to that was a laugh. "That's Just the
sort of maggot that poor anxious old John would get into
his head," he said. "I am not afraid of their arresting me,
and I am too well known out here to make me afraid of what
people would say, whatever was brought up against me."
CHAPTER XLIX
OINCE John Clayton's trial in the previous summer
^ public interest had died down in the mystery of Red-
marsh Farm. It had been accepted as one of those affairs
in which the police had been outwitted by a clever criminal,
and of which the truth now probably never would be known.
But with the discovery and bringing back of Emma Slade
interest flared up again. The day after her return the news
was in all the papers, and from day to day after that she
was in unenviable notoriety. All sorts of curious people, and
among them a great army of newspaper reporters, besieged
Redmarsh Farm, to John Clayton's intense annoyance, and
he did himself no good in the eyes of the public by the way
he treated their inquiries.
Emma Slade was not arrested, but she was removed in a
day or two to her mother's home, towards which the tide of
curiosity then set strongly.
Before very long William Clayton's name was as much in
evidence in what was written as Emma Slade's. And the
public had hardly time to digest the story of his having
enticed away his brother's servant and kept her in hiding in
Paris, when it was given further food for reflection and surmise
by the whole story of his financial smash and of his flight
from England.
It is wonderful "how these things get into the papers."
The whole romantic tale of the Matagonian Silk Syndicate
was perhaps not difficult to get at. And a bill of sale raised
on household effects has to be made public to a certain degree,
and can easily be made public to the fullest possible degree.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 815
are, I dare say there will be some way of making him speak
up."
Barbara had not hitherto been told of all this, but now
her father told her. "I will go and talk to him," she said,
and went off over the marsh.
She was away for a long time, and when she returned she
said, "I think he is doubtful now whether it was Uncle Frank
whom he saw. I promised him that if he would tell me every-
thing no one should speak to him about it except me. He
is terrified of being put in prison, and nothing I could say to
him would set his mind at rest until I gave him that promise."
"It may be impossible to keep it," said her father doubt-
fully; "but for the present, at any rate, I shan't worry him,
and I think Chinnering has enough sense to see that it would
be of no use for him to question him either. Then he did
acknowledge that he saw somebody?"
"Yes," said Barbara, rather unwillingly, "and now he
thinks it was Uncle William."
John's face darkened. "They were very much alike as
boys," he said; "but I expect he says that simply because
he has heard William's name so much lately."
Mr. Chinnering also took this view when the result of
Barbara's visit was made known to him. For a man who
prided himself upon working only upon ascertained facts,
he seemed to attach extraordinary importance to the theory
of Frank Clayton's guilt. "You must leave it for the present,"
he said. "If you can't do anything with him, Mr. Clayton,
I am quite sure J can't; and if we want his evidence later
we shall have to depend upon your young lady to deal with
him."
A week later Mr. Chinnering came to Redmarsh Farm
again and brought with him the telegram Edward had sent
from Port Said.
"Now, isn't that the most extraordinary coincidence?"
he exclaimed. "These amateur detectives get all the luck.
I might spend my whole life travelling on board ship and I
should never come across a single person that I wanted to
find. Mr. Knightly sets out, and his man comes and tumbles
straight into his arms. I'll tell you what, Mr. Clayton, I'd
give a good deal to be on board that ship when she gets to
Australia. There will be Mr. Knightly and Mr. Frank Clayton


816 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
and Mr. William Clayton and Mr. and Mrs. Joe Smith, all in
one place together. There ought to be some lively dealings
between them."
John Clayton did not say that he hoped there would also
be his lost child. The knowledge of that unidentified death
in the Red Sea stood like a black cloud between him and his
expectation of the news from the other side of the world,
which could not be delayed many weeks longer.
CHAPTER L
/")NE morning Sergeant Primmet drove up in his cart to
Mrs. Slade's cottage. Emma happened to be outside
in the garden.
"Now you get ready quick," he said; "you've got to
come along with me."
Emma was on the defensive at once.
"What for ?" she asked.
"You'll know all about that in good time," said Sergeant
Primmet, who was one of those people who like to surround
their actions with an air of mystery, and never answered a
direct question if he could help it.
Emma's mother came to the door. "What do you want
her for ?" she asked. "Everybody knows now she has done
nothing, and it's all through the wickedness of others that
she has been put upon. She ain't coming with you. She
ain't going out of my sight. So you Just turn round and go
back to where you come from."
"I ain't going to take her to prison, missus. You needn't
be afraid of that," said the sergeant.
"Then where are you going to take her to ?" inquired
Mrs. Slade. "I tell you she don't go nowhere without me."
"She is Just going for a nice little trip into the country,"
replied the sergeant, "and I have no instructions to take
you along with us, missus, although we should all be glad of
your company. Maybe she'll be away for a night, so she'd
better put a brush and comb and whatever she wants in a


820 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
John Clayton knew that he would be able to trace them here
and there through the country, and that he would probably
make inquiries, so as to be quite sure that no child had been
seen with them afterwards. But he did not require that
proof to be sure that Barbara's idea had been wrong. The
connection of these people with the mystery of Redmarsh
Farm began with the woman taking the little shirt from
Emma Slade, and had ended with the man hiding the body
of his own child in the river. They had had nothing to do with
the disappearance of the other child.
As they travelled back to London Mr. Chinnering expatiated
on the way in which the mystery was being cleared up,
detail by detail.
"I don't often talk about a thing as done before I have
gone right through with it," he said. "But, thanks largely
to Mr. Knightly, I think we have got pretty well to the
bottom of this."
"I think we are as far off getting to the bottom of it as
ever," said John Clayton, in a tone which caused Mr. Chin-
nering to cease his self-congratulations.
By and by, however, Clayton spoke again. He was alone
in a smoking carriage with Chinnering, and he turned to him
and said, "There is one thing we had better do now, and I
don't understand why you haven't done it before."
"What's that?" asked Chinnering.
"Cable to Australia. You know where these Smiths are,
and I have told you that my brother is in the same place."
Chinnering was silent for a moment and then said, "I had
not meant to say anything to you about that, but now you
have mentioned it there is no reason to keep anything up my
sleeve any longer. I have cabled to Australia."
The rather disagreeable frown that Chinnering knew so
well came over John Clayton's face.
"You seem determined to make as much mystery of every-
thing as you possibly can," he said.
"Well, I'll tell you how it was, sir," said Chinnering, with
his most engaging air of candour. "It puts me a bit in the
wrong, but I don't mind that as long as we get at the truth.
I never really thought much of this idea of Mr. Knightly's
about the Smiths taking a child in the Caesar, but I didn't
want to let on to him that I didn't think much of it. You


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 321
see, although I had my suspicions of Mr. Frank Clayton,
there has never been anything much that I could go on, and
I wanted Mr. Knightly to find out for me all about him by
going over there. What could I have telegraphed to the
police? It's true I might have written, and I was wrong not
to do it. That I'll own. At any rate I have done it now and
I've got their answer."
"Well, what is the answer ?" asked Clayton impatiently.
"You can talk about all the rest later."
"You must remember first of all," said Chinnering, " that
I only knew the other day when you told me for certain that
Watson and Clayton were the same person, and that he was
at this place, Murrumbah. I wired for an account of his
movements."
"And what reply did you get?"
"That he left Murrumbah last year for the gold diggings
and hasn't been back since."
John Clayton sat with the frown still on his face. "For
the gold diggings?" he repeated. "Then that proves that
he was not, at any rate, in England."
"I don't think so," said Chinnering. "He may have said
he was going to the gold diggings and sailed for England
instead."
Clayton let this go by. "What else did you ask them?"
he inquired.
"I asked if the Joseph Smiths who had gone out in the
Ccesar to Murrumbah had a child with them."
John Clayton's face was turned eagerly towards him.
Chinnering did not meet his look. "They said that no
such people had settled at Murrumbah," he said.
John Clayton leaned back in his seat with an air of deep
disappointment. "It seems that we can get to the bottom
of nothing," he said. "When did you get these answers?"
"Only two days ago, sir. I was afraid it would be a dis-
appointment to you, and I wasn't going to tell you anything
until I had heard from the police over there again."
"Do you expect to hear from them again, then?"
"I cabled to make further inquiries. You've got to think,
Mr. Clayton, that it isn't difficult to trace emigrants over
there. At least, it ought not to be, from what I can make out
about the country. I found out from the emigration offioes


