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THE
FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
BY
DEREK VANE
AUTHOR of “THE PARADISE of Fools,
of A MAN,” “THE SECRET Door,
17 --
The soul,
” ETC.
NEW YORK
MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY

1920


28
734A
copy RIGHT, 1 92 o, By
Mo FFAT, YARD AND com PANY
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THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY





THE
FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
CHAPTER ONE
THE TELEPHONE CALL
SIR GILBERT CHELFORD jumped out of his boat,
tied her to the iron ring at the bottom of the steps,
and walked quickly up the gay little garden that
ran down to the river from Willow Cottage. The
French windows of the sitting-room stood open, and
he looked in. Nobody was there. He stepped inside,
opened the door that led into the miniature hall, and
called out, “Monck! — Monck! Where are you?”
There was no answer. Then he called “Johnson!”
but was no more successful than before. There was
not a sound nor a movement in reply; the house was
apparently deserted. He returned to the sitting-
room and shut the door heavily. “They must be all
out,” he said, frowning with annoyance.
He threw himself down in a long chair and took up
a paper. But he was evidently not in the mood for
reading, for after a few minutes, he got up again and
moved restlessly about the room.
“I wonder how long he'll be?” he muttered. “I
don't want to go away without seeing him. I can't
settle down to anything till I get it off my mind. I
1


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 3
lage and owed too much to its summer visitors to
treat them badly.
As he was hesitating what to do, his watch in his
hand, the telephone bell rang in the room. Chel-
ford instinctively took a step forward — and
stopped. The bell rang again sharply, and, after
a moment's hesitation, he went over and took off
the receiver. The confounded noise would go on if
he didn't answer. It was probably nothing of im-
portance; he would say Monck was out. But be-
fore he could speak a woman's voice called in an
urgent tone.
“Is that you, Basil? — Basil! Is that you?”
He gave a violent start and nearly dropped the
receiver. It was so strange. That voice coming at
that moment was almost like an answer to his
, thoughts. He had been thinking of her; he had done
nothing but think of her and Basil Monck for the
last hour or two. And now, in the midst of his
doubts and suspicions, she had rung up the man he
was waiting to see. It was a strange coincidence.
She had called him “Basil,” which she never did in
public, so it meant something. His face gripped.
On the impulse of the moment, he disguised his
voice, and when she called again, “Is that you,
Basil?” he answered, “Yes.”
Then there was a pause while he waited and won-
dered. What was he going to hear? His heart beat
violently, his lips made a straight line in his white
face, his eyes stared without expression. He had
been fighting with his passion, keeping it down with


4 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
difficulty; it had burnt all the more fiercely for the
restraint and the waiting; and now in a moment,
it flared up and held him at its mercy. The one
word had done it, spoken by the voice that was
dearer to him than any other in the world. Why
did she call him “Basil” secretly? What could she
have to say to him that he – the man she had
promised to marry — had not the right to hear? "
He thought neither of honor nor dishonor; all
ordinary considerations were obliterated in the wave
of passion that swept over him. He held the re-
ceiver to his ear and listened intently, every nerve
on the alert, but not a word came in answer. He
spoke again, copying Monck's voice as nearly as
he could – “Yes? Are you there? What is it?”
But still all was silent. He could hardly restrain
himself. Why didn't she speak? — Why did she
keep him in this agony of suspense? He pressed
the instrument hard against his ear as though he
would force an answer from it.
It was all of no use. º
He dropped the receiver on the table and sprang
to his feet. He would go round at once and see
Lilah. She had evidently suspected something, or
why hadn't she answered? There had been truth,
then, in the whispers he had heard, but not heeded;
in the gossip he had brushed aside. He would lis-
ten to nothing until to-day when his mother had
spoken. She did not speak without reason, he
knew; she had given him facts — proofs. He had
been obliged to listen at last. He had come over to


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 7
he had not been as blind as he appeared to be, she
thought. She had seen him wince, and she could
guess something of the pain and anger that lay
under the outward calm.
“It is Monck's fault,” he had said. “Lilah is so
young, she has no thought of harm. She doesn't
know how censorious the world is. But it is time,
as you say, that it was put a stop to.”
“You will be careful,” she had said anxiously.
“You will be on your guard. I never liked him, I
don’t trust him. You won’t let him drag you into a
quarrel?”
“I shall avoid any open breach if possible, for
Lilah's sake,” he had answered quietly. Then he had
left her without another word, and she did not even
know where he had gone, though she could guess.
She had listened anxiously for his return — he had
been gone some time — she had hoped he would
come in and tell her what had passed. But as he
did not, she was wise enough not to go to him. He
wanted to be alone.
It was true enough. Just then he could not have
borne even his mother's presence. He had to think
out things by himself. He wanted, if possible, to
deal with Monck only, not even to speak of the mat-
ter to Lilah. It seemed somehow degrading — as
though he could not trust her. It would leave an
unpleasantness behind. If a thing were once dis-
cussed, it made it so much more real — that was
why he had shirked touching on the subject. But
now it could no longer be avoided, and he would take


8 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
care that Monck should fully understand that he
must alter his behavior.
As the result of his meditations, Gilbert wrote
the following letter before he retired to bed:
DEAR Monck,
I will call to-morrow morning about eleven, and
hope to find you in as I must speak to you on a
matter of some importance.
Yours sincerely,
GILBERT CHELFoRD.
This he took out and posted himself.


CHAPTER Two
There were things she came to know,
And to take their measure,
When the play was played out so,
For one man's pleasure.
GILBERT had gone down to the river for his usual
swim before breakfast, and was walking back with
his towels round his neck when he saw his mother
standing at the garden-gate looking out for him. He
waved his hand and hastened his steps, but she gave
him no greeting in return. Her face was unusually
grave, and she held a newspaper in her hand.
When he came up she slipped her arm through
his and drew him towards the house without a word.
He looked at her in some surprise.
“What's the matter?” he asked. “Is anything
wrong?”
“Wait,” she said in agitated tones, “wait till we
get inside.” He saw that it was something serious
and said no more until he had followed her into the
morning-room and shut the door.
“Well?” he said anxiously. “What is it, mother?
you're trembling all over. What is the matter?
Tell me.”
“Something dreadful has happened,” she whis-
9


10 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
pered unsteadily, “at Willow Cottage. I’ve just seen
it in the paper. He — Mr. Monck is dead.”
“Dead?” he exclaimed in amazement. “Nonsense!
there must be some mistake. It's impossible. What
do they say? — let me look,” and he stretched out
his hand for the paper. But she held it back.
“It's true enough,” she wailed. “Gilbert! – Gil-
bert! tell me you had nothing to do with it.”
“Mother!” Astonishment, reproach, indignation,
were all in that one word. For once she did not mind
hurting him; she was glad that he could be angry.
His look and voice told her that he was innocent.
She burst into a passion of tears. She was not a
weeping woman, but the relief was great.
“It was such a terrible shock!” she sobbed. “When
I opened the paper and saw it I had dreadful fears.
I heard you come in last night and I guessed where
you had been. You might have done it in a moment
of passion — he might have said more than you
could bear. I did not really believe — but I was
afraid.”
“I went to see Monck last night,” he said, “but
he was not in. I waited over half an hour and then
I came away. I saw nobody; the place is deserted.”
He drew the paper from her hand and read the
account. It was headed, “Mysterious Riverside
Tragedy.”
“Mr. Basil Monck, a member of the London Stock
Exchange, was found shot dead at his residence at
Ferrybridge last night about ten o'clock. His ser-
vant, a man named Johnson, who had been with him


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 11
for some years, told our correspondent that his mas-
ter had given him the evening off and he had gone
out directly after dinner. Mr. Monck was perfectly
well and in his usual good spirits when he left the
cottage at a quarter past eight. Hearing no one
about when he came back about ten o'clock, John-
son concluded that his master was out. The place
was all in darkness. He was going round shutting
up the windows for the night when, on opening the
door of a little room called the ‘den,” he saw his
master lying on the floor. He rushed up to him and
found that his shirt was soaked with blood from a
bullet wound in his breast. He was dead.
“We understand that Mr. Monck used the cottage
as a summer residence only, going up to town most
days on business, Ferrybridge being little more than
an hour's run from Paddington. The room in which
the tragedy occurred was his own particular sanc-
tum. Here he kept his guns, fishing-rods and golf-
clubs, et cetera. And here, as a rule, he sat in the
evening when alone.
“The police are busy investigating the mystery.
There seems to be no reason to think that the un-
fortunate gentleman took his own life, but, at the
same time, not the slightest suspicion attaches to
anybody else at present. It was evidently not the
work of a tramp or thief, for nothing is missing from
the house, and nothing has been disturbed. A curi-
ous feature of the case is that the weapon with which
the deed was committed has disappeared. Death
was apparently caused by a revolver shot, but no


12 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
such weapon can be found — though Johnson states
that his master had a revolver, which was kept in a
drawer of his writing-table.”
Gilbert threw down the paper.
“It seems to be a mysterious affair,” he said. “But
I should say Monck had led a queer life — nobody
seems to know much about him — he may have had
some secret enemy.”
“I wrote to him last night,” he added, after a mo-
ment, “making an appointment for this morning.
It's an awful thing. He must have been dead when
I wrote.”
“Did you go into his room?” Lady Chelford asked
suddenly. “You said you were at the cottage over
half an hour — did you see or hear nothing?”
“Nothing. I rowed over and got in through the
glass doors in the garden. I saw nobody—heard
nothing. I didn't leave the sitting-room, except to
go out into the hall to call Monck. As nobody an-
swered, I concluded that they were all out. I didn't
go near his den.”
“Then — then,” his mother said in trembling
tones, “he may have been dead at that time — when
you were there. He may have been lying murdered
in one room while you were waiting for him in an-
other. How awful!” -
“Yes, he may,” he said slowly, his face going white.
“It is quite possible. I don’t like to think of it. Per-
haps if I had been a little sooner I might have saved
him. Johnson didn’t leave the house, the paper says,
till a quarter past eight, and I must have been there


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 13
by nine — not more than three-quarters of an hour
between, you see.”
“Yes, I see. Gilbert! Gilbert! I'm afraid. They'll
try to drag you in.”
“Mother, it's not like you to be a coward,” he
said, taking her hand. “Even if I were there when
Monck was lying murdered — if it were murder,
which we don’t know yet — surely that's no reason
why I should be accused of killing him. You are
upset, and frightening yourself for nothing.”
“I hope so, but I can't help feeling dreadfully torn
in nerves. I see all it may mean. You and he were
not the best of friends of late. Everybody knew
that he was trying to get Lilah away from you, they
may say that —” She stopped abruptly.
“That we quarreled and I killed him. Let them
say it—they can't prove it.”
“But I don't want them even to say it,” she said
piteously. “You don't know how a thing like that
clings — what harm it does. I hate to think that
gossip should be busy with your name — your
father's name.”
“Dear Mother,” he said gently, “why anticipate
evil? We have only seen a hurried account in the
newspaper. It may be only half the truth. They
know more very likely now — they may even have
discovered who did it. I will go round and ask ques-
tions. It will look strange if I don't.”
“You will be careful,” she said, clinging to his
hand. “Oh, do be careful. I have an uncomfortable
feeling that there is going to be trouble. I suppose,”


14 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
she hesitated, “I suppose it wouldn't do to keep your
visit last night a secret — to say nothing about it?”
“It wouldn't do at all,” he answered decidedly.
“If the police happened to find it out later, it would
look very suspicious. It will be far wiser to tell the
truth.”
“Perhaps you are right. Do you think anybody
saw you going to the cottage? Did anything hap-
pen that might be brought up against you? Try
and remember. You were worried and upset; you
may not have noticed some things at the time.”
“I don't think anybody saw me,” he said slowly,
“it was late, you know. I don’t think I did any-
thing —” He stopped suddenly as though his
tongue had been cut off. The telephone call flashed
through his mind. What bearing would that have
on the case? He had answered it in Monck's name?
All at once it flashed on him what that might
mean. He saw the consequences of that act — the
jealous impulse of a moment — the bewildering, far-
reaching consequences. He stood aghast. For a
minute he was almost overwhelmed. Lilah would
give evidence; Lilah would say that she had rung
Basil Monck up at half-past nine and that he had
answered. Therefore, he could not have been dead
at that hour. What a complication! What should
he do?
He walked restlessly up and down the room, his
mother watching him anxiously. “I’m going out,”
he said abruptly. “Don’t worry, I won't be longer
than I can help.” He turned to go but stopped at
the door and came back. "
\



THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 15
“Don’t speak to anybody about this — don’t see
anybody, if you can avoid it, until I return,” he said
in a low, emphatic tone. Then, before she could
ask for an explanation, he had gone.
He must see Lilah at once. He could do nothing
till he had seen her. He must tell her that when
she had rung Monck up, it was he that had answered,
— not the man she thought. The police would be
busy making inquiries. He must see her before they
got hold of her. He could not let her perjure her-
self unwittingly. At the present moment she be-
lieved she had heard Monck's voice at half-past nine
the previous night. He must undeceive her. He
must tell her the truth, whatever she thought of
him. It would be most unfortunate to have it all
come out in the papers. — He set his teeth when he
thought of it—but he had no choice.
He had not far to go. “The Dutch House,” where
the Blakes lived, meant only ten minutes' walk.
But, when he arrived, he was told that Lilah was
indisposed and could not see anybody. He sat down
at a writing-table in the hall, and, hastily, scribbled
the following note:
“Please see me at once. It is most important. I
must speak to you without delay. Don't put me off,
for your own sake and mine. — GILBERT.”
He put this in an envelope and sent it up. There
was a delay of a few minutes, then he heard a step
on the stairs. Lilah was coming down. He started
up to meet her — stopped short. Her face fright-
ened him. What could have changed it like that?
He stood staring at her without a word.


16 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Come into the garden,” she said. “We shall be
safe there.”
“You have heard — ?” he began as soon as they
got outside.
“Yes—yes,” she answered, shuddering convul-
sively. “Isn't it awful? I can’t bear to think of it,
and yet I must — everybody must. It's all over the
place, everybody's talking about it — wondering and
whispering and saying horrible things. What ghouls
people are!” She threw out her hands. “The air
seems full of blood and horrors. I can smell it—it
chokes me. I can't feel anything else — think of
anything else!” -
She flung herself down on a bench and covered her
eyes with her hands. Gilbert put his arm round
her; she was trembling from head to foot.
“Lilah, poor girl! don’t give way like this. Try
to be calm. You'll make yourself ill — Lilah, for
my sake, you must be brave!” She was struggling
for breath, fighting with the emotion that threatened
to overwhelm her, choking back the sobs that shook
her convulsively. -
“Lilah, I can't bear to see you like this! Shall I
go and fetch somebody — I must do something? It's
terrible! I hardly know you — you're so changed.
You look so strange — so ill. You've had an awful
shock. Let me send for the doctor.”
“No! — Don't!” she gasped, catching his wrist
with a hand that burnt like fire. “You mustn't go,
I won’t have it — stop here, don't move! Give me
time, I shall be better directly. For pity's sake,
don’t go, don’t let anybody see me!”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 17
“Of course not, if you don't wish it,” he said sooth-
ingly. “I was only afraid you would make yourself
ill. Keep quiet. Don't say another word until you
feel better. Nobody shall bother you.”
But even as he made the promise Gilbert looked
round anxiously. At that very moment the messen-
gers of justice might be at the door, eager to see and
find out all they could. The girl clung to him, a
pitiable trembling figure, hardly knowing what she
did. Instinctively she turned to him for help and
protection. But though he comforted her as best
be could until she had regained a measure of com-
posure, there was restraint in his voice and manner;
his words of endearment were few. He could not
but remember how much had come between them
since they last met; that Basil Monck's death was
not the only mystery awaiting explanation.
Presently she looked up, quiet at last from sheer
exhaustion. A lull comes in a storm of emotion,
however fierce, when mind and body are worn out.
Her lover looked at her with tender, pitying eyes.
What a wreck she was! There seemed there little
likeness of the Lilah Blake he had known up to
now — Lilah, with her delicate, patrician beauty,
her pride, her reserve — even with him — her dainty,
fastidious ways. He could hardly realise that this
broken-down girl, with her hair and dress in disorder,
could be his calm, self-contained, fastidious fiancée.
“You are better now,” he said. “Can you listen
to me? There is something I must tell you.”
“Can't you leave me in quiet for a little while?”
she asked wearily.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 19
“Till yesterday?” It came more like a breath
than a whisper. As she looked at him he saw the
fear and horror grow in her face. She seemed to
hang on his words.
“Till yesterday. Then I had to listen. I was driven
out of my fool's paradise; I was forced to see and
understand. My mother warned me that my honor
was in danger, that our friends wondered at my ap-
parent indifference. She had spared me as long as
she could.”
“Your mother never liked me,” she said with Sud-
den anger.
“I could not doubt the truth of what she said,” he
went on, as though she had not spoken, “it was all
too plain, and my own heart confirmed it. I had
known for some time that there was something
amiss — something wanting. You had never,” his
voice grew a little bitter, “spoilt me with kindness,
but lately you seemed to avoid me — you shrank
from being alone with me. I noticed the difference
first when I came back from Paris. I asked you if
anything was the matter, if unconsciously I had
offended you. But you said no — it was all my
fancy. So I said no more. .
“Lilah, that was not true then, it is still less true
now. There has been something seriously wrong
for some time. I want to know what it is.”
“No! — No!” she cried. “You are mistaken —
what should be wrong? Why do you torture me?
Don't you think I have had enough for to-day?”
“That is just it. Why should you be in such a


20 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
state of misery, almost collapse, unless this man were
more to you than a mere friend? Why should you
regret him so passionately? Was he trying to get
you away from me, and — and were you willing to
go?”
“No! — No!” she cried again, but it was a me-
chanical cry. She rocked herself to and fro in acute
distress, hardly knowing what she did.
“I want to talk it over quietly. I must know the
truth, I have been deceived too long, but I want to
spare you as much as possible. You can’t think I
want to be hard on you — you. . . .” His voice
broke. “You must know how much I care — have
always cared. I want to think of you first, to do
what is best and kindest for you.”
“You have always been kind,” she said wearily,
“far more than I deserve.”
“Have I? What does that mean? How could I
do too much for you — if you loved me? Doesn’t it
all turn on that? . . . Lilah, don't you care any
more? Tell me the truth at last.”
“Why do you torture me?” she said again. “Can't
you spare me for a day at least? Give me time to
recover a little. I hardly know what I am doing.”
“No, we'll have the truth now at all costs. There
is danger in delay, more danger than you know. I
can’t risk it. Things must be cleared up while we
have the chance. Tell me plainly. Are you tired
of me? Would you like your freedom?”
“No! oh no!” She turned round swiftly, catch-
ing hold of him with both hands. “Gilbert, Gilbert,


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 21
don’t throw me over — for pity's sake, don't! I have
nobody but you. Dn't give me up . . . Gilbert!”
It was the cry of a child—piteous, frightened, ap-
pealing. He could not resist it.
“Dear, you know I would do anything for you,
but I don't understand. Won't you trust me?”
“What do you want me to say? I'm so tired.
Won’t it do another day?”
“Just tell me — did you care for him — Monck?
Was it that that came between us? Don't be afraid;
Ishan’t blame you half as much as I blame him. He
was a clever, unscrupulous man. Before you were
aware he might have got a hold on you.”
“I’ll tell you the truth,” she said slowly. “He fas-
cinated me. You know how strong he was — what
force and energy he had. I didn't give way at once,
believe me, I didn't. But he seemed to know me so
well, he understood all my weaknesses. I don’t know
how it came about; I can't explain, but — but I was
never as good as you thought, and he brought out
all that was bad in me. I knew how mad and foolish
I was, that he wasn't to be trusted, that no good
could come of it—and no good has!” passionately,
“only horror and misery. He has spoilt my life. I
shall never be able to forget; I shall never be happy
again!”
“Hush, don't say that,” he said gently. “I am
glad you have told me, I think I understand. We
shall get along better in future. Of course you are
upset now, but thank God, nothing has happened
that cannot be forgotten and forgiven.” He leant


CHAPTER THREE
THE LOST LETTER
LILAH soon recovered consciousness, but she was
too exhausted to talk any more just then, and Gilbert
was forced to leave without having touched on the
most important object of his visit — the telephone
call. But he was feeling happier than when he went.
He understood Lilah better; the future looked
brighter. With time and a little patience all might
yet be well, he told himself.
It was as he had guessed. Monck, clever and un-
scrupulous, had used his undoubted attractions to
get an influence over her, either out of vanity or
from some deeper feeling. Gilbert was inclined to
think it had not gone beyond amusement with the
man, but Lilah must have cared more, or why should
she be so terribly upset at his death?
“I’ll win her back,” he said, his face hardening.
“She didn’t want me to give her up. She clung to
me for help and comfort, poor child! She said she
never trusted him. It was just a mad infatuation,
which she's sorry for now.”
He was on his way home when he suddenly
thought of the letter he had written to Monck the
night before. He wished he could get it back. If
23


24 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
possible, he wanted to keep Lilah's name out of
the papers; he would not have it bracketed with
Monck's. If the letter were found by the police he
would have to explain publicly what he meant by
it, what the matter of “some importance” was that
he wanted to discuss with Monck.
He turned round and walked quickly in the direc-
tion of Willow Cottage. Some loafers from the vil-
lage were hanging about outside to see and hear
all they could, but most of them had reluctantly
taken their departure, being called away by their
various duties. Trains to Ferrybridge were few and
far between, so that the reporters and London po-
lice had not had time to arrive yet. It was before
the day of the universal use of motorcars. The vil-
lage constable stood at the garden gate keeping
guard.
“Good morning, Fletcher,” Gilbert said, nodding
to him. “This is a dreadful affair. I didn't hear of
it till this morning, but I suppose you have been here
all night.” -
“Yes, sir,” importantly, “me and Dr. Mason was
called up at once. Johnson came running down to
me in a rare fright, not much wonder, poor chap. It
was a 'orrible sight — gave me a fair turn, I must
say. We're not used to such things down here, sir,
as you know.”
“No, indeed, I have never known anything like
it before. As a rule, we have nothing worse than
Bob Tucker getting drunk and thrashing his wife, or
a tramp setting fire to a haystack. By-the-way, do


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 25
.
you think a tramp could have had anything to do
with this?” nodding at the cottage.
“I don’t fancy so, sir,” the constable said, shaking
his head wisely. “It doesn't strike me that way,
though of course, I couldn't say for certain.” From
his tone, it might have been thought that Fletcher
had spent his best years unravelling mysterious
cases. “You see, nothing was stolen, and tramps are
not so handy with pistols in a general way.”
“No, that's true. I see you’ve thought it out.
You'll be able to help the London police when they
come down. I suppose they're sending somebody
from Scotland Yard? By-the-way, how is Johnson?
I should like to speak to him a minute if I can. I
expect he's very much upset.”
“I’ll call him out, sir. It'll do him good to see
you — you knowing the poor gentleman that's gone
so well. As to the London police,” puffing out his
rosy cheeks, “I can't say I think so much of 'em
myself. Look at all the murders they 'ave of their
own which don’t never get found out.”
“No, don't call him,” Gilbert interrupted. “Let
me go inside for a minute, we shan’t attract so much
attention. All the gossips in the place seem to have
congregated here.”
“Well, as it's you, sir,” Fletcher said, hesitating,
“I’ll stretch a point. Strictly speaking, I oughtn't
to let anybody in, but there can't be any harm in
your just stepping inside. It's not as if you was a
stranger.”
Gilbert looked eagerly round as soon as he got