822 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
that these Smiths had taken out a tidy lump of money and
they weren't bound to go to any particular place, though they
had meant to go to this place Murrumbah when they started.
They may have changed their minds, talking to others on
the way out, or when they got there. Anyhow, I expect they
could lay their hands on them pretty soon. There may even
be another cablegram waiting for me when I get back. But
whether or no, I shall certainly have one piece of news to
give to you, Mr. Clayton, in a very short time. Whether it
will be good news or bad news I don't know, but I would like
you to prepare yourself for it. I have had a man at work
making inquiries at Greathampton, and there is a ship due
there to-morrow or the next day in which there is a man who
went out as third-class steward in the Ccesar when the
Smiths were on board. He will settle that point as to whether
they took a child, and if they did what became of it."
It may be imagined with what eagerness that news was
awaited at Redmarsh Farm.
When John Clayton got home he told Barbara everything
that had happened. She had known nothing hitherto about
the possibility of little Tony having been taken out to Aus-
tralia. Until all doubt had been set at rest, her father had
felt that it would be too cruel to give her hope that might
turn to still further grief. But it was not possible now to
keep it from her any longer. Public interest in the mystery
of Redmarsh Farm was so fully aroused again that she might
hear of anything at any time through the papers. Her Joy
at the certainty that little Tony had not at any rate met with
the violent death which they had thought had come to him
was touching to witness. She had gone through too much
doubt and distress to allow her now to hope too much, and
yet she could not get it out of her mind that the news they
would receive would be good news.
It was three days before they heard from Chinnering, and
she hardly knew afterwards how she had been able to 40
through them. But at last the telegram came:
"Smiths took child with them answering description of
jours and landed with him Adelaide. Child who died on
voyage was a girl."
The steward who had taken the voyage in the Ccesar came
over to Redmarsh Farm. It may be imagined with what


824 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
"There's a good deal to tell you, miss," the steward said.
"If we hadn't heard on the way out that the body of the
child here was found in the river I believe we should have
tumbled to it who he was." Then he began his story. "These
people had a cabin to themselves with three berths in it.
They were a bit more comfortable than the ordinary emi-
grant, and seemed to have a bit more money to spend. We
had very rough weather for a week after we had sailed, and
it wasn't till later on, when things settled down, that I took
any notice of them, for I wasn't on their side of the ship.
We were pretty crowded and there was a lot of work to get
through. When we got into finer weather and people began
to sit about the deck these Smiths brought the child up, and
for a long time he was ill and stupid-like, if you understand
what I mean."
"Poor little darling!" said Barbara, with tears in her eyes.
"It's my belief now," went on the steward, " that he was
recovering from some kind of drug, though perhaps sea-
sickness might account for it. But he lay wrapped up in a
chair and never spoke, though he would often cry, out of
sheer misery as it seemed."
Barbara's tears were now falling fast.
"Didn't he cry out for me sometimes ?" she asked.
"No, miss. He never said nothing; Just sat and cried. Mrs.
Smith was kind enough to him. She would sit by his side as
long as he was up on deck, and didn't seem to like people going
near him. By and by he got better and began to walk about
the deck with his grandfather and grandmother, as we thought
they was. He began to take notice of what was about bom.
Then when he got better still he would run away from them
and play with other children. They wouldn't let him at
first, I suppose for fear of what he might say about them to
other people. But he was so little, and whatever he had gone
through or what they might have given him must have made
him forget, and after a time they let him do pretty well what
he liked, and got talking themselves with older people while
he played with the children. I suppose they thought it was
more natural to behave like that, and they got to know that
he had forgotten, and there wasn't any fear of his letting
things out. But they always kept to themselves more than
most and looked pretty closely after him, too."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 327
with sorrow that one of the reasons of their parting had been
that she had begged him not to go on with the search on the
lines on which he was going. Supposing he had obeyed her!
Perhaps she would never have known that her little brother
was alive, after all. Certainly she would not have known it
now if what the detective said was true.
But there were other things between her and Edward of
which Mr. Chinnering knew nothing. Perhaps, however,
he suspected something, for he said, "There's one thing I
may as well tell you now, Miss Clayton, which came rather
hard on Mr. Knightly. You may remember that you took
your own way about telling Mr. William Clayton that we had
found out a little something about him."
"Yes," said Barbara.
"Well, I may as well tell you now that I took very strong
exception to that, and I told Mr. Knightly that I wouldn't
give him the least little bit of help, or discuss matters with
him at all, if he didn't undertake to keep everything to him-
self and not tell you anything again. It was quite natural
that he didn't want to promise that, but I made him. So if
you've got any feeling that he didn't take you fully into his
confidence afterwards, it's me you've got to blame for it;
only I hope you won't blame me too much now everything
has turned out so well."
John Clayton interrupted him. He did not want to talk
about Edward.
"You say that everything has turned out well," he said,
"but you have had no word from Australia. We still don't
know where my child is. What steps can we take to find
him and bring him back?"
"I am afraid we can't take any till I hear from the police,"
said Chinnering. "I sent them another cablegram when I had
heard the story of this steward. They know for certain now
that the child is over there, and I am expecting news every
day to say they have found him. They can't possibly be
long. These Smiths took out money and settled somewhere
on the land. They are not like people trying to keep out of
the way, and if they were they couldn't very well do it.
Any day, Mr. Clayton, almost any hour, we may hear from
them, and you can be quite certain that directly I hear you
shall hear. There won't be any delay."


830 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
the Verona had sailed from London, went down under it,
and most of those who had Joined at Fremantle never made
an appearance at all.
Both Edward and Frank were proof against the qualms
of sea-sickness, and sat in the smoking-room together and
talked or made unsteady excursions along the deck, where
they were in constant danger of being soaked by the waves,
which were rolling mountain high and throwing their spray
far above the funnels of the great liner.
The more Edward talked to Frank Clayton the better he
liked him. There was a fine, honest simplicity about the
man which shone out of him at all points, and it seemed now
impossible to Edward that he could ever have thought of
him as the mean scoundrel he had pictured him for so long.
It seemed impossible also that anybody knowing him could
have believed him guilty of the youthful fault for which he
had been so severely punished. Edward fully accepted his
own statement about it. Whatever he may have done in
the wildness of his hot-headed youth, he could not have
stolen money by forgery!
But as for his punishment, perhaps, after all, it had turned
out to be no punishment at all. He had been thrown entirely
on his own resources at a very early age. He had been tried
in the fire, and he had come out of it gold as pure as that he
had found in the country of his adoption. He had courage,
honesty, kindliness, and many other good qualities in a very
high degree. All that "William had appeared to be, while hid-
ing beneath the surface all kinds of meanness and selfishness,
this man was; and no doubt the hard life he had led battling
with nature had had a great deal to do in making him what
he was. Edward thought if William Clayton had so deceived
and disappointed them at Redmarsh Farm, his brother
would more than make up for it when he visited his home
again.
And when he thought of Frank, he thought very kindly
of John also. John's goodness did not show up on the surface
so much as his brother's did. His temperament was more
difficult, and his attraction far less. But he also was gold
at heart. He had stuck through thick and thin to this brother,
although he could not know what a fine fellow he had turned
out to be. It would be very pleasant to see the two men


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 831
together in the old home, and Frank showed how eagerly he
desired to see it again. He asked innumerable questions,
and could never hear enough about Redmarsh Farm and
those who lived there.
Edward told him how it was between him and Barbara,
glad enough to have someone to talk to about her. And Frank
was entirely sympathetic
"I like you, my boy," he said, in his bluff, hearty voice.
"You're a man after my own heart. You can go straight
ahead with what you're doing, even when you seem to be
going against your own interests, and that's the sort of man
who gets what he wants in the world."
"I have got pretty well everything I want in the world,"
said Edward, with rather a rueful smile, "except Barbara,
and none of it is any good to me until I get her."
"You'll get her all right," said Frank. "Before I come
back here I shall be making a speech at your wedding. Why,
man, think what you've done for her! I like her, mind you,
for sticking up for her own and not believing any evil against
them. But you were wiser than she was, I'm afraid, and
she'll see that when she knows everything. I suppose she
was fond of William, wasn't she?"
"Yes," said Edward, "everybody liked him. I liked him
myself. I don't understand now how he got over people as
he did, considering what he was."
"Well, he seems to have been able to impose upon people
all round," said Frank. "I'll tell you how it appears to me.
In an old country life is so artificial you need never know
what a man is at bottom. All that seems to matter is whether
he can make himself pleasant, and William could always do
that all right. I don't believe he would have gone down out
here, where you are constantly coming face to face with
realities. Something or other would have happened to show
that he wasn't true metal."
"I am not quite sure about that even now," said Edward.
"He had his good qualities. He was kind enough; nobody
could deny that."
"A funny sort of kindness," commented Frank, "to see
all that unhappiness going on round him, caused by himself,
and not lift a finger to shift it!"
"Oh, I don't mean that his kindness had any great depth


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 838
getting into shelter, or we shall be wet through to the skin.
It seems coming on to blow harder than ever. I have never
known such weather."
It was, in truth, already blowing a frightful gale. The
huge liner was pitching and rolling about, now in the trough
of the waves, and now on the summit of a great mountain of
water; the wild, leaden-coloured sea looked like a great moor
with high hills and deep valleys, which were always changing
their place and seemed always to be getting higher and
deeper. It seemed impossible that any boat made by man
should not only live in such a sea, but should by the power
of its engines be carried steadily through it. And yet there
was such a sense of safety, in spite of the movement, and the
creaking and groaning of all the woodwork of the vessel,
when once the fury of the storm had been shut out, that
probably there were few in all the innumerable well-furnished
rooms of which she was full who felt any fear for their own
immediate safety. When Edward turned in later on in the
night he was thrown from side to side as he undressed, but
as he got between the sheets, and prepared to sleep through
the night, his only thought was that so wild a gale could not
last for long, and that he would probably wake up the next
morning to a more comfortable state of things.
He was now in such perfect health that in spite of the noise
and motion he fell asleep almost at once, and slept for some
hours. Probably no extra noise would have waked him.
But two or three hours later he did awaken out of his sleep
to the sense of uneasiness and something altered.
When he was fully awake the noise of the storm was as
great as ever and the motion of the ship seemed even greater.
But among all the noises about him there was one to which
he had grown so used that he could hardly have picked it
out from the rest if it had been there. But it was no longer
there. The engines of the ship had stopped.
He got up quickly and touched his electric switch. But
there was no answering leap of light flooding the little cabin.
At first he thought there was something wrong with the globe,
and then something happened that brought his heart into
his mouth.
Suddenly the whole ship, which had been so silent, except
for the noise of the storm and the creaking noises of the vessel


834 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
herself, was full of voices. In a moment they rose to shrieks
and cries all round him; shrieks from women and children,
cries in the deeper voices of men; and then there were
scurrying footsteps in the gangways outside his cabin, and
voices shouting out words of authority and encouragement.
He steadied himself and began to dress hurriedly in the
thick darkness, feeling for his clothes and not caring that
they were those he had put on to go down to dinner in the
night before.
Still the noise outside increased, and presently the steward
burst into his cabin, carrying a lantern.
"For God's sake come out, sir, and help calm down the
women," he said. "There's a regular pa do in the third-
class. There's nothing the matter. Here's a candle for you.
Have you got any matches?"
Edward lit the candle. "Have the engines broken down?"
he asked.
"They've stopped for a bit, but they will be all right again
soon. Listen to those people!"
He was gone the next moment with his box of candles.
Edward put on a pair of rubber shoes, a scarf, and an
overcoat, and went out of his cabin.
There was a panic, not only in the third-class, but through-
out the ship. Men's characters come out at such a crisis as
this, and women's too. It was not only the women who were
shrieking and dashing about here and there, with white faces
and staring, terrified eyes. There were men whom Edward
had known as ordinary, pleasant-mannered people, whom
he would hardly have recognised now. They seemed to be
beside themselves with fear.
As he went up on to the upper deck a man came bursting
through the crowd about him and, clawing and scrambling,
tore his way up, crying out something quite unintelligible
and violently pushing aside and even trampling on those
who stood in his way. There was a little girl in her night-
dress immediately in front of him, and he took hold of her
shoulder and pushed her out of his way so roughly that she
screamed in terror.
He was a rich man travelling for his pleasure, who had
made himself so agreeable in the smoking-room with his
amusing stories and tales of adventure that he had been one


836 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
doctor, who said to him in a low voice, "It's a pretty bad
business. We can't get the engines to work and we're near
the rocks. We have got to keep them steady or there will
be a rush for the boats. Use your fists if you see anyone
likely to break out, and don't tell anyone what I've told you."
He had hardly spoken before a violent shock ran through
the ship. Everyone who was standing was thrown on to the
floor. The ship seemed to stand absolutely still for a moment,
and then came another great shock, and then a succession of
them, accompanied by a dull, grinding noise, which could be
heard plainly above the shrieking of the women.
At the first shock pandemonium broke out worse than
ever. Edward was surrounded by a wild stampede. Men,
women, and children rushed out together, fighting their way
up on deck with the furious resolve to get into the open and
not to be drowned shut up below. For one instant this wild,
instinctive desire seized him, and if he had not taken strong
hold of himself he too would have formed one of the struggling,
fighting crowd that was being Jammed up against the door-
ways and stumbling and being trampled on the stairs in the
mad rush for liberty.
He shouted with all his might, "Women and children
first," and set himself to stem the throng and to drag back
the men who had forgotten their manhood.
The cry was taken up, and others did the same, among
them Frank Clayton and the doctor.
Presently he found himself on the deck, still struggling and
fighting, while the boats were being swung out on their
davits and a strong guard round each of them was keeping
off those who would have rushed them.
He was aware of a great dark mass looming up above him,
now, as it seemed, a long way from the ship, and now right
over her. Time after time he was thrown down, as the side
of the ship struck the rock with frightful force, but by and
by he learnt to prepare for the shock and to hold on to some-
thing until it had passed. He saw one of the boats on the
farther side of the ship filled and let down into the water,
and with a sickening sensation saw her instantly swamped
and all her freight of human lives scattered over the wild
waters. He saw another boat go over and disappear into
the darkness that was now faintly touched by the on-coming


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 837
dawn. Then he was aware of the ship settling under him.
That was the last that he remembered, for a sudden and
complete oblivion came down upon him and blotted out
every sensation of brain and body alike.
CHAPTER LII
PDWARD must have been hit on the head by something
that had got adrift, and completely stunned. Ha
came to himself—he never knew how long afterwards, except
that the sky was appreciably lighter—to find himself strug-
gling in the water and instinctively clinging to a proJection
of rock, against which he had been hurled by a wave. He
had put on a cork Jacket, which had no doubt saved his life,
and he was miraculously unhurt, except that his head throbbed
and ached intolerably.
The waves would have torn him back from the slippery
rock to which he held, and must soon have dashed him to
pieces in their wild fury; but there was a narrow ledge upon
which he was able to scramble Just in the nick of time, and
on that he lay and clung while the next wave washed over
him and very nearly dislodged him. The ledge sloped up-
wards, and when the wave had retired he scrambled up it
until he was well above the water-line, although every breaker
that beat against the rock drenched him with its fierce spray.
Again he lost consciousness, and when he came to himself
it was quite light, and his pain had lessened. He raised him-
self on his elbow and looked out over the waste of waters
which were rolling in towards him in huge undulations, under
a sky in which there was now not a cloud to be seen. Almost
within a stone's throw of him was the great bulk of the
Verona, which had settled some little way off the rock on
which he had found refuge, and was lying there tilted over
at a sharp angle, with every wave washing over her deserted
decks.
The sea all around her was littered with wreckage, and he
had not to look long before he saw the dreadful sight of dead