26 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
inside. His first thought was for the letter-box. In
the general horror and confusion, the letters might
have been dropped in, as usual, and left there. So
much the better; then his own would not have been
noticed. But the first glance showed him that the
box was empty. His next look was for the hall-
table where the letters were generally placed. Two
or three lay scattered there, as though they had been
thrown down in a hurry. He took a quick step for-
ward and looked them over in a flash, but what he
wanted was not there. He snatched them up, threw
them down again, moved the few odds and ends
about that lay on the table with hasty impatient
fingers—it was all of no use. His letter was not to
be found. His lips tightened and he stood still with
frowning brows. What could have become of it?
“Good morning, sir,” a voice said behind him,
and he turned round with a start.
“Oh, is that you, Johnson? I was wondering
where you were. Fletcher said I might come in and
speak to you for a moment. I wanted to tell you
how shocked and grieved I am. It seems too ter-
rible; you must feel it very much, having been with
him so long.”
“Yes, sir, that's true, sir. It's a dreadful thing, as
you say. You know what a fine, upstanding gen-
tleman he was, sir. You wouldn't think he'd have
gone down like that without a struggle, would you?
When I came in and found him, I just stood and
stared. I couldn't believe my eyes.”
“I don’t wonder. He must have been taken by


28 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
has something to do with the Record, sir — at least,
so I’ve heard. He was round here last night, and
no doubt he did it. It'd be a bit of luck for him.”
“Have you any idea, any suspicion as to how it
happened — who could have done it? It seems to
be quite a mystery so far.” Johnson shook his
head.
“Not the least, sir. But then, though I’ve lived
with Mr. Monck over six years, I didn't know much
about him. What I mean is, he kept himself to him-
self; he didn't talk to you like some gentlemen do.
ſ don’t suppose I could tell you much more than the
old woman from the village who comes to clean up
every day.”
“Mr. Monck must have thought a good deal of
you if he didn't say so. It isn't every day one gets
such a good all-round man as you. I remember
hearing him say nobody could grill a chop or a steak,
like you, and nobody was a better valet.”
Johnson's eyes flickered, but with what feeling it
would have been difficult to guess.
“Of course it's early to speak of such things yet,
but I wondered if you would come to me presently
when you are free? My man is not very efficient
and he is under notice to leave. I should be glad to
have you.”
“It's very kind of you, sir. May I think it over? I
can't rightly think out anything now. It seems to
me,” he looked round slowly, and Gilbert shivered
without knowing why, “I still belong to him. I
can’t realise that he's dead and gone.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 29
“Of course — of course,” hastily, “there's plenty
of time, I ought not to have spoken of it yet. It
was thoughtless of me. I forgot how long you have
been together. It will come hard on you to put
anybody in his place.”
“In his place?” Johnson waited a moment. “I
could never do that, sir — never. He was my mas-
ter for six years, most of my life it seems now. I've
half forgotten what happened before, or what I
used to be. He's been the beginning and the end so
long, you see. I can't realise my life without him.”
Gilbert nodded sympathetically.
“I shall feel better when I can get away from
here, the place is haunted for me. I seem to see him
everywhere. Why,” with a queer laugh, “more
than once I’ve started up, thinking I heard him call.
He couldn’t bear to be kept waiting.”
“That's natural enough,” soothingly, “it’ll pass
over. As soon as things are settled you must have
a thorough change. Go right away. Your nerves
are upset. Anybody's would be in your place. You
mustn't worry; it'll all come right.” -
The man drew a long breath. “I hope so, sir—
- I hope so.”
Gilbert went away, his sympathy for Johnson
pushing the matter of his own letter a little into the
background. But as he walked home, he felt more
than a little worried. What could have become of
his letter?—Who could have taken it? Not the
police, certainly, or the other letters would have been
taken too. But who then? Gilbert asked himself


30 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
this question over and over again without finding a
satisfactory answer. He could not question John-
son — he could not question anybody. He would
betray himself if he did. All he could do was to
keep silence for the present, and see what happened.
Somebody called him by name, and he looked up
to find a good-looking man in flannels blocking his
way.
“Hallo!” he called. “You nearly ran over me.”
Gilbert stopped, and his face cleared a little.
“Of course you've heard?” he said. “Isn't it awful,
like some ghastly nightmare. When you look round
at all this,” throwing out his hand, “you can’t
imagine it could happen here.”
“No,” the other agreed, following his eyes, “it’s not
a suitable background for a tragedy. It's too idyllic
too peaceful, too innocent. You wonder what
brought murder here,” his voice dropped on the
word, “stalking amongst the flowers. It's hard to
realise.”
“You can realise it better over there,” nodding
his head backwards. “There's tragedy there. The
cottage — Johnson — the air's full of it. It's curious
how a whole place can take its tone from such a
thing. You couldn't go in and not know that some-
thing was wrong.”
“You’ve seen Johnson?”
“Yes, for a few minutes. I felt sorry for the man.
It's a ghastly business, and he was the first to find
him.” Richard Fenchurch nodded.
“So I understand. But I suppose it's more shock


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 31
and horror with him than anything else, he can't be
deeply grieved. Monck wasn't an easy master. He
couldn't have been really attached to him.”
“I think he was, I never saw a man more upset.
He's been with him over six years. Why should he
have stayed so long unless he were happy and com-
fortable? If you had seen and heard him you
wouldn't doubt.” Fenchurch shrugged his shoul-
ders.
“Monck may have been a good master in his way,
I daresay he was. He was clever enough to know
that it pays to treat your servants well, but as to
winning affection from them — well!” with a laugh,
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted it or known what
to do with it.” Gilbert looked a little shocked.
“Oh yes, I know, ‘de mortuis' etc. A very proper
saying in its way, but it's out of place here. He
himself would have been the first to laugh at it. I
had no reason to love him living, and I’m not going
to talk platitudes about him dead. Perhaps some
day I shall forgive him, but I can't yet.”
“Do you think it's wise to talk like that? Of
course I'm safe enough, but — ”
“My dear chap, everybody knows that he nearly
ruined me — that there was no love lost between
us. Why should I pretend otherwise? What good
would it do? • Better be honest and above-board.
As soon as the London police come down, they'll
find out everything. I'm not afraid. There's a
long way between even hate and murder.”
“Of course! I wasn't thinking of such a thing,”


32 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY º
Fºr
Gilbert exclaimed. “How could you suggest it? It
was only that, perhaps, we all ought to be careful.
Nobody knows what may happen. It's all so dark
— so involved. Have you any theory?”
“As to who did it? No. But I should be in-
clined to say its some act of retribution. He must
have made plenty of enemies at one time and an-
other, especially when he was fighting his way up. I
know he was in pretty low water at one time. He
could never have thought of anybody but himself,
it wasn't in him. He may have driven somebody
just a bit too far.”
“And yet he was fairly popular. He was liked
socially.”
“That kind of man often is, especially by women.”
Gilbert's face changed involuntarily, and Fenchurch,
who had spoken without thinking, hurried on. “He
was amusing and good-natured, so long as it didn’t
interfere with his own comfort, and there's no doubt
he was handsome enough, though I didn't admire
him myself. Too black for my taste. A touch of
the tar-brush, I should say.
“Perhaps that helped to set my teeth on edge,”
he went on after a moment, “though he could be a
charming companion when he liked. I never knew
a man talk better. He could make you forget the
things you didn’t like in him — queer things which
I put down to the drop of black blood. He could
persuade you against your better reason.”
“What was it you didn't like in him?” Gilbert
asked. They had walked on together.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 33
“Well, his inordinate vanity, for one thing
— that's a negro trait. He was absurdly vain for a
clever man. Then his lack of truth and honor, I
don't think he ever told the truth if he could help
it. You know we were very intimate for a time.
He professed to be my friend, and look how he
treated me! Wheedled nearly all my money out of
me with his plausible tongue, and lost it — so he
said — but I more than half suspect it reached his
own pocket eventually. Of course I was a fool to
let him have it; I don't deserve any sympathy.”
“I suppose you could never prove anything?”
“Of course not,” with a laugh. “Trust him! He
knew just how far he could go, I should say he had
studied the shady side of the law pretty closely. Then
I heartily disliked his manner towards women,
though there was nothing definite you could take
hold of. That, again, suggested the ‘black' ancestor.
You may think I am prejudiced, but I believe there
is a good deal in color and I have no liking for my
black or yellow brother.”
“Nor I. But Monck's touch of the tar-brush — if
he had it — was rather an asset to him as far as
appearance went. It made him handsome in a dark,
foreign way, which most women found very attrac-
tive. Though there were exceptions — my mother
was one of them. I agree with you about his
manner. I —” Gilbert's voice throbbed suddenly,
and he went a little white, “I should have had great
satisfaction in knocking him down more than once.”
Fenchurch nodded.


34 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“It was too suggestive of the harem or a Kaffir
kraal. Strange that the shadow of the harem should
still rest on the woman of to-day, but, undoubtedly,
it does, and on some of the most refined — the most
highly civilized. I suppose we are none of us far re-
moved from our original state. The beat of a drum,
the thick of a fight — and we go back to the sources
whence we came.”
It was Gilbert's turn to agree. He had been sur-
prised at himself once or twice of late; at the strain
it had been to preserve the self-control that modern
society demands.
“But, talking of Monck,” Fenchurch went on,
“one thing struck me in the report. You may re-
member it said that he had sent Johnson out, given
him the evening off. Did that mean anything?
Was he expecting somebody, and did he want him
out of the way? If so, that might be a clue.”
“Yes,” slowly, “there may be something in it.
But, so far, there seems nothing to show that any-
body was with Monck last night.”
“Wait till we get a man down from town. What
did you expect Fletcher to find out? Fancy his
clumsy fingers fumbling with the delicate threads of
such a mystery!”
“Then you think it is going to be a complicated
affair?” Gilbert would rather it had all been settled
as simply and quietly as possible. “Why shouldn't
it have been an accident? He might have been
cleaning the weapon and forgotten it was loaded?
Such things often happen.” Fenchurch rejected the
suggestion with something like scorn.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY &
“Not with a man like Monck,” he said. “He
didn't make mistakes of that sort. He took too good
care of himself.” Gilbert remembered that Johnson
had said much about the same thing.
“Well, I must be off. So long! I suppose we shall
know something before night unless the police are
more discreet than usual. It's a horrid thing to
happen in our midst. Almost as out of place,” with
rather a forced laugh, “as the serpent must have been
in the Garden of Eden. I’m sorry he ever came
here.”
“And I,” Gilbert echoed with all his heart.


CHAPTER FOUR
“YOU AND I WILL REMEMBER”
THE London detective was more than a little an-
noyed when he arrived, to find that the Cottage had
not been locked up immediately after the tragedy,
so that any clue might have been preserved. Too
many people had been in and out for the guilty per-
son to be easily traced, unless he had left some ob-
viously incriminating evidence behind him. It was
in vain that Fletcher assured his colleague that he
had been first on the spot; that he had searched
everywhere and found nothing; he was met by a con-
temptuous question as to finger-prints and other
new-fangled notions.
“It’s been hopelessly bungled,” the London man
said, looking round angrily. “You say only one or
two have been in. You might as well have half a
hundred. Why, even his room—the room where it
happened — wasn't locked up! I call it criminal
carelessness.”
“Nobody would want to go there,” Fletcher pro-
tested, stoutly. “They'd rather run a mile the other
way. It gave me a fair turn. Of course I had to
go in in the execution of my duty, likewise the doc-
tor and —” But the inspector had turned away
impatiently, and was not even pretending to listen.
36


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 37
Johnson had taken a room in the village, and the
pretty white bungalow was left in the hands of the
police. It looked too pretty a toy to have such grim
guardians, though already it had changed its char-
acter and wore an air of secrecy and aloofness. There
were no more gay voices talking and laughing, no
pretty frocks on the lawn, no boats tied up at the
landing-stage. What visitors there were came to
peer and to whisper, and were kept at a certain dis-
tance.
Johnson had gone for a stroll in the evening, being
too restless to stop still long anywhere. He had
passed the Dutch House, which stood by itself out-
side the village, when he heard footsteps coming up
quickly behind him. It was getting dark, the quiet
country road was almost deserted, and he wondered
who it was. Turning sharply, he saw Lilah Blake.
She had thrown a long dark cloak over her light
dress, and was in the act of drawing the hood over
her head as though she did not want to be recognised.
Johnson stopped in some surprise.
“I was in the garden and saw you go past,” she
said a little breathlessly. “I hurried out after you.”
He waited with an air of respectful attention.
“I want to speak to you. I think I should have
sent for you if I hadn't seen you just now. Perhaps
you can help me; at any rate it will be a relief to
talk to somebody who understands, who feels some-
thing of what I feel.” She twisted her hands in
her cloak and waited a moment.
She turned into a little lane, and he followed her.


38. THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“People might wonder if they saw us talking to-
gether,” she said, “everybody seems to be wondering
and suspecting — the air's full of it. I’ve shut my-
self up all day, but I can feel it all the same. I
hadn't the courage to go out and meet their curious
eyes. But I can imagine what they are saying—
the things they whisper under their breath. Have
you heard them?”
“I have heard nothing,” he said.
“They wouldn't pity me — I don’t deserve it—
they would have no sympathy for me, and yet,” she
threw out her hands, “God knows I want help and
pity badly enough. I’ve been mad and foolish. I
wouldn’t think of danger, and now this has hap-
pened. . . . You know what friends we were; you
don’t wonder that I am upset.”
“It is quite natural,” he replied.
“He trusted you —” she looked at him, thinking
for a moment that he had spoken, “you were not
an ordinary servant, I always knew that. That is
why I can talk to you like this. You are well edu-
cated, altogether superior to your position.” She
was speaking in a quick, jerky way. It was evident
that she was laboring under some strong excitement.
“I make no claim to anything better,” he said.
“I haven’t told anybody yet,” she went on, “that
I telephoned to Mr. Monck last night. I had asked
him to come round for some music after dinner, and
I wondered why he didn't come. That must have
been about half-past nine, and — and,” she stopped
and shuddered convulsively, “he was dead when


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 39
you got back at ten o'clock. Doesn't it seem too
awful?”
He turned round on her sharply, his face changing.
“You spoke to Mr. Monck as late as half-past
nine!” he exclaimed. His voice seemed to have
caught some of the excitement of hers. “Did he
answer? — was it all right?”
“Yes, he answered, but, just as I was going to
speak to him, the receiver fell out of my hand and
the telephone fell to the floor. By the time I had
picked it up we were cut off; he had gone. I didn't
think it worth while to ring him up again, as the
matter was of no importance. How I wish I had
now!” -
“I don't know that it would have done any good.
But it's curious all the same. Shows how important
a trifle may be. Anyway, that narrows the time
down to half an hour, as near as we can say.”
She nodded.
“I should think that would mean something to the
lawyers. It looks as if the person who did it had
come prepared, with his mind made up. There
wasn't much time for quarrelling. Did you say you
hadn't told anybody yet, miss?”
“No, I’ve only seen Sir Gilbert, and I was too up-
set to say much then — it was all too fresh. I didn’t
tell my father, because I couldn't bear to talk about
it; he would have asked so many questions. It's
only a ‘case' to him. I spoke of it first to you be-
cause I wondered if you knew — if you were there.”
“If I were there?” he repeated, looking at her


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 41
*
“I suppose so,” she said, staring down the empty
road. “There will be no chance of peace till that's
over— or for many a long day after,” she added
under her breath. Then, before he could answer,
she was talking of something else.
“Why shouldn't it have been an accident?” she
said. “Why has nobody thought of that?”
“Do you think it likely, miss? You knew my
master pretty well; do you think he was the kind of
gentleman to take his own life?”
“No,” she said slowly, “no, perhaps not.”
“Besides, if he did — where's the weapon? That's
the best answer of all, I think. With a wound like
that, he couldn't have gone far — not far enough to
hide it where it wouldn't have been found before
this. I should say he would scarcely have had time
to cry out.” -
“One minute alive, and the next dead,” she said
in a whispering voice, “ — only a step. It seems im-
possible that they can be so close together — that
other world and this — and that you can see noth-
ing, hear nothing, know nothing.”
Johnson made no answer, and, for a minute, they
walked on in silence. Then Lilah stopped. “I was
forgetting — I must go back,” she said. “It’s getting
late.” She looked round half furtively, but there
was nobody to be seen. “I forgot the time,” she
said, as though in explanation, “I forget everything
to-day. It's a queer feeling,” with the ghost of a
laugh, “I hardly know myself, I seem to be looking
on and seeing somebody quite different from the


42 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
usual me. I feel as though I were watching a
stranger. I don't quite know what she is going to
do next.”
“You want rest,” he said – “rest and sleep. I
want it, too. Don't talk any more to-night. Go
straight to bed.”
“I will,” she answered, speaking almost like a
child. “I’m tired — tired to death. I think I could
sleep now; I feel easier; this talk has done me good.”
It did not strike either of them as strange that they
should be talking like this, although up to this time
they had never exchanged more than the usual
formal phrases. The ghastly circumstances had
thrown everything out of gear, dragged them out of
the usual routine, and made them simply man and
woman, drawn together by a tragedy that affected
both.
As they were walking back to the Dutch House,
Johnson said in a hesitating tone:
“There's one thing, miss, you ought to know, if
you don’t know it already, otherwise it might come
as a bit of a shock. It's been kept a secret, you see,
but it's bound to come out at the inquest, so I'm not
betraying any confidence in telling you.”
“What is that?” she asked. But her tone was
scarcely curious. Perhaps she had no strength left
for any : 'esh emotion. “What are you talking
about?”
“About my master—Mr. Monck. He passed as a
bachelor, here and elsewhere, too, for the matter of
that. I don't think half a dozen people knew he had


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 43
been married; certainly nobody did down here as
far as I’m aware. It happened a good many years
ago. Of course it wouldn't concern you, miss,
but — ”
“It's no secret to me,” she said. “I know.” For
a moment there was silence.
“Ah, I thought he might have told you, Miss;
you and he being such friends, though he didn't care
to talk much about his affairs as a rule. It'll be a
shock for her, poor thing, when she sees it in the
papers.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Not, of course, that it would be anything more
— not grief or regret, I mean, there couldn't be any-
thing of that sort; they had been nothing to one an-
other for so long. But it would be a terrible shock
— the last thing she or anybody else would think of
to happen to him.”
“I don't know that I should have said exactly that
myself,” she replied. “He was a man of strong per-
sonality—ruthless, perhaps, too hard and domi-
nating and self-centered to be generally popular. He
would have enemies. I admired him — we were
friends — but I could see his faults.”
“You think he was cruel and selfish?”
“I should think he could be,” she answered, after
a moment. “But I suppose those strong characters
often are, or appear to be. Perhaps,” there seemed
a touch of bitterness in her tone, “it is because they
know so well what they want, and never lose sight
of it, that they generally get it.”
-


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 45
“I had lived with him constantly for over six
years — a long time. I had done more for him
than most servants do for their masters. He
wouldn't have anybody else near him. I’ve knocked
about a good bit, and, fortunately, I can turn my
hand to most things.”
“And I’ve only known him about six months —
but that seems a long time too. . . . Did you know
Mrs. Monck — had you ever met her?”
“Only once, when Mr. Monck sent, me on some
little matter of business that had cropped up un-
expectedly.”
“Did — what is she like?”
“Dark — rather handsome, looks a lady every inch
of her, but you can see she's had trouble. A little
cold and hard, perhaps, wrapped up in pride, but
of course she wouldn’t be disposed to talk to me.
Never said an unnecessary word.”
“Perhaps she was unsympathetic — didn't under-
stand him. He wouldn't get on with a cold, hard
woman. It may have been more than half her
fault.”
“Of course you may be right, miss. It's not for
me to say.”
“And was she all he had belonging to him? It
seems sad. But she is hardly likely to grieve very
much. Was there nobody else?”
“His mother — old Mrs. Monck. She was de-
voted to him and he to her in his way. We always
stayed with her when we were in London. There
was no display of affection between them; they were


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 47
*
She stopped at the gate of the Dutch House, and,
for the first time, he saw her face plainly. It looked
ghastly in the moonlight; her youth and beauty
were tarnished; the grey-green eyes had a haunted
look. Altogether she was a tragic figure. Johnson
said nothing. He had no consolation to offer. The
high hedge round the garden was cut into curious
designs representing animals or birds. Just above
the gate was a long-bodied, stealthy looking crea-
ture, with head thrust forward, a mythical animal,
no doubt, due to the imagination of the designer,
but Johnson had a curious fancy that it was listen-
ing. The moon played strange tricks with the queer
creatures, making them look almost lifelike.
“You and I will be among those who remember,”
she said, as she opened the gate. “Am I not right?
He meant a good deal to you, as to me.”
“He meant a very great deal to me,” he returned,
emphatically. “Nobody, I venture to say, will re-
member him longer than I shall.”
And so they parted.


CHAPTER FIVE
“The moving finger writes, and having writ,
moves on.”
“I Don't believe it!” Lilah said sharply. “It’s im-
possible — I don’t believe it!”
“It's true, perfectly true, you must believe it.
Why should I lie to you? I was in an angry, jealous
mood and when I heard your voice calling, “Basil,'
I thought I would hear what you had to say — why
you called him by his name. You never did before
me.”
“It was Basil's voice, I could swear to it! I can’t
be mistaken, I know I’m right. It's no use saying
any more.”
“Lilah, be reasonable. Why should I say I was
there if I were not? It's against my own interests.
It would be much better for me if I had never gone.
People may talk; they know we were not too
friendly.”
She looked at him in sudden fear.
“But I can’t hide it, it's better to own up. The
police are sure to find out if I don’t, and then it
would look much worse. No doubt,” a little bit-
terly, “all the village knew that we were not on good
terms; they'll hear that readily enough.”
48


50 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
hint of tears in her voice now. “I shall say it was
Basil, and who should know if I don't? They'll be-
lieve me.” He looked at her in despair.
What did it all mean?
Even the face he thought he knew so well seemed
curiously unfamiliar. All its softness had gone. It
was beautiful still, but not with the untroubled,
girlish beauty he had loved. It was the face of a
woman now, and of a woman with possibilities of
which he had never dreamed. She had been his
ideal of dainty virginal girlhood. Her appearance
had lent itself to such a conception, her skin was so
white, her hair a pale gold. She had never roughened
her hands nor scorched her face. She had no love of
games. If she had always held him at a little dis-
tance — well! that did not lessen her charm; it was
part of the delicate pride to which he did homage.
But now — he felt that he had lost his bearings;
he had been cut adrift.
“You must say what you will,” he said dully. “I
can’t stop you. I’ve told you what really happened.
I can do no more. It is your word against mine;
they must believe which they please.” -
“But if I swear that I spoke to Basil, you won’t
contradict me — there is no need for you to say any-
thing. Nobody knows you went to the cottage, so
why should you speak of it? Let it rest. Believe
me, it is far wiser, and better. Listen to me, Gil-
bert, don't turn away — you must listen. . . . Keep
quiet. Say nothing — for my sake if not for your
own.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 51
“What harm could my speaking do you?”
“Don’t you see?” impatiently. “Have you for-
gotten? Hasn’t there been gossip enough already?
If you tell the police what you have told me, every-
body will know that you were angry with Basil on
my account — that you went round that night ready
to quarrel with him. Don't you see the harm it will
do?”
“Then you really think I went?”
“I don’t know what to think. I would swear to
Basil's voice. Never mind which of us is right, let
me tell my story. You need say nothing, so your
conscience can be quite easy.” He smiled grimly.
“I am to look on and say nothing— to coun-
tenance a lie even if I don't tell it?”
“You are very unkind. Why shouldn't I be right
as well as you? You may have answered another
ring, how do I know? You may have mistaken
somebody else's voice for mine.”
“Is it likely?”
“As likely as that I should mistake Basil's.” He
turned on her hotly.
“So the circumstances are the same, are they?” he
cried. “I did not know that.”
“Oh, don't let us quarrel,” she said wearily, “I’m
so tired of it all. Who will help me if you don't?”
“I’d do anything in the world for you, you know
that. Only,” his voice broke, “you make it very
hard. I’ve had a rough time lately, one way and
another.”
“I know — I know; I don't deserve any help or