838 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
bodies tossed about by the waves among the floating frag-
ments. As he looked on this scene of desolation the sun
showed a rim above the horizon, and then seemed to rush up
into the sky, making a gold pathway over the wild waste
of grey water, which seemed to be sinking every moment
towards calm.
The splendour of the sunrise and the deep blue almost wind-
less sky seemed to mock the frightful tragedy which the storm
had brought. He was miraculously alive, but scores and
hundreds of those among whom he had lived for the last month
were dead, and if no help came to him it would be of little
use that his life had been saved, since he would die a more
lingering and awful death than those who were already at
rest in their watery graves.
The ledge on which he was lying hardly afforded more
than room for a dozen paces to and fro. Already he suffered
from a burning thirst. But unless rescue came to him on this
lonely rock, which, as far as he could see from where he was,
was quite by itself, away from the land, he must die of hunger
and thirst.
He buried his face on his arms, and for a moment gave way
to despair.
But still the sea went down, and as the waves subsided he
noticed with a glint of hope that more of the base of the rock
was bare. The tide was going out, and it now became the
most eager desire that he had ever felt to watch for some-
thing upon which he could make his way round the Jutting
point at which the ledge upon which he was crouching ended.
After a long time his hopes were rewarded. A great stone
emerged out of the water and then some lower ones, and by
and by there was a rough causeway upon which he might go
if he was content to take his life in his hands and risk the
deep water which still raced in and out between some of the
stones.
He waited for a long time while the tide went out still
farther. The rock which had been first uncovered was now
high above the water. But still there was that swirling mass
between it and the next, and at last he realised that the tide
was on the turn and that he must risk it now or never.
He let himself down, and after an instant's pause leapt
into the sea off the big rock. The swirl of the water caught


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 339
him, as if with hungry hands, eager for the life that it had
been baulked of. But he had chosen a moment when the
set of the waves was towards the rock, and, struggling with
all his might, he was carried behind the next one, and clung
there while the water receded again. Then he scrambled up.
He had surmounted the first difficulty.
He made his way with comparative ease for about a
hundred yards until he came to the corner of the point.
What would he see when he got round it?
He went on a few yards farther, and his heart sank. Rising
sheer above him was an almost perpendicular face of rock
with no vestige of foothold anywhere, and it stretched along,
looming and frowning in front of him for two or three hundred
yards more. Not only that, but the tumbled rocks, from
one to another of which he had leapt and scrambled, had
now disappeared, and the water lapped the very base of
the rock.
He stood on the last stone with a dreadful sensation of
fear at his heart, and then caught his breath, for as a great
wave drew off he saw some way ahead of him a little gleam
of white at the base of the rock. He waited until another
wave had come and gone, eagerly watching for it, and saw
it again, and knew that it was sand. Then without a moment's
hesitation he Jumped into the sea and began to swim towards
it. A wave took him out away from the rock and drove him
back again. He struggled hard to keep himself from being
battered against the sheer face of the cliff, and with an in-
describable sensation of relief found himself touching a
bottom of firm sand. When the waves were at their highest
he was carried off his feet, but when they receded the water
was no more than waist high. Presently, as he struggled on,
the sandy floor rose, and he could wade towards the patch
that was every now and then being revealed.
He came to another edge of rock and found sand and
stones from which the water had entirely receded. He went
on to yet another proJection and stood for a moment rubbing
the water from his eyes, and then gave a great shout of Joy.
Not a hundred yards from him was a boat drawn up on the
beach, and near her a little group of people crouching round
a fire lit on the edge of a tongue of grassland that ran steeply
down between the rocks.


840 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
The noise of the breakers drowned his voice, but as he ran
stumbling towards the little group he was descried, and a
man sprang up from among them and ran to meet him.
When they came close they recognised each other simultane-
ously.
Edward's strength was spent. He stumbled and fell and
was raised by the hands of Frank Clayton, alive and well,
who hugged him to his great chest, laughing and crying by
turns, Just as a mother might hug a child who was restored
to her.
That lasted only for an instant, and the two men, standing
and looking into each other's faces, shook hands again and
again.
"Are there any more where you came from?" Frank
asked. "We thought we were the only ones saved."
Edward told him how he had rescued himself, and others
of the party came up and crowded round him congratulating
him. Among them was his friend the doctor, and when he
had taken his place by the fire and had been given something
to eat and drink he heard their story.
Theirs was the last boat that had left the ship. All the
others had been swamped immediately, but whether it was
that the sea had already begun to go down a little or that
she was manned more skilfully, she had lived through it and
more by chance than design had reached the sandy beach
round the point. Except for the six men who formed her
crew, and the doctor who was in charge of her, and for
Frank Clayton and another man, she contained only women
and children.
Edward looked round the miserable little group, and could
see only the six seamen, the doctor, and Frank, besides the
women and children, but a motion of the head from Frank
made him turn his eyes away to where a stiff figure lay under
some covering, underneath a rock, and he learnt afterwards
that the other man had been taken off the ship insensible
from a blow on the head and had died immediately they had
landed. It was the doctor who had seen to a small stock of
provisions being stowed in the boat, and enough water to
last them with care for two or three days, and matches and
fuel in an air-tight case.
Their only possible chance of rescue was from a passing


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 241
•hip, but they were so far out of their course that the chance
was a small one.
The doctor, Frank Clayton, and Edward conferred apart.
What they had to do was to climb to the top of the rock by
the narrow gully that descended to the little bay in which
they had found shelter, and rig up some sort of signal.
"The Taormina ought to be passing here to-morrow after-
noon on her way home," said the doctor. "In the ordinary
course of things she would be too far out to see us; but there
is one hope. She would have expected to pass us to-day
farther east. I know her captain; he's a very careful man,
and if he misses us he may think something happened during
the storm and may steer closer in. It is our only chance,
unless there is some other coastal boat which I don't know
of."
"It seems a precious slim chance," said Frank, "if we
are right out of our course; but what we have got to do is
to cut down rations as fine as possible, and try to keep the
minds of those poor women and children off what has hap-
pened. Tell them that there's every chance of our being
taken off to-morrow. There are some pretty brave ones
among them, and they will do all they can to help us. We
must bury that poor chap, too. I don't know that he isnt
better off after all than we are, though you needn't tell any-
body else that."
The seamen dug a shallow grave in the sand and buried
the body, while the doctor addressed the women and children,
who hung pathetically on his words.
"Now we must all forget our troubles as well as we can,"
he said, "and try and cheer each other up. We have made
out that a boat will be passing to-morrow, and some of us
are going up to the top to rig up a signal to them. To-morrow
night we shall all be comfortable again, and we've got to
look upon this as a sort of picnic and make the best of it
until then."
It was a pretty desperate-looking picnic. There was
hardly a woman there who had not lost her husband or soma
near relation.
It was Frank who cheered them all up, and even succeeded
in bringing smiles on some of the sad faces as he bustled
about from one to the other, talking all the time and making


842 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
them in some small measure forget their sorry plight. He
stayed below on the sands, while Edward and the doctor and
two of the men scrambled up the steep slope to the top of
the rock.
When they got there the sun beat fiercely down upon them
as they stood and looked round them. They were on an
island containing perhaps a square mile. Sea-birds flew over
their heads with mournful cries, but there was no other sign
of life on the desolate rocky ground, which grew a few tufts
of wiry grass and a few low shrubs, and was altogether as
hopeless a place from which to expect to draw sustenance as
any that could be imagined.
Contrary to their expectations, there were no other islands
within sight, and their hearts sank.
"We can't be where I thought we were," said the doctor.
"We must be much farther out. There is not the slightest
sign of the mainland."
One of the sailors, a man with a keen, weather-beaten face,
had been straining his eyes, sheltering them with his hand
from the fierce sun, towards the north.
"Yes, there's land," he said. "I can see it all along."
There was a haze over the sea. But by and by all of them
thought they could see a faint line of a different colour.
"Anyhow," said the doctor, "I am afraid it's too far off
to be of much use to us."
"But if we are farther out than you thought," said Ed-
ward, "any ship that's passing is likely to pick us up."
"That's true," said the doctor. "Perhaps things aren't
as bad as they might be."
"It seems to me, sir," said the man who had descried the
land, " that our best chance will be to wait until the sea haa
gone down and then row across to the land."
"It would be our best chance," said the doctor, "if we
didn't know what kind of a place it is. But there's no settle-
ment there at all, as far as I've ever heard, and skimp how
we will we can't last long on the provisions we have."
They discussed the point for a bit, and then decided to
wait until the Taormina should be due to pass them; and
then if they were not rescued to row over to the mainland
as a last desperate resource.
They rigged up their signal and made their way down