* *
Tr
52 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
kindness; I've treated you very badly. But if you ||
be good to me now I shall never forget it. I've been
a fool — such a poor weak fool, caught by a few
showy tricks; but give me another chance, Gilbert;
don’t throw me over.” The white, quivering face
was close to his own; he saw her eyes through a mist
of tears.
“A hundred, if you like!” he said passionately;
“you come first; nothing else matters much so long
as you are safe. What do you want me to do?”
“Say nothing of your visit to the cottage that
night. Don't let a word get out. You have only
to warn your mother; she will do anything for you.
I shall say that I telephoned to Mr. Monck, that he
answered, that I was about to ask him why he hadn't
come round when the telephone fell down and I
heard no more. That is all. I shall say as little as
possible. I only want to save my good name — to
give the gossips nothing more to tear to pieces.”
“Very well. I will say nothing as long as there
is no danger to anybody else.”
“What do you mean?” And the fear that had
gone for a minute flashed back. -
“Well, according to your story, Monck spoke to
you about 9.30. That means that his death could
not have occurred till later. Now I was at the cot-
tage at nine o'clock and saw nobody. He may have
been already dead then you see; time may be of
great importance in a case like this.”
She caught his arm in a sudden panic.
“Hush!” she said, “be careful; the walls may


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 53
hear. You must never say that again. They might
accuse you — oh! Gilbert, Gilbert!”
“Ah!” he drew his breath hard, “you do care a
little then? You're not thinking only of your good
name—though I wouldn’t have a speck on that —
you're thinking of me too.” He caught her to him
and held her close.
“Of course I care, you're all I have left. They
could do you far more harm than they could me. If
they knew you were there then, and why you went,
they might say —” She stopped with a shudder.
“Of course I know it's absurd—that you couldn't
do such a thing, however angry he made you — and
he had a bitter tongue—but it might not be so
easy to convince other people. We won't run the
risk.”
“Very well,” he said. “I have agreed, though I
don’t think it is wise. But if suspicion should fall
on anybody, and the time of death be called in ques-
tion, then I must speak out. I must tell what I
know. It might be of the utmost importance — a
question of life or death.”
“Why shouldn't he have been alive when you
called? He may have been shut up in his own room,
and not inclined to see you.”
“He may, of course, but, somehow, I don't think
he was. I don't think he would have hidden away
from me. Whatever else he was, I shouldn't say he
was a coward.”
“You allow him one redeeming point, then? It's
curious, isn't it, when he was alive we all admired


54 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
him and followed him; or, if we didn't admire, at
least we were silent. Nobody stood up and defied
him. Now he is dead we are ready to pick holes in
him. Why did we let him have his own way so
long?”
“Nobody wants to quarrel; it's awkward in a place
like this, where everybody knows everybody else,
and you are always meeting.”
“Was it only that? I put something down to his
dominating personality. When he was alive, he was
strong enough to carry us along with him; now he Y
dead, we turn on him like jackals.”
“Lilah! I thought you were sorry — that you
had found him out, that — ”
“So I have. I don't believe in him. I wonder if
I ever did? But he has not been dead long enough
for his influence to have quite gone. He doesn't
seem very far away yet. I wonder if it's true that
anybody who has died suddenly in the midst of life
keeps close to his old haunts for a little while — that
the earth still claims him? It seems reasonable.”
“Why think of such things? Why not make up
your mind to have done with the past?”
“It isn't so easy; ghosts have strong hands, you
know, and they drag me back. I think of him, in his
perfect health and strength, good, you would have
said, for many a year, and then —” She threw out
her hand, as though pushing something back, “and
then I see him lying dead — dead.” She shuddered
violently. “Do you remember his laugh — the
laugh of a boy? And his eyes, so keen and piercing;


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 55
bird's eyes, I used to call them — they were so
bright and hard. They never softened or changed.
You might have cried your heart out, but I don't
think one tear would have dimmed their brightness.”
“Stop! for God's sake,” he exclaimed. “I’ve had
about as much as I can stand. Let him go — stop
talking about him! You recall his looks, his eyes,
as though you loved to dwell on them. Have you no
pity? — no —” He bit off the last word.
“No shame, you were going to say.” She laughed
*little. “My dear Gilbert, you take things too seri-
ously. If I’m a little hysterical you must forgive me.
It's been trying for the nerves, all this. Perhaps it
will make your mind easier if I tell you that Mr.
Monck was a married man.”
“What did you say? — Monck married? Do you
know what you are saying?”
“Yes; are you very much surprised? I was too
at first. He hadn’t the look of a married man, had
he?”
“But — but when did you know? I don’t under-
stand, why was it all kept such a secret? What does
it mean?” She shrugged her shoulders.
“The usual thing, I suppose — that it was not a
happy marriage. Perhaps he thought it was easier
to say nothing about it; it saved him the trouble of
explanations. It happened quite a long time ago, I
believe.”
“I was never more surprised, and yet I don't know
why I should be. It was like him in a way. Al-
though he seemed so frank and open, he wasn't


56 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
really, it was all on the surface. But he had no right
to pass as a bachelor when he wasn't free; he came
amongst us under false pretences.”
“Yes, that's true, but I don't suppose he thought
of that. He did as he liked.”
“It doesn't improve my opinion of him. It was
a caddish thing to do — it might have made trouble.
Why, at one time I thought Peggy Fenchurch was
beginning to take an interest in him, and I was
sorry. He wasn't good enough for her.”
“Peggy Fenchurch?” She laughed. “Oh, I think
you must be mistaken. Her brother wouldn’t have
allowed that for a moment.”
“I mean before the fuss over that wretched mine.
You see, it's something more than prejudice on my
part. Dick didn't like Monck any better than I
did.”
“Not after he lost his money; he was friendly
enough with him before. But I'm not standing up
for Mr. Monck. He made enemies more easily than
friends.” º
“I wonder why his wife left him?”
“You take it for granted that she did. I daresay
you are right. He wouldn't have been an easy man
to live with. ‘Incompatibility of temperament,' I
should say. He was all for the world, and she ap-
pears to be something of a recluse.”
“Do you know her?” in astonishment. “It seems
so extraordinary. Why have you never said any-
thing before?” -
“I have not known about it very long, and it was


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 57
told to me more or less in confidence. But of course
it'll all come out at the inquiry to-morrow, so there
is no use in keeping it a secret any longer.”
“If he had been free — ” he began and stopped.
“Lilah, you know what is worrying me — haven't
you anything to say? It seemed as if he had nearly
taken you from me. Supposing — ”
“Don’t go any further,” she interrupted. “Let it
rest there—now, and always. I have told you that
he fascinated me, but it was against my will. If he
and I had both been free, who can say what might
have happened? Sometimes one thinks the world
well lost for a few weeks. It wouldn't have lasted
longer than that, and probably, I should have waked
up first, for the glamor wasn't always there. He
repelled and fascinated me at the same time. P.
didn’t like him, I didn’t trust him, but sometimes,”
she waited a moment, “sometimes, he blocked the
way; I couldn't see beyond him.”
She got up and began walking restlessly about the
TOOIn.
“There! let it rest; help me to forget. What's
gone and what's past help should be past grief. Who
was it said that? It's very true. You can see that
I trust you, that I have faith in you, or I should
not have said so much.”
“You shan’t regret it. I'll do all I can. It was
partly my fault—I see that now. I left you too
much at his mercy — and he had none. You were
no fit match for him. I ought to have taken better
care of you — but I hated to seem to think — ”
-


58 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“You were too sensitive and considerate, too kind
and trusting. Somebody harder and stronger would
have been better for me. But it's too late to talk of
that now. I'll try to be more worthy of you in the
future.”
“Don’t say that. I put you on a pedestal from the
first, you're there now — you always will be. All
of us make mistakes. Nothing has happened that
cannot be forgotten and forgiven.”
On his way home Gilbert passed the village inn,
and noticed a fly from the station standing in front
of the old-fashioned porch. A portmanteau was be-
ing carried inside, and the solitary occupant of the
carriage — a lady—was in the act of getting out.
He looked at her a little curiously; ladies did not
often stay alone at “The Angler.” She was all in
black, not heavy mourning, no crepe, but unrelieved
black, and she wore a thick veil over her face. The
gloomy figure was a blot on the brightness of the
summer scene. Gilbert wondered who she was.
Not old Mrs. Monck, she was too young, her move-
ments were too light and active; could it be — the
Wife?
“Who is the lady that arrived just now?” he asked
a stableman loafing outside. -
“Young Mrs. Monck, sir, widow of the gentleman
up at the cottage. I suppose she's come down for
the inquest.” Gilbert nodded and went on his
way.
It was curious how life was moving quickly, all at
once, after the long pleasant, uneventful days. One
|


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 59
mystery had not been unravelled before there was
another. What more was to come? Would they
go back to the old peace and contentment, or were
other troubles in store? In spite of himself he was
afraid.


CHAPTER SIx
“But if he finds you and you find him,
The rest of the world don’t matter.”
“I wonDERED if you would come down,” he said,
as they shook hands. “It will be rather painful for
you, I am afraid.”
It was Richard Fenchurch who spoke, and his
companion was young Mrs. Monck, who had arrived
that morning at “The Angler.” She had telephoned
to him after lunch, and he had come round almost
immediately. She received him in her private
sitting-room, where she had remained since her
arrival.
“Yes,” she replied, “I could not very well have
avoided it if I had wished. But I was quite willing
to come. It's painful, of course, but it was obviously
my duty. It's a terrible thing — I couldn’t believe
it at first. Who could have done it?— why? — for
what reason? It seems there was nothing stolen.”
“No, not so far as is known. I should say it was
more likely a case of private revenge. He made a
good many enemies; he had one or two even down
here. I,” with a half laugh, “was one of them.”
“And the other?”
“Sir Gilbert Chelford, who is engaged to be mar-
60


/
THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 61
ried to the beauty of Ferrybridge, Miss Lilah Blake.
He's quite a good sort; it wasn't his fault.”
“You mean it was my,” she hesitated a moment,
“my husband's. What had he done?”
“Well, you're sure to hear about it, so I may as
well tell you. They hadn’t quarrelled, but they
were pretty near it, and the cause was Miss Blake.
To be frank, Mr. Monck had behaved abominably.
It was getting to be quite a scandal. He had made a
dead set at the girl, and she didn't seem able to re-
sist him. Chelford had been very patient — too
patient, I think, but the limit had been reached.
He - 2x
“Is it possible — ?” she began. Fenchurch shook
his head emphatically. “Quite impossible. He might
have knocked him down in fair fight; he would have
had no compunction in making him suffer for his
scoundrelly conduct, but he isn't accustomed to fire-
arms, and he wouldn't have gone about it that way.
Besides, it isn't in him to do a thing like that in the
dark; whatever he did would be done openly.”
“You seem quite sure of him.”
“I am. I would answer for him as I would for
myself. You wouldn't suspect me, would you? And
yet I had as much reason — or more — than Chel-
ford to wish him out of the way.”
She made an uneasy movement.
“Don’t talk like that. It doesn’t seem — nice
now, with him lying dead only a few yards away, and
such a horrible death too! I can’t help remembering
that I cared for him once, and that he cared for me.”
Fenchurch's face darkened.