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 845
fully made of gratings and large pieces of wood bound to-
gether. A man lying on it would be washed by the waves,
but would not be under water for any length of time. How
had William got there?
One of the sailors who had pulled him in out of the water
and untied him gave the answer. "I remember this chap
now," he said. "He was in the steerage, and when she struck
he and a Dago sort of fellow, who had deserted from a ship
to go up to the diggings, were busy together splicing up thus
raft. You can see it was done by a seaman. The last I saw
of them was tying themselves down to it."
Then where was the other man?
The little group of men standing or kneeling by the still
figure looked from it to the raft and back again, then glanced
furtively into one another's eyes and looked away again.
There was dead silence for a space. The answer to that
question seemed as plain as if the man lying unconscious at
their feet had risen and shouted it at them.
In his right hand was a big knife, and it had blood upon
it. Lying by his side on the sand was a heavy leather bag,
which had been found inside his Jacket when the doctor had
unbuttoned it. Some of the ropes on the raft had Jagged
edges, as if they had been hurriedly cut asunder.
Frank Clayton spoke first. "There was a fight," he said
gruffly, "and he got the better of it."
Whether they believed it or not, a sigh of relief went up
from the others at this statement, and they put the questions
aside, while they did their best to revive the unconscious man
with what simple remedies were at hand.
By and by there was a flutter of the eyelids, and presently
William Clayton came to life, opened his eyes, and, with a
groan of pain, closed them again.
"He'll do now," said the doctor gravely, "but I don't
think he'll live for long. He must have had a frightful blow,
and his ribe are all driven in. There is nothing I can do here
to help him. Our only chance is to keep him alive until a
ship comes along."
They did what they ooold for him; lifted him and laid
him down again in what comfort they could, and rigged up a
jhelter to guard him from the burning sun.
Presently he came to full consciousness, and the first thing


846 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
he said, without any surprise, but Just as if he had expected
to see his brother there and had parted from him recently,
"Hallo, Frank, old man; I'm afraid I am done for."
Frank Clayton was immensely touched by this address.
He knelt by his side and took his hand gently in his. "Keep
up, William," he said, with the tears starting out of his eyes.
"We shall be taken off to-morrow, and you'll be all right."
They left the two brothers alone together, and Edward
and the doctor went out and stood by the sea.
"He won't live till we get taken off," said the doctor,
"and if he does it will be too late to do anything for him.
But he won't suffer much pain till he goes, and he will be
conscious pretty well to the end. You must get his story
out of him, and do it before witnesses. We will write it down
afterwards and attest it before a magistrate."
"I am a magistrate," Edward said, glad now that he had
taken the doctor into his confidence. "Poor chap, it seems
hard to worry him if he has so short a time to live."
"He had much better get it off his mind," said the doctor.
"Unless I am very much mistaken, by the signs he has a
murder on his conscience now if he hadn't one before. He
can't do better than spend the rest of his time on earth in
putting right everything that can be put right."
When they had talked for a little time Frank Clayton
came out to them. The tears from his great soft heart were
pouring down his cheeks. "Poor fellow," he said, " we have
been talking about the time when we were little chaps to-
gether. I always knew there was a lot of good in him. He
knows he is going to die, and he wants to die in peace. He
wants to make a confession. For God's sake, come in and
let's have it over, and then leave me with him."
He turned abruptly and strode back to the shelter, and
Edward and the doctor followed him.
William Clayton was lying there, in full possession of his
senses. They had washed the blood off his face, and, except
that he drew his breath painfully at times, he might have been
reclining there at his ease for his own comfort. His eye was
clear and his speech plain, although he spoke in a low tone.
He even smiled as he saw Edward and the doctor.
"You didn't expect to see me here, did you ?" he asked.
"Well, the game's up and I've lost, and if you will keep me


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 847
going long enough I'll tell you all about it, and you can go
home and clear up all the mess I've made."
They remained with him for nearly an hour, and he was
talking in a low, monotonous voice the whole time, except
at intervals when the doctor was giving him something to
keep up his strength, or to stimulate his ebbing life.
It's a bad story you'll have to listen to," he said, " from
beginning to end, but I will keep nothing back. Perhaps
the very end of it isn't as bad as you may have thought.
Frank asked me whether there was a fight, and I tumbled
to it that it looks as if I had murdered the man who was on
the raft with me.
"Well, there was a pretty bad fight, and it was he who
nearly murdered me. We brought one or two things with
us—some provisions, which we lost directly we were washed
overboard, and an axe and other tools. He had his bag of
gold dust, and I had all my money in notes and gold fastened
on to my belt. He had a knife in his—the knife I killed him
with when he attacked me.
"I was afraid of him. He knew about my belt. I felt
him touching me lightly every now and then to make out if
I wore one. When the sea went down and we were so worn
out that we could hardly keep our eyes open, we both did
our best to keep awake; he because he wanted to murder
and rob me, I because I wanted to save my life. I must have
fallen asleep against my will, for I was awoke by the blow
of the axe on my head and saw him bending over me, looking
like murder. He was half tied; it wasn't safe yet, with the
sea running high, to cast ourselves loose, and the raft must
Just have tilted when he tried to brain me, for he nearly missed
me altogether. I put up my hands to shield my head, and
his next blow, which would have killed me, if he had struck
me where he meant to, hit me on the side as I wriggled over.
It will kill me before long, but I am glad he didn't finish me
then and there.
"It was all over in an instant. As he bent back for another
blow I snatched the knife out of his belt and drove it deep
into his heart. It was a chance I struck him there. The raft
was heaving up and down all the time, and both his blows
had gone astray, and I only got the haft of the axe instead
of the blade. I think I killed him instantly, but for fear of


848 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
him I cut him adrift at once and pushed him overboard,
and as I did so the bag of gold dust fell out of his clothes. I
had cut the cord that held it without knowing it, or it would
have gone to the bottom with him. You can take that,
Frank, and all I've got in my belt, and give it to poor Flora
when you get home."
He stopped for a time, and the doctor moistened his lips
with brandy and wiped the sweat from his brow.
His face looked greyer now, and more serious. "I wish
all the harm I had done," he said, " were as innocent as that
last action of mine, done in self-defence. I have got things
to tell you now which will make you all turn from me."
"No, no, William," cried Frank. "It is all forgiven
already. Ease your mind of it and leave us to see that the
right thing is done. Let's get it all over now and have our
time together, what is left to us, with all that buried."
William looked at him gratefully. "Ah !" he said, " that's
like what I remember of you, Frank. Perhaps I have done
more harm to you than anybody."
"Never mind about that," said Frank. "It has made a
man of me to come out here, and you've nothing to reproach
yourself with on my account. Don't say a word about that."
"I'll clear it all up," said William. "Knightly will see
that you're righted. It was I who forged that cheque twenty
years ago and put it on to you. You were drunk and I
thought you wouldn't remember. I was a gambler and I
was a coward, even when I was as young as that. But you
shan't suffer from that charge any longer. Knightly will see
you righted when you get home."
"I haven't touched a drop of liquor from that day to
this," said the teetotaller proudly. "It was a bad business
for you, William, poor old chap, but it hasn't turned out a
bad business for me."
"Then that's one bad thing cleared up," said William.
"Now I must tell you as fully as I can what happened at
home last year, and about little Tony. He isn't dead. He
is out here all right, and you will find him and take him home
again."
Edward experienced a lifting of the heart at hearing it
finally stated definitely that little Tony was alive. As fax
as he was concerned everything so far had been conJecture


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 849
but now here was certainty, and the prospect of happiness
once more for the girl he loved.
"I will try and tell the story plainly from the beginning,"
William went on, " and you must ask me questions if I leave
out anything.
"I had got into very low water. I had been spending an
enormous amount of money, not only on business schemes
I was interested in—gambling schemes, as most of them
were—but in all sorts of pleasures that my wife knew nothing
about. For the moment I was desperately hard up for even
a small amount of money, and I went down to try and get
it out of John. I wanted him to put money into the Mata-
gonian Syndicate. But I may as well confess that if he had
given it to me, I should have speculated with it in some
shares that I had reason to believe were going to Jump up.
If I had made money by that speculation I should have put
what he had given me into the syndicate, and he would have
known nothing about it. If they hadn't gone up—well, it
was a gambler's throw, and a gambler doesn't look ahead.
"John refused to let me have any money at all, and we
had very high words about it, because I was pretty desperate.
He told me that nearly all the ready money he had was two
hundred pounds, with which he was going to buy sheep the
next morning at Rede Market, and let out that he had it in
that very room—at least, I came to the conclusion that he
had it there, although I believe he has never known that I
did. He let out too, when I asked him where all his money
had gone to, that he had been sending large sums over here
to Frank, and I lost my head at that, and threatened that if
he did not do what I wanted I would make it known where
Frank was. Upon my honour, it was only a wild threat,
which I never meant to carry out. I wrote and begged his
pardon for it the next day, and he was generous enough to
forget it. At that time I had absolutely no idea of doing
anything wrong, except what I have Just told you of—
speculating with whatever money I could get out of John.
But it was from that threat that all John's trouble came.
It upset him a great deal more than I should have thought
it would, and it was that he was thinking of when he went
down by the sea, and when he met you afterwards, Knightly,
coming home. He told me so later on."