62 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“And you forgot all that has happened since —
the lonely years, the neglect, the unfaith — of all of
which he has robbed you?”
“For the moment—yes. I only remember that I
was happier with him for a year than I am ever
likely to be again.”
“Irma!” He was sore and hurt — almost shocked.
She could hear it in his voice. She put her hand
gently on his arm. -
“Dear,” she said, “don’t you understand? I was
only a young girl when he married me. I was full
of dreams and enthusiasm, in love with life, and,
most of all, with him. That doesn't come again.
I'm a woman now — my dreams have gone. I don't
expect a new heaven and a new earth.” He set his
teeth.
“I think that's what makes me hate him most,” he
said. “He has taken the best of you. He was the
first; you were young together, happy together —
whatever I do, I can't do away with that. Do you
know how it irks me? I can’t bear to think of it.
He had so much, he gave you so little in return, and
yet you will always remember him!”
“In a sense —yes, but not in any way that should
hurt you. I found him out long ago, I went through
an agony in the finding, but it is over and done with
now — thank God for that at least! If I am shocked
at his death, if I think of him as he was once, of what
he might have been, isn't it only human — only nat-
ural? The tired, empty years drop away, and I’m
back again at the beginning.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 63
“So much tribute I can give him without hurt-
ing you. It'll pass. It's only the dead leaves that
are stirring; there's nothing underneath. I’ve no
feeling for him, no kindness, no regret — how could
I have? He destroyed it all years ago. He took
some pains to do it—it wasn't even done carelessly,
from want of thought. One by one my hopes went,
all the foolish, girlish fancies — he stripped them
bare. I think he liked to shock me — to show me
what a fool I was.”
“And yet — ”
“And yet when I think of him — dead, I'm half
sorry — sorry for him. He enjoyed his life so, like
a pagan; he was as eager for pleasure as a child. You
don’t understand, perhaps only a woman could, be-
cause no man remembers like a woman. I think of
the time when we first faced the world together,
hand in hand. We were little more than boy and
girl, so absurdly gay and happy and confident. We
had no doubts, no fears — at least, I know I hadn't.
And now — now,” her voice broke, “he's lying there
— murdered, and I’m his widow, thankful for my
release.”
“Irma! Don't, I can't bear it. You did your
utmost — everything you could. You didn't give
up till it was hopeless and useless. I know you
would have fought to the last.”
“Yes, I've nothing to reproach myself with in
that way. I didn’t leave him till he almost drove me
away — till I saw that I only made matters worse.
By that time I craved for a little peace; I had no


64 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
fight in me; I just wanted to be left alone. . . . He
was quite ready to be generous, and was always
liberal in money matters, but I would take nothing
from him — only the few hundreds that had been
mine when he married me, and which had helped
him to make his present fortune.”
“So even that he owes to you?”
“Yes, in a measure. He was a poor man in those
days, and my little dowry was useful. No doubt he
lost it over and over again —he had many ups and
downs—but he was comparatively a rich man
when we parted, and I felt that I could take back
what had been my own without feeling any obliga-
tion. I wanted to be free and to have done with
him and the old life. I wanted nothing—not a
penny from him — to remind me of it. I was so
tired of it all.”
He touched her hand caressingly. Did he not
know? Were there not lines in her face — a look
in her eyes — that no years, however happy, could
obliterate now? He might do his utmost, for he
loved her with all his heart, but he could not wipe
away her bitter memories. The most he could hope
to do would be to cover them up with sweeter
things.
* “I worked hard — thank God for work! It's the
salvation of women like me, and, in time, I won a
measure of success. But I hadn't enough energy
and vitality left to do as well as I should have done.
I didn't care enough. So long as I earned sufficient
to keep myself in tolerable comfort — that was all


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 65
I wanted. The days passed monotonously and
peacefully; I was thankful for the rest, that the con-
stant friction was over, that if I had nothing to hope
for, at least I had nothing to fear. . . . Then you
came,” her face softened, “you, with your kind eyes,
your consideration, your ever-ready help. I couldn't
understand it at first; I wondered what you wanted
in return; I was afraid to trust you. But week after
week passed, and you wanted nothing — only to be
kind. It seemed so strange. Slowly you gave me
back some of my lost illusions. It could not be such
a bad world as I had thought when it had you in it.”
“You poor child! Who would not have been kind?
Such unhappy eyes as they were, behind all your
pride and reserve! I did not know who you were
then. You told me nothing. I had met you by
chance. Afterwards, when I knew, I understood
better. They thought, the people down here, that
I turned against him because he had lost my money.
That was less than half the reason. It was about
the same time that you told me your real name, and
something of your history. I had spoken out—
shown you that I cared, and you stopped me at once.
“How angry and miserable I was! Even a little
angry with you, because you took it so quietly —
you were so resigned, and yet I knew that you cared
too; you didn't deny it. So much comfort you gave
me — it was little enough.”
“Why not? I owed nothing to him. I would have
freed myself if I could, long ago; he had broken
every tie that should have bound us. I could only


66 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
tell you that I cared — and send you away — or, at
least, tell you that such things must never be spoken
of between us again. We could be friends—noth-
ing more.”
“I wonder why he held to the last bond — why he
wouldn't release you?”
“Perhaps because he knew how glad I should be
to feel safe — to know that I had done with him. I
consulted old Sir George Lewis when I made up my
mind to leave him, but he gave me no hope. A
separation would be all I could get if I took the mat-
ter into Court, and I got that without the horrible
publicity. Sir George was a good friend to women.
He was sorry for me, and I know he would have
helped me if he could. But there had been no deser-
tion and no cruelty within the meaning of the law.”
“I should have thought he would have preferred
to be free himself. After all, he was tied as well as
you.” She made a gesture of dissent.
“It was very different — there was all the differ-
ence in the world. He could go where he liked, do
what he liked, do anything and everything except
marry again—and that he did not want to do.
Whereas I had to live alone, in an anomalous posi-
tion, neither married nor unmarried, exposed to the
cruelest suspicions. Can you wonder that I shut
myself up and lived like a recluse? When I went
to the Authors’ Dinner at the Cecil, where I met
you, I hadn’t had a meal outside my own flat for
months. I had to watch every word and action; I
never felt safe.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 67
“I see, I didn't realise it before.”
“No man could. The horrible loneliness, the whis-
pers, the gossip and veiled insolence. Oh! you don't
know what it means to a proud woman, who has
always kept straight. People never give you the
benefit of the doubt. It was not that I was better
than many others who have found such a life impos-
sible, it was only that I was a little more fastidious.”
“And, but for his unexpected death, it might have
gone on so till the end. Unless some strong induce-
ment had arisen, which made him want to marry
again, himself. Perhaps I ought not to say it, but
I know it's safe with you. I've wondered more than
once lately, and I know other people did too, if the
engagement between Miss Blake and Chelford
would be broken off, and Mr. Monck step into his
place.”
“You think it was as serious as that with him?”
“I do.” She looked doubtful. “He was certainly
very infatuated. She is a lovely girl — a complete
contrast to him in every way. Perhaps that was
part of the attraction.”
“I know him so well, I can hardly believe he meant
to go so far; he prized his liberty so highly. But of
course I may be wrong. You could never answer
for a man like him. He seldom denied himself any-
thing; he yielded, when possible, to every impulse.
She may have been too strong for his theories. He
always said a man was a fool to marry.”
“Well, his death — terrible though it is — has not
been devoid of good. You are free at last, and Miss


68 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
Blake has escaped him. I don’t think he would make
any woman happy long.”
“No, not if she cared for him. Her only chance
would be if she were indifferent.”
“And that Miss Blake certainly was not.”
“How does she take his death? It must have
been a horrible shock.”
“I don't know. I haven't seen her, or heard any-
thing. There hasn’t been much time, one thing has
followed on another so quickly. Why, it only hap-
pened the night before last, and it seems weeks.”
“Do you think she knew about me?”
“I haven't the least idea — I should say not. No-
body knew he was married; it was never even sus-
pected, as far as I know. I might have given Chel-
ford a hint, but you had bound me to secrecy.”
“Because I didn't want Basil to hear of our friend-
ship, there might have been trouble. Though it's
six years and more since we parted, I had never lost
my fear of him — the feeling of uncertainty as to
what he might do next.”
“And out of those six years I’ve known you less
than six months. What a waste! At least, I might
have made things a little better for you; you would
not have been quite so lonely. You would have
known there was somebody in the world who asked
nothing better than to serve you.”
She let her hand rest on his in one of her rare
Cares SeS.
“Perhaps it all happened for the best,” she said.
“I might not have been allowed to keep you. You


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 69
and he might have clashed. Don't I know how hot-
headed you are! Thank God he knew nothing—
that he never came between us. I should hate to
think that his touch had soiled our friendship.”
“It was hard work sometimes to control myself.
I didn’t trust myself to meet him more often than I
could help when I knew the truth. My blood used
to boil when I saw him — talking and laughing and
enjoying himself, spending money like water, and
thought of you shut up in a little London flat, work-
ing hard, so brave and lonely and unhappy.”
“Not unhappy after I knew you.”
“Dear! it's good to know that. But I wonder I
never betrayed myself.”
“Are you sure you never did? He was so quick;
he had a kind of intuition; he could guess people's
thoughts.”
“No doubt he knew I didn't like him, but he
would have put it down to other things—money
losses. He couldn’t have known about you.”
“I hope not.” She waited a moment. “Dick,
whom do they suspect? The papers say nothing.
There must be some talk about somebody.” He
glanced at her sharply.
“If there is I haven’t heard it.”
“I wish it were all over and done with,” she said
restlessly. “It seems as though there will be more
trouble. He couldn't die like other people. He
won't keep quiet, even in the grave. His influence
will be at work still. We shan’t be able to forget
him.” -


70 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Nonsense!” almost roughly. “You must not en-
courage such morbid ideas.”
“I wonder what she — Miss Blake thinks of it? I
feel, somehow, as though I had behaved rather badly
to her. That is, if she were really ignorant of my
existence. If I had known her I might have given
her a hint.”
“It was not your fault, it was Mr. Monck who
was to blame.” Fenchurch was careful never to
say “your husband”—he could not bear to acknowl-
edge the tie. “Don’t take his sins on your shoul-
ders; you would have enough to do.”
“I wonder sometimes if I were to blame; not lat-
terly, but in the beginning. He cared for me then,
and I might perhaps have done something if I had
known how to go to work. But I was only an igno-
rant girl and his queer moods frightened me. His
mother lays the blame on me, saying that I didn’t
understand him. I daresay that's true enough.”
“Where is his mother? Is she coming down?”
“No, she's quite ill with the shock. I saw her last
night. I hadn't seen her for years, but she sent for
me, and I felt bound to go. I knew how devoted
she was to him. It was partly on her account that I
came. She couldn't bear to think that nobody be-
longing to him should be here.”
“What did she say about it?”
“About his death, do you mean? She seems al-
most as angry as grieved; she would give anything
to find out who did it. She was furious — that any-
one should have dared! I thought of a tigress robbed


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 71
of her young. It was pitiful, and yet I could not
help shuddering.”
“Like mother, like son, evidently.”
“Yes, they were very much alike. She'll move
heaven and earth to avenge him. She won’t let
him be forgotten until somebody has paid the pen-
alty. She's rich; she'll get the best help and skill —
everything is possible to money.” He moved rest-
lessly.
“You must keep out of it,” he said. “I won’t have
you worried. You've done and suffered enough for
her son.”
“I can’t leave her alone now, she has nobody be-
longing to her, or, if she has, she has quarrelled with
them all. She seems to think she has a claim on me.
If she wants me, I must go.”
“Oh! it's absurd,” he said hotly. “Are you going
to waste more of your life? Haven’t you done
enough? Isn't it time you thought of yourself —
and of me? What claim has she on your kindness?
Did she help you — comfort you in your own
trouble?”
“No, she did nothing. But she is old — you don’t
know how old she looked when I saw her last night.
She is a handsome old woman as a rule, vain of her
good looks, her upright figure, but she lay there just
crumpled up in bed, her gray hair hanging about her
face. It was pitiful. Her eyes were so hard, I should
say she had scarcely shed a tear. It would have
been better for her if she had.”
His face expressed his distaste.


72 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“It doesn't sound very attractive,” he said. “Of
course I’m sorry for her, but I won't have her fasten
on you. Don't make promises that you'll be sorry
for afterwards. She has no kindness for you —
that's evident. She will only make use of you.”
“I know. I’ll do my best, but you don't know
how strong and clever she is. It's hard to resist her.
. . . But now you must go, we have had a long
talk, and it's better not to give any occasion for
gossip. I shan’t see you again. I'm going back
directly it's over to-morrow.”
“But I shall be coming up,” he said eagerly. “I’ve
lots more to say to you. We haven’t discussed our
own affairs, I —” She cut short the eager words.
“We must leave all that for a little while,” she
said decidedly. “It’s too soon — I couldn’t bear it.
I can’t think of my own happiness now. He,” her
voice dropped, “is too near; he's with us still — not
buried yet.” She shivered as though a cold hand had
touched her. “Oh! don't you understand?”
“No, I don't think I do,” he said half sullenly.
“He has been less than nothing to you for so many
years, why should he come again into your life be-
cause he is dead? Why should you take duties on
yourself that nobody could say you owe? Haven't
Iany claim? I was patient as long as you were tied,
but you are free now.”
“Am I? You must give me a few weeks to realise
my freedom. I don't understand it yet. Oh! I
know how good you have been! I can’t bear to have
you feel hurt or disappointed. You come first,


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 73
there's nobody else, you're all I have — is it likely I
should want to vex you? I can’t explain properly,
but I feel that it isn't lucky to think of ourselves so
soon. We must wait a little.”
“Just as you like. I could understand it if you had
seen anything of him, but you have been strangers
for years. If you owed him any consideration or
respect it would be different — but you don’t. You
can’t say you do. . . . There! I won't worry you,
it's been a dreadful shock, of course, and you're not
quite yourself. I won't come till you send for me.”
“That's my dear Dick! I shan’t be able to do
without you very long. Some day — not very far
ahead I hope — we're going to be very happy, please
God.” It sounded like a prayer. He put his lips to
her hand and left her.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 75
Irma purposely avoided going in the direction of
Willow Cottage. She had never seen it, and she did
not want to see it. She wanted nothing that would
remind her of the place in days to come. The less
she knew and saw, the easier it would be to forget.
So she turned her steps away from the river. She
had gone some distance, and had stopped to look at
the quaint figures that ornamented the hedge of the
Dutch House, when she noticed a woman leaning
over the gate. Dick had told her where Lilah lived,
and, as soon as she caught sight of the lovely face,
she guessed who it was. She had made little or no
noise walking on the grass-grown path, and Lilah
had not heard her coming; she was evidently lost in
painful thought. Irma had time to read the misery
in her face. Tragedy seemed to hang about her like
a garment, making a pathetic figure of her standing
there, staring out into the night. Irma had known
suffering herself, and was sorry for her.
She was so pretty and so young, it seemed an in-
justice of fate that so fragile a creature should carry
such a burden. The hopelessness in her face made
Irma almost ashamed that she should have seen it;
it was like surprising a secret. She purposely scat-
tered some stones with her feet, and Lilah looked
up. She moved quickly back from the gate, and
would have been gone the next moment had not
Irma called out. Irma did not know what made
her do it; it was a sudden impulse; she felt that
she could not let Lilah go looking like that.
“May I speak to you a minute?” she said, and


76 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
Lilah stopped in surprise. “You don't know me;
we have never met, but I know who you are. I
came down to-day, — I am Mrs. Monck.”
She spoke quickly — almost abruptly. She had
to explain so much in so few words that she was
afraid the girl would be gone.
Lilah started violently, but made no answer for a
moment. Then she said, “I do not think we can
have anything to say to one another,” and turned
towards the house.
“Don’t go away; don't be angry. I mean well; I
only want to say a few words.” She stretched out
her hand in entreaty, making her voice as soothing
and kind as she could. This was his latest victim;
she would help her if she could — save her from
herself. º
“What can you have to say to me?” The words
seemed to burst from the girl, - they were angry,
scornful, bitter, but the pain in them outweighed all
else. It was that that Irma answered.
“I have heard something,” she said, “I can guess
more. Why should you mind me? Haven’t I been
through it all and more? I should never have sought
you out, but, meeting like this, so unexpectedly, it
seems as if I had been sent, as if Providence — ”
Lilah interrupted her with a laugh.
“I don't think Providence has much to do with
it,” she said.
“There is something behind us more than blind
chance, don't you think? I do, and I have had a
good deal to try my faith. I can quite understand


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 77
how you feel, but just let me say this — you and he
were friends, but he wasn't good enough for you.
Forget him as soon as you can.” The girl's face
flamed.
“There don’t be angry, don't think me cruel and
impertinent, that I grudged you his friendship or
admiration — it's not anything of that. You're such
a child compared to me; how can I make it plain?
He's nothing to me—less than nothing; he's been
nothing for years. You can’t understand that. I
see you don’t half believe me. Does it seem so im-
possible?”
“You’ve no right to come here and say such things.
How do you know — ”
“Is it worth while to pretend now? We're alone
here, just two women, and you can trust me. I know
all his fascination, his power. I loved him once, and,
long after he had killed my love, I tried to do my
best for him. I knew him through and through.
That is why I say — forget! — He isn't worth your
remembrance.”
“And what,” passionately, “has his ‘worth' to do
with it?” Irma was silent for a minute.
“Very little, I suppose. We women are such
fools. But if you value your future happiness, you
must forget him. After all,” bitterly, “you are
young enough. Nothing is impossible at your age.
It is only at mine that the scars remain.”
“You are very wise.”
“I ought to be. I have been taught in a hard
school. But I’ve said enough. I don't know whether


78 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
I have done any good, but I had to try. I didn't
like to think that he should spoil another life as
he spoilt mine. He didn’t care for any of us very
much — not half as well as he cared for himself.
Don't you know that? There was a song he was
fond of singing once — I wonder if you ever heard
it —
“I’ve sung of a hundred women, in a hundred lands:
I’m sick of their tears and kisses, and their pale
hands.’
“It was true enough in some moods.”
Lilah began to laugh, wildly, hysterically.
“Go away,” she said, “for God's sake, go! You
don't know what you're talking about. You think
I loved him — I came near to hating him sometimes.
Isn't it rather late to warn me against him? Do
you suppose I ever thought him a hero? — that I
dreamed of him as the Fairy Prince?” She laughed
again. “Oh, it's so empty and useless, all this
talk!”
With a passionate gesture she went away, dis-
appearing among the trees. -
Irma gazed after her a moment, moved by pity
and wonder. The girl's angelic face had not prepared
her for such an outbreak. She had not thought to
find so much passion and intensity. She went slowly
back to the inn. “The evil that men do lives after
them.” How true that was! Her own life would
always be tainted by it, and now this girl must suf-
fer too.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 79
When Lilah reached the house, she went quickly
upstairs to her own room, for she could not bear to
meet anybody else that night. Her father was shut
up in his library, trying to find a solution to what
had come to be known as “The Ferrybridge Mys-
tery.” He would not miss her. He had a passion
for crimes and mysteries, and loved to play the ama-
teur detective. Since his retirement from active
work, it had supplied the necessary excitement to
his life, and never before had he had the opportu-
nity of studying such an important case on the spot.
He was eager and excited.
They were a curious couple to be father and
daughter, they had little in common except their
good looks. Lilah had had a lonely home-life, going
her own way, as her father had gone his; they were
excellent friends when they met, but they really
knew very little about one another. Perhaps if her
mother had lived, things would have been different.
She never thought of confiding in her father, of
telling him anything that really mattered, and Mr.
Blake had the Victorian idea that a girl's life was a
blank page till she married.
Lilah threw herself down in a chair by the open
window. She was tired enough, but it was no use
to think of sleep yet. Every nerve was throbbing
from her meeting with Irma, and her head and heart
were on fire. It would have been a relief, in her
overwrought, hysterical state, to have given voice
to some of the thoughts that racked her — to have
cried her pain aloud, but that was impossible. She


80 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
º
must keep everything shut down, she must keep a
watch on her lips lest they betrayed her, even on her
face, lest it should tell too much. Only shut up
here, could she let herself go. She picked up one of
the books from the table at her elbow, with the
thought that she might distract her thoughts that
way. She had taken it up haphazard, but she
laughed hysterically when she saw what it was — a
little book of poems that Basil Monck had given her.
He was fond of poetry.
On the fly-leaf was written in pencil in his dash-
ing handwriting: “To Najine.” That was what he
had called her when they were alone. Here and there
were pencil marks, little notes — the book was full
of them. One verse was heavily scored. Lilah knew
it by heart, for he had quoted it to her often. He
said he had only to think of the words, and she
rose up before him — they described her so per-
fectly.
“Exquisite eyebrows you had, Najine,
Wonderful eyes of a strange gray-green.
Tall as a birch-tree, and straight as a cypress,
Watching you walk was a joy, Najime.”
The book fell from her hands to the floor, and she
shuddered. How it all came back! She could hear
his voice — that voice of infinite variety; she could
see his hard, handsome face, with the mocking
mouth and smiling eyes; she could feel his influence
closing round her, silencing her doubts, stifling her
regrets, telling her that nothing mattered so long as


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 81
º
they were happy. . . . A dry sob broke from
her. . .
When Lilah went down the next morning, her
father had already finished his breakfast and was
smoking a cigarette in the garden. He looked in at
the window when he heard her.
“Good morning!” he cried cheerily. “Here's an-
other ‘blue day,’ as Carlyle calls it, that makes one
feel it's good to be alive. I’m going to dig up some
potatoes presently — nothing like digging for keep-
ing one fit. By the way,” sobering down, “isn't the
inquest to-day?”
“Yes,” she said, in a stifled voice.
“Ah! sad, sad! It's a day for a-marrying, not for
a-burying, as the old saw says.” Mr. Blake was
fond of quotations. “Such a magnificent specimen
of manhood as he was too! A little too much of
him perhaps — not what you would call good style,
but I suppose that won’t matter now.”
Lilah made no reply.
“Queer case, queerest I’ve ever come across,” he
wention, “and I’ve had some experience. Seems de-
void of object and reason. But I’m following the
rule laid down by one of the greatest detectives, and
I may come upon something presently. There's no
better way, in spite of all the talk and new-fangled
systems. First — put down all the Facts, the plain
indisputable things. Second — put down the Ques-
tions that cannot be answered. Then get to work.”
He looked up for his meed of praise, but it was not
forthcoming.


82 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Why don't you leave it alone?” she said. “It
seems horrible, treating it as a ‘case' when — when
he was a friend.”
“I shouldn’t have called him that myself. An
acquaintance, merely a summer acquaintance. Be-
sides, his people will be glad of any help. There is
a report in the paper to-day that his mother is offer-
ing a reward of £300 for any information that will
lead to the arrest of the guilty person.”
“What?” Lilah exclaimed, “{200 — his mother —”
She broke off abruptly.
“Yes. Of course that wouldn't affect me. She is
welcome, in the cause of justice, to any information
I can give her, but it'll no doubt stimulate general
interest. There will be plenty of people on the look-
out.”
“Blood-money,” she said with a shudder. “It’s
horrible. Who could take it?”
“Oh, everybody isn't so squeamish — no reason
why they should be. “Whoso sheddeth man's blood,
by man shall his blood be shed.” It’s an old law and
a good one. You can't have criminals running loose
about the country — nobody would be safe.”
Mr. Blake took up his spade, and his spirits rose
again. The worthy man simply couldn’t help it.
He loved digging, the smell of the rich earth, the
sight of newly-turned beds. He walked along,
swinging his implements of toil, and cook and Eliza,
the housemaid, watched him from behind the
flower-box on the kitchen window sill with undis-
guised admiration.


84 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Not hel” cook said scornfully. “He’s one of the
conquering 'ero kind who gets everything they
wants. I shouldn't say he 'ad overmuch heart, that
sort 'aven’t as a rule. It's a queer world — to think
what a difference a few pounds of fat make! But
there!” a little snappishly, “I must get to work. I
can't stand gossiping 'ere all day.”
Cook was soft-hearted and sentimental, but alas!
she was fat, so romance was denied her. It was
not much wonder that at five-and-thirty she had
come to look on the waist-measure as being one of
the principal levers that moved the world.