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 351
as much as I could. I passed several people, but none of
"I got round the corner into the garden Just outside John's
study without anybody seeing me, and got through the window
into his room and broke open the desk. I found the money
and put it into my pocket. It hadn't taken me much more
than a minute.
"I shut the desk and turned round, and there was little
Tony standing in the doorway staring at me. He must have
come in the very moment after I got in through the window,
and had seen everything that I had done."
'HE moment William had spoken Edward saw it all,
and wondered that this simple explanation of every-
thing had not occurred to him before. The child had been
taken away, not because his removal would bring any ad-
vantage of itself, but simply because he had surprised a
secret, and must at any cost be prevented from disclosing it.
He waited eagerly while the doctor attended again to the
dying man, for what he should disclose further. Presently
William went on in rather a weak voice, which, however,
gained in power until once more he stopped exhausted for
a time.
"I was caught in the act," he said, "and I was mad at
the idea of everything coming out in that way. The little
chap was very fond of me, and although you may wonder at
my saying so, I was fond of him, too, in my way, and I thought
I could stop his saying anything if I had time. I didn't
know how much he understood and what he had seen—at
least, how much he would tell to others. He laughed when
he saw me and was running away to tell Barbara that I was
there. I only had a moment in which to make up my mind.
I told him to come along with me, and I hurried him out of
the house. I knew where all the farm hands were working
that day, and that I ran less risk of being seen by any of
them on the marsh between the farm and Rede Castle. I
them recognised me.
CHAPTER LIV


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 355
We had settled up everything and were Just going to make a
move when we heard someone coming up the stairs. Of
course, it was Barbara. We stuck there as still as mice, with
our hearts in our mouths, while she went across the platform
within a few yards of where we were crouching. Just as she
must have begun to climb the ladder the child began to wake
up, and Just as she fell he cried out for her.
"We thought that all was lost then, but it was quite still
outside. I had muffled the child up in my coat and Kelly
crept out to see what had happened. He came back to me
and whispered that it was Barbara, and that she had fallen
and hurt herself and was unconscious. Then we hurried down
the stairs as quickly as we could, found the car, and set out
to drive to Greathampton.
"I had something in the car to eat left over from my
lunch, and I gave it to the child and kept him as quiet as I
could. But he was thoroughly frightened now. He was on
Kelly's knee while I drove, and we had the greatest to-do to
keep him from drawing attention to us. Kelly got furious
with him, which made it worse, and at last we gave the poor
little chap a dose of neat brandy which might have killed him
for all we knew, and actually sent him into a stupor from
which he never recovered as long as I had him on my hands."
William came to the end of his powers. Suddenly he
seemed himself to be struck by a sort of stupor. His eyes
closed and his face became deathlike.
"That's enough," said Frank. "Surely that's enough.
He has confessed everything—leave him in peace now."
"There is a little more I want to hear," said Edward
doggedly. It was impossible to feel anger against the man
who was confessing his sins with no reservation and had so
short a time to live, but all the same his wickedness was past
excuse and the best thing he could do, even if it shortened
his life by a few minutes, or even a few hours, was to leave
nothing untold.
William's state of unconsciousness lasted for longer than
before, but when he came to again he said, now in a very
weak voice, " I have nearly done. You will hear all the rest
from the Smiths when you have found them, and I won't
say anything more about the child. I speculated with the
hundred pounds I had left, and went on speculating, and I


856 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
never had such luck before in my life. I made enough out
of it to keep me going for many months till the other business
should come off. It seemed to me that everything encouraged
me. I was sorry for the trouble that had come to them at
home, but it was too late for me to do anything now, and I
didn't even encourage them to think that the child must bo
alive when that discovery of the little shirt came about,
because I knew that I was next heir to Redmarsh Farm.
It was a horrible piece of villainy all through. I have no
excuse to make. I see its wickedness now clearly enough,
and no doubt 1 shall pay for it in the next world, as I seemed
to have been spared all punishment in this."
"Oh, no," cried Frank, terribly distressed. "Don't die
with that on your mind, William. There is forgiveness there
for the worst crime if a man repents. You do repent, don't
you? You would shudder at the thought of doing all those
wicked things if you had your chance over again? You've
told us everything, haven't you ?" he pleaded.
"Very nearly," said William. "Before we got to Fre-
mantle, after I had heard everything from Edward that he
could tell me, I thought the game was up, and I made up
my mind to clear out and drop it all. Then when I read the
cablegrams in the papers I made out that they were on my
track now. A sort of gambler's madness seized me, and I
thought I would have one more try to hide things up, so that
if I made money I might be able to go home again if I wanted
to. It was a piece of madness, and I have regretted it ever
since, and now it has cost me my life. I left all my things at
Fremantle, disguised myself a bit, and shipped in the steerage.
I meant to go straight up to this place Murrumbah and get
hold of the Smiths and pay them handsomely to tell a story
which would make it all due to Kelly, who is dead, and
exonerate me. I haven't time to tell you the story I had
made up, and it doesn't matter, but if I had been successful
in this last dodge, as I have been so successful all the way
through, the child would have been sent home, and no one
would have known there that I had anything to do with
taking him away. For he is too young to remember anything
after all that time.
"I saw Frank and recognised him the day after we sailed
from Fremantle, and I knew that I should have to be pretty


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 357
quick if I wanted to get ahead of him and turn things my
own way."
He was silent again. His tale was told and the sands of
his life were ebbing away fast now.
He spoke again in a weak voice: "I would like to talk to
you alone, Frank, before I go. I don't think there is anything
more, Knightly, that I need tell you. I am sorry about that
girl Slade, but I did her no harm, except spoil her good name.
Let that be known, and try and make up to her for it."
Again he relapsed into unconsciousness, and as the doctor
tended him for the last time Edward, with one look at him,
went away.
When William came to again the doctor also went away.
"I can t do much more for him now," he said to Frank.
"But I will be Just outside if you call for me."
The two brothers were left alone.
Frank knelt down by the side of William and raised his
head in his arms. For some time he talked to him in a low
voice, pouring into his ears the faith that they had been
taught in their childhood, which he, through all his rough
life, had always held to.
William was beyond speech, but he kept his eyes, which
were dimming fast, upon his brother's face. Presently his
eyes closed, but with the faintest pressure of Frank's hand
he seemed to have accepted all that he had said to him.
A few minutes afterwards Frank Joined Edward and the
doctor, and motioned them towards the rough shelter in
which the dead man lay. Then he went off by himself and
climbed the hill to the top of the island, and did not return
until the night had fallen and the stars were shining out of
a clear sky on the little group of castaways.
CHAPTER LV
HTHE night went by and the sun rose on a sea so calm
-*- that it was difficult to think of the fierce storm which
had brought such ruin with it. But to the little group of
people marooned on that desolate rock there was no solace


858 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
In the warm sun or the sparkling air. If no help came to
them that day there was a fearful ordeal before them. To
row across to the mainland in the boat which lay there un-
inJured was no great matter, but to those who, like Frank,
knew what awaited them when they landed again, there
was all the horror of death by thirst and exhaustion and only
the merest shred of hope that they could escape it.
As the day wore on and the hour approached at which
they might expect to catch sight of the liner working her way
westward, their anxiety rose higher and higher. Most of the
men gathered by the signal they had raised at the top of the
island and strained their eyes over the wide, empty sea, upon
which no speck could be seen that told of succour or any
human life within reach of them.
But by and by, far to eastward, they descried something
like a little smudge between the blue sea and the blue sky,
and watched it anxiously till they knew it for the smoke
from a steamer coming along the coast. The Taormina was
up to time, and the burning question was whether she would
be looking for them or whether she would pass and leave
them to something very like despair.
They kept their eyes glued to that little speck on the
horizon, with what alternating hope and fear may be im-
agined; and as it got larger fear began to predominate.
She was very far out—much farther out than she would have
been if she had already begun to search along the coast.
They disputed hotly as to what course she was taking,
watching her all the time, and by and by there seemed no
room for dispute. She was heading due west, and in a few
hours would have passed them by.
In a sort of a frenzy one of the men rushed to the rigged-up
oars, with the white shirt tied to one of them, which was all
they had been able to raise in the way of a signal, and seized
it and waved it above his head.
Just as he did so, Edward Knightly gave a loud cry and
stood pointing to the westward. There, unmistakably,
although still a long way off, was a steamer coming straight
towards them. While looking for rescue in the east it had
been coming towards them all the time from the west. They
could let the Taormina go by now and talk about her failure
to look for them later.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 359
In less than an hour a big German liner on her way up the
coast cast anchor within a mile of the shore, and her steam
pinnace was heading across the blue water straight for them.
An hour later still that desolate rock was left to the sea-
birds, the wreck of the Verona, and the sad flotsam and
Jetsam that the rippling waves were casting up on its shore.
The excitement and sorrow caused by the dreadful catas-
trophe in which all but a handful of the passengers and crew
of that great liner lost their lives, was merged, as far as the
characters in our story are concerned, in the excitement
that met them when they landed from the German ship
which had picked them up.
The Smiths had been found, and ought to have been
found long before. Frank Clayton and Edward had not
been ashore many hours before they were in the train, accom-
panied by a police officer, on their way up-country, but not
in the direction of Munumbah, where Frank's land was and
where the Smiths had been bound for. It had only been
discovered the day before that on the voyage out they had
come across a man who had persuaded them to settle on his
property and to grow wheat on the share system. There
they had been ever since they had landed, and it was known
that the missing child was with them.
But before they left the city, William's dying confession
had been put on record, and Frank Clayton had proudly
claimed his own name.
The police officer who had travelled with them knew Frank
of old. "I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Watson—I mean, Mr.
Clayton," he said, as they talked over matters on their
Journey, " it is Just as well for you that you're so well known
all over the place as you are. From the messages we have
received from home, the police there seem to have got it
into their heads that you bolted over to England and brought
the child back with you. I don't know what you've been
doing to make them think that, but we have calmed their
minds for them by this time."
Frank was still in a serious mood after all that had happened
within the last few days, but he smiled at this. "I shall bo


860 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
a good deal better known," he said, "before I leave for the
Old Country." And indeed, the interest that had been aroused
by the disclosure of Frank's identity and his connection
with the long-drawn-out mystery of Redmarsh Farm was
in evidence whenever their train stopped at any place which
was near enough to the habitation of a newspaper corre-
spondent to enable him to come in and beg for a few words
from a character so universally known, who had leapt into
such sudden prominence.
Towards the evening they stopped at a wayside station,
round which the whole available population was gathered
to watch their arrival. Among the many conveyances
drawn up outside was a four-seated buggy in which sat a
man who hailed them at once.
Frank and he shook hands.
"Well, Jack," said the man, "you've become a publio
character since we met last. You have had a narrow squeak,
old chap, eh? I expect you put it all down to soft drinks
that you're where you are, don't you?"
Frank made no reply to this pleasantry. "I didn't know
you were up in these parts, Brown," he said. "I dare say
you know what we've come up for. I may see you later
when we've done what we want to do."
He was turning away, but Brown said, " Oh, you're coming
with me," and the police officer said, "It's Mr. Brown that
these Smiths are working with."
"Yes, Jump up," said Brown. "I suppose this is Mr.
Knightly. You're very welcome, sir. We have got about
twenty miles to go."
They drove off through the bush as the night began to
fall, and Edward had his first experience of that wide, lonely
country which was so fast exchanging the desolation of
thousands of years for cultivation which would take its part
in providing food for mankind.
As they drove along Mr. Brown told his little part of the
story. He had taken up a great tract of wheat-growing land
eighteen months before, had cleared a great part of it, and
done well with his first harvest. Then he had taken a flying
trip to England, and on his way back again had fallen in
with the Smiths, and recognised them for the sort of colonists
that were wanted, and persuaded them to go in with him.


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 361
"They will do well for themselves and well for me," he said,
"and they're much better off working with somebody who
knows the rules of the game than if they had started by
themselves at Murrumbah. I must say though that it gave
me a bit of a turn to find out who they really were and who
little Tommy is. I guess the news that their secret is found
out has given them a bit of a turn too, though they swear
they knew nothing about it when they brought the child
out. That's as may be. You will find them there all right,
for I've taken precautions that they shan't get away; and
if they wanted to they wouldn't get very far without being
brought back."
"What sort of people are they ?" asked Edward. "Have
they behaved well to the child?"
Oh, yes," said Brown. "I think they have quite got
to look on him as their own grandson by this time. They
are good, hard-working people enough, though the old
woman is a bit of a termagant. They have made money, too.
In fact, we have all made money, hand-over-fist, lately.
They came out Just at the right time."
The moon came up and shone over great expanses of cleared
land which a few years before had been virgin scrub, but
was now resting after having yielded up its rich store of
golden grain. Every now and then, but at long intervals, they
passed a little group of wooden buildings which told of a
new farm. Brown pointed to one of them some way from
the road.
"That is the Smiths' holding," he said, "and a nice, snug
little crib they have rigged up for themselves; but I thought
you would rather meet them at my house to-night, and it is
only a couple of miles on now. I have got the old station
house that was built when all this was a sheep-run. We can
make you pretty comfortable in the bush, Mr. Knightly,
though I know you've got finer houses at home in England
than we have."
Considerably to Edward's surprise he found himself pre-
sently in a drawing-room which might have been in a country
house in England, and greeted by a charming, well-dressed
lady, whom Mr. Brown introduced as his wife. But for the
moment he had little attention to spare either for her or for
this pretty room in the heart of the bush, for she motioned


864 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
instead of their own grandson. Kelly had advised her to cut
his hair short. She had not understood his reason for this,
but she had done so for a reason of her own, so as to make
him resemble rather more the grandchild for whom the
passage had been booked.
The fifty pounds had been paid down and the child given
over to her. For some days after they had sailed he was ill.
First of all she thought it was from something that had been
given to him, and then because he had fretted and cried.
She had begun to get frightened and suspect that the story
told her had not been true. But his linen had been marked
"A. T. C," and he had answered to the name of Tommy,
and she had not known what to think. She had looked after
him as well as ever she could, but the illness he had gone
through seemed to have interfered with his memory. She
had questioned him, but had been able to make nothing out
of his answers, and gradually he had settled down and got
quite well again, and seemed to have forgotten everything,
except now and then, when he would cry for a long time
together.
They had had news from papers that had overtaken them
on their way out of what had happened at Redmarsh Farm,
but had not realised that this was the missing child.
At this point the police officer began to question her, and
made it pretty plain that if they had not suspected this at
first it was not long before they had done so.
Her husband broke in roughly. "Oh, what's the use of
goin' on like this?" he said. "We didn't know, but we
guessed pretty well after a time, and we said we would go on
with it because we was frightened of what might happen if
we let the truth be known, and we didn't want to lose the
fifty pounds a year. We didn't want to lose the child neither,
because we had got used to the little chap, and that's the
long and the short of it."
Mrs. Smith, with a look at her husband which seemed to
imply that he and she would have further words on this
point, gave in.
"We didn't know," she repeated, "and we read that the
child at Redmarsh Farm had been found dead. But I don't
Bay we did not guess at the truth, because of my brother
being mixed up in it; and you can make what you like of


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 365
that. At any rate, there's the child, safe and sound, and
nobody could have looked after him better than we done."
At this point Mrs. Brown came out on to the verandah
and said, He's awake."
Edward and Frank Clayton went into the drawing-room.
Little Tony was sitting up on the sofa, his blue eyes wide
open and a smile on his face, with his arm round the neck of
the girl who had reminded him of Barbara. She was kneeling
by his side talking to him, and as they came in they heard
him say, " I don't want to go away on a big ship; I want to
stay with you."
Edward went up to the sofa. "Well, little Tony," he said,
"do you remember me? I have come to take you home to
Barbara and daddy."
The child looked at him with grave eyes, but not a sign of
recollection came over his face.
"Don't you remember Barbara ?" Edward asked, speak-
ing her name in such a tone as made the girl kneeling by the
sofa look up quickly into his face.
The child's face changed a little, and he repeated the
name, not as Edward had said it, but in the baby speech
which he had already begun to leave behind him. "Barbar,"
he said. "Yes, take me home to Barbar."
CHAPTER LVI
CUMMER had come round again. Once more Barbara
^ was sitting in the old garden of Redmarsh Farm, while
little Tony was running to and fro between her and his friend
the gardener, who was working on the other side of the wall.
Her heart was so full that she could scarcely realise her
happiness. The scene was exactly the same as it had been
on that fateful day a little more than a year before. It
seemed as if all those long months of dreadful sorrow had been
wiped away and everything was exactly as it had been before.
Every time the child came to her she kissed him lovingly,
and each kiss was an act of intense gratitude for having hint
back with her once more.


866 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
She went back in her mind over all the exciting events
that had crowded in on her when at last the end of the long
mystery had come and all had been made known.
There had been one dreadful day upon which the news of
the wreck of the Verona had come, when it had been feared
that none had been left alive.
The Taormina had not passed by careless of her fate, as
for a short time the shipwrecked group had thought. Wire-
less messages had passed between her and the German liner,
and both had looked out for her on routes that had been
arranged between them. Wireless messages also had reached
the land from the Taormina the day before the passengers
were picked up, for she had been missed at once and no answer
had been received to signals made to her. It was this news
that had reached England before the news of the rescue, and
for one day Barbara had mourned her lover. Then from the
German liner had come the names of those rescued, and again
there was deep gratitude in her heart.
Then immediately all the papers had been full of the
dramatic closing chapters in the mystery of Redmarsh Farm.
The missing child had been found, alive and well, and would
be sent home immediately. The identity of the widely
known and widely liked " Teetotal Jack " had been disclosed.
The story of William Clayton's rescue and death had been
told, and a day or two later his attested confession had been
made public. John Clayton had finally been acquitted in
the eyes even of those who had most persistently declared
his guilt, or, at least, his connivance in the crimes that had
been committed.
The revulsion in his favour had indeed been embarrassing.
The strong, unselfish part he had played all through struck
the imagination of his countrymen. Letters had poured
in on him from all sides, and the number of strangers who
came to Redmarsh Farm for the purpose of assuring him
that they at least had always stoutly defended his innocence,
was surprising. A considerable number of them seemed to
think that they were entitled to some pecuniary reward for
thus sticking up for him, and some of them had gone away
saying that if they had known how close and mean he was
they might not have done so after all.
Barbara and her father had got rid of these and other


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 367
difficulties by starting off almost immediately on their voyage
to Colombo, where they were to Join the ship that was to
bring little Tony back to them.
He had come under the care of Frank Clayton, who had
left Australia almost immediately after he had found his
little nephew. They had now been home two or three weeks,
and her Uncle Frank had already taken a place in Barbara's
heart that her Uncle William had never filled, even at his
best. Frank had been like a great, large-hearted, happy boy
home from school. He was wildly popular with every man,
woman and child on the farm, and everybody else whom he
met in the country round. He stuck to his elder brother
like a shadow. He could never show enough his love and
gratitude towards the man who had trusted him through
all thoso difficult years, and had suffered so deeply for his
loyalty. And as for John Clayton, he was a different man.
That gloomy look never now appeared on his face. He was
happy and contented, and he looked it. As the two brothers
walked or rode about the farm together people who saw
them said that they were like David and Jonathan.
Among the earliest visitors to Red marsh Farm, after their
home-coming, had been Mr. Chinnering, who had apologised
in the handsomest possible way for his unfounded suspicions
of Frank Clayton, but did not seem in the least disturbed
in his good opinion of himself over the second mistake he had
made with regard to the mystery of Redmarsh Farm.
Poor Flora, deeply saddened and subdued by the revela-
tions that had been made to her, was somewhat comforted
by the knowledge that at the last William had thought of
her, and had gone back to her beloved London. William
had left enough money to provide for her in a modest way
for the rest of her life, and John and Frank had secretly
added to it, so that, if she could curb her propensities to
extravagance, she would be comfortably off for the rest of
her days.
When everything had come out, Lady Charlotte Knightly
had taken the bull by the horns and had come down to Red-
marsh Farm to put herself right with Barbara. She was
not entirely destitute of sense, and she saw that the game was
up as far as she could do anything to influence it. Whether
Edward was still in love with Barbara and she with him


THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM 369
there wculd no longer be any opposition to expect from
Edward's mother.
Now, as she sat in the garden under the apple tree on thai
summer afternoon her mind was full of Edward, who was
expected home that evening.
She loved him more deeply than she had ever done, and she
was not ashamed of doing so, as she had the certainty in her
heart that he also loved her, and would come and tell her
so directly he reached home. She had heard no word from
him, and, strangely enough, even as it seemed to her when
she thought about it, that did not disturb her confidence
in the least. She thought she knew why he had not written.
He wanted to tell her himself that he was towards her as he
had always been, and to see her face when he told her. In
spite of the cloud that had come between them, he would
know that she still loved him as deeply as he loved her. He
had been patient so long that he could be patient a little
longer, so that they might come together in a way which
would give them such Joy as they would remember all their
lives. They were together already in spirit. He was coming
to her, and she, with full trust in him, was waiting.
Even now, on this afternoon, when he was already in
England, and must be getting nearer to her every hour, her
deep longing for him was not impatient. Perhaps he would
come to her very soon after he had reached his own home;
perhaps he would come later on in the evening; perhaps he
would not come until the next morning. But that he would
come, and that all the trouble that had been between them
was already cleared away from his mind as fully as it was
from hers, she was assured; and in the meantime she was
content to wait.
Tony had Just come running to her, as he had come run-
ning on that other afternoon, and had run back again into
the next garden, Just at that time that she had looked up
and seen Edward come out of the house towards her. She
looked up now. And there, Just as before, was Edward
coming towards her over the grass.
She rose at once to meet him, and with Just a low word
from each—" Edward" and "Barbara "—they were in one
another's arms.
Everything was as »h« had known it would be. When they
*


870 THE MYSTERY OF REDMARSH FARM
were all the distance of the world apart his heart had gone
out to hers with perfect love and understanding, and her
heart had gone out to his. Their long embrace put the seal
on a compact which needed no words to bring about. As
they understood one another now and trusted one another,
so they would understand and trust one another as long as
life should last.
Edward had come straight to her. He had wired for a
motor-car to meet him in London, and had driven down to
Rede, oblivious of legal limits of speed and faster than a train
could have brought him. He had not gone home. Thai
could all wait. He had come straight to Barbara.
Little Tony came running in from the other garden, and
when he saw Edward recognised him at once, and threw his
arms round his neck. They kept him with them for a little
time. Even with hearts so full of love for one another
as theirs were, and with the desire on them to be quite alone,
away even from those whom they loved best next to each
other, to touch the child and to listen to his prattle in this spot
of all others in the world, made them realise as nothing else
could have done how completely all the trouble that had
wrapped them round was at an end.
But presently they sent him away again, and then, because
the windows of the house were on them, they went indoors
and upstairs to the quiet room which looked over the wide
expanse of sunlit marsh with Rede Castle frowning over it,
but without the power now of oppressing the mind by its
gloomy bulk.
We must shut the door on them, leaving them to taste
such happiness as can only come to those who have been
deeply tried and have come through the night of trial into
the sunshine of a perfect day. And, leaving them there, we
leave Redmarsh Farm, with the dark shadow which had
rested on it lifted at last, and an outlook for its inhabitants
as bright as falls to the lot of most mortals in this imperfect
world.











f
*


UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN

3 9015 03585 1354
DO NOT REMOVE
OR
CARD


THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
GRADUATE LIBRARY
DATE DUE

A
ys^o^]