86 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
pared in a way? I mean if it had been all planned
and thought out, the person would have left the
weapon behind? It was running such a risk to take
it away. It seems to me as though the person had
rushed off in a panic hardly knowing what to do.”
Peggy was spending the day at the Manor House.
Lady Chelford was very fond of her, and, as Gilbert
was attending the inquiry, she had sent for Peggy
to keep her company. She could not bear to be left
alone at such a time.
“Yes, the one that committed the crime either lost
his head or kept it very well,” Gilbert replied. “I
mean the guilty one may have thought it safer to
destroy the weapon. There might have been finger
marks on it or something as a guide; now there is
nothing. It looks as though the person knew Monck
or his habits pretty well, or how should he have
known that he kept a revolver? Then Johnson being
sent off that night may mean that Monck had an
appointment with somebody — or it may mean
nothing. Johnson said he often went out after din-
ner. Altogether it's a pretty puzzling affair.”
You didn’t give evidence — you were not called?”
Lady Chelford asked. -
“No, there was no question of that. I hadn’t seen
him for a day or two. Other people could speak
better as to his movements.”
Gilbert had told his mother of his promise to
Lilah, and, in her fear for him, she had noted it
with relief. Nobody could mix him up in the affair
now. There was no necessity for him to say that


88 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
Peggy she had never complained nor discussed the
situation when gossip was rife outside. Now that
everything was different, she was prepared to turn
her back on the past and hope for the best. She
knew Gilbert too well to think that he would change.
“I suppose,” she added, “that she won't mind see-
ing me? Or had I better write?”
“No, go,” he said a little sharply. “There is no
reason why she should shut herself up now; she
wouldn’t want to. Of course she will be glad to see
you. She hasn’t anybody to talk to at home; you
know what her father is.”
“Is that the end of it?” Peggy asked presently.
“I hope so. I'm sick of seeing it in the papers and
hearing it talked about. Wherever you go it's the
same thing, you can't get away from it.
“The end — for the present,” Gilbert replied. In
his heart he was praying that it might be forever.
“If anything fresh is discovered, of course it will all
come up again.”
“You mean if the murderer is found?”
“Yes, or if the police think they have a clue. For
some time to come there will be clues — real or
false — cropping up probably. Everybody will be
on the look-out, and the police will be inundated
with suggestions. No doubt,” with a half laugh,
“Mr. Blake will be among the number to offer
advice.”
“I suppose Lilah's evidence was rather important?
Probably she was the last person to speak to poor
Mr. Monck before it happened.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 89
“It was only a word,” he said restively. “Noth-
ing passed between them of any consequence.”
“Except that she heard Mr. Monck speak,” Peggy
exclaimed. “Surely that is of more importance than
anything else? How weird it seems,” with a little
shiver, “that they should have been talking such a
short time before it happened. She had rung him
up about some trivial thing that didn't matter, and
such a little while afterwards, there was something
that mattered so terribly. Who knows if she had
been ten minutes later — ”
“What's the use of speculating?” Gilbert inter-
rupted, irritably. “So many things in life are missed
by less than ten minutes.”
Peggy looked at him, a little surprised. It was
not like Gilbert to be cross — he was so sweet-
tempered as a rule.
“I hope nobody will put that idea into Lilah's
head,” he went on. “I want her to forget. It's bad
enough as it is. I don't want her to think that she
might possibly have saved him if she had done some-
thing different.”
“Of course not,” his mother said soothingly, “we
shall all be careful. I think we shall all be glad to
put it out of our minds as quickly as we can. I
hope that doesn't sound heartless, but it won't do
anybody any good to brood over such horrors.”
The next day Lady Chelford went to see Lilah and
suggested that they should go abroad together for a
little change.
“We shall both be the better for it,” she said


90 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
kindly. “We’re not quite normal people at present,
everything is so upset. Let us go away till things
look different. Anywhere you like, I don’t mind.”
But Lilah shook her head.
“You are very kind,” she said, “but I don't feel
up to it. I haven’t the energy to move. I shall be
better at home.”
“I don't think so. Make an effort, dear. Gilbert
would like you to go. He's been very good, hasn’t
he, so won't you do something to please him? He
wants you to get back your old happy self.”
“And he thinks a week or two's change will give
it to me?” She laughed gently. “Poor Gilbert! I'm
afraid I haven’t treated him very well. He was
better without me. I'm sure you think so.”
Lady Chelford did, and there would have been a
certain satisfaction in saying so, but she was not a
selfish woman, and, in a way, she was sorry for the
girl. She looked ill.
“Never mind about all that,” she said kindly, “let
bygones be bygones. I want to be friends with you
— better friends than we have ever been. I know
mothers-in-law haven't much chance as a rule, but
you might try to like me.”
“I do,” the girl said, “I always have, in a way. I
like you as one likes cool restful things that don’t
change, that are always there. I like your soft silks
and laces, and that suggestion of violets, and there's
nothing harsh or noisy about you. You ought to
have lived a hundred years ago and made pot-pourri
--" that sort of thing.” Lady Chelford s......d.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 91
“You think I'm not suited to the present day —
that I don't understand,” she said. “But try me.”
She put her cool, slim hand on the girl's hot one.
“My dear, it hasn’t been ‘roses all the way' even for
me,” she said. “I know what trouble means. I
loved Gilbert's father, and when he was carried in
that afternoon — dead — I seemed to fall into a
black pit where there was no hope. He had ridden
away, only a few hours before, as young and hand-
some as Gilbert is to-day. He had turned at the
end of the drive to wave his hand to me, as he always
did when he went hunting. He knew I was a little
nervous.” She drew her breath hard. “I can see
his face as plainly now as I saw it then, and always
when the sun sets in a blaze of color behind the belt
of larches as it did that winter afternoon, I think of
him.”
For a minute there was silence. “So don't shut
me out of your confidence because I cannot under-
stand. If you are in trouble I should like to help
you.”
“What makes you say that? Of course I’ve been
worried and upset, but that is natural enough, isn't.
it? There's nothing special, nothing to bother you
about. You must give me a little time, that's all.”
“You are sure there's nothing I can do? Don't
think of me as Gilbert's mother now, but as your
friend. You look so ill — so unhappy, there are
little inky pools under your eyes, and your hands
are burning. I should like to order you to bed and
send'.....the doctor.”


92 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Who can “minister to a mind diseased? Oh,
don’t look so startled, it's not as bad as that. I'm
unhinged — not quite myself; I talk a lot of non-
sense. I have done those things I ought not to have
done, and I’m a miserable sinner. That's true
enough. But I'm in the same boat with half the
world.”
“I daresay you are a little feverish,” Lady Chel-
ford said soothingly. “We won’t talk any more
now. You can think over what I have said. I’m
not going to take no for an answer to-day. There is
plenty of time. How would you like a sea-trip, or
the Italian lakes?”
“I should like the bottom of a pond best in my
present mood,” Lilah said with a hard laugh. “A
nice clean pond with little white pebbles at the
bottom, and wild flowers growing on the banks.
There! forgive me, I'm not really as ungrateful as
I seem.” She put her head down for a moment on
the soft shoulder. “Gilbert was a lucky boy to have
such a refuge to come to,” she said.
Lady Chelford stroked her face gently, but said
no more. There seemed nothing more to say. The
girl was feverish and hysterical — there was no
doubt of that. Perhaps all she wanted was time.
One cannot get over such a shock in a moment.
Lilah was too restless to settle down to anything
in these days; her thoughts drove her like a goad.
When Lady Chelford had gone, she wandered out
into the garden, but it reminded her of Basil as
everything else did. How often they had strolled up


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 93
and down the smooth lawns or under the pergola
where little crimson and gold and white rambler
roses spread themselves in riotous profusion. He
had been in and out at all hours; she felt his pres-
ence everywhere. She remembered how one day —
could it be only a few weeks ago? — he had broken
off a cluster of brier roses and twisted it into a
wreath with his supple fingers, laughing as he
crowned her. He was wearing white flannels that
suited his dark face and athletic figure. Who would
have thought . . . She turned away abruptly and
went indoors.
She opened the library door to look for her father.
She must talk to somebody, though she got tired of
everything in a few minutes. Mr. Blake was busy
at his writing-table, but looked up eagerly when he
heard her. He wanted an audience.
“I’m getting on,” he said, holding up a large sheet
of cardboard, ruled with the utmost neatness, and
half covered with writing, of which the most dis-
tinguished feature was the ornate capital letter at
the beginning of each line. “What do you think
of it?”
“What is it?” she asked languidly.
“My plan — the plan. Don't you see, I’ve headed
it, “The Case of Mr. Basil Monck.' Here are the
Facts,” pointing to one side of the thick dividing
line down the center, “and here,” pointing to the
other, “are the Questions that are waiting for an-
swers.”
Lilah stared at him a moment, then threw herself
back in her chair and laughed a strange laugh.


94 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“It's funny, it really is,” she said.
“Funny?” Mr. Blake repeated in an offended
tone, “I don't see anything funny about it, myself.
I've taken as my model—”
“Oh, I don't mean that,” she interrupted, “I wasn't
thinking of you. I meant — I don't exactly know
what I did mean, only life's a queer jumble, isn’t it?
It's a pity we can’t sort it out at the beginning and
parcel it off, as you are doing there,” nodding at the
plan. “We ought to be provided with cards, di-
vided in half, and headed ‘Things I may do,” and
‘Things I may not do.’ It might save a lot of
trouble.”
But Mr. Blake was not paying any attention; he
was too much interested in his own work.
“The first question,” he said complacently, is:—
‘Who did it?’”
“Well, certainly, that does seem the most impor-
tant. And have you any answer?”
“I’ve three in my mind,” he said, “any one of
which might fit.” Her face changed. She looked at
him more attentively.
“Indeed?” she said slowly. “I should like to hear
what they are. I’m safe,” as he hesitated, “I won't
betray you.”
“Of course, it wouldn't do to let it get about. I
don't want to be prosecuted for libel. I'm only in
the initial stage at present. By that I mean I am
considering who might have done it—who had
anything to gain by doing it; the personal motive
being a strong incentive. I've no evidence as yet.”


96 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
have nothing in common with crime and mystery.
This was a curious side to his character. She could
understand his singing and digging; it was part of
his breezy ways, but this was different. She had
never thought much about it before when a “case”
was outside her own knowledge. Then she had
scarcely listened to his theories. But that he should
subject their own friends to the same process re-
vealed him in a new light.
“You want to know what Fenchurch would have
gained by killing Monck? I will tell you. He is
in love with Monck's wife.”
“What?” she exclaimed. “But — but she has only
just come down. I don't understand. She is a per-
fect stranger here. How could he care for her?”
“Oh, they have been friends for some time, and
she sent for him almost as soon as she came down.
You may take my word for it, they will get married
now. Of course I’m not saying that Fenchurch had
anything to do with it, but he had the opportu-
nity, and the motive is there. Two important
things. After Fenchurch, to my mind, comes —
Johnson.”
She stared at him a moment without speaking.
“Johnson?” she said. “Johnson?”
“Yes, didn't it occur to you? It seems to me quite
within the bounds of possibility, though, super-
ficially, there's not as much against him as there is
against the other. But it would have been easier
for Johnson than for anybody else, for there was no
one to interfere with him.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 97
“But people don’t do such horrible things without
a very good reason,” she said, “unless they are mad.”
“How do we know what reason he may have had?
We know nothing about him. He's baffled me. I’ve
tried to discover something of his antecedents, but
I can’t. There's always something suspicious about
secrecy.”
“Oh, it's absurd,” she said impatiently. “He was
devoted to his master, and had been with him for
years. What motive could he have?
“Well, for instance, he might have been in want
of money — love or money are at the bottom of
most crimes. Johnson isn’t a common servant, and
he may have expensive tastes—something in the
background — who knows? Monck spent very
freely, very likely he had a good deal of money
lying about the house, and Johnson would know
where it was. Then —” But Lilah threw out her
hand.
“I won’t listen to any more,” she said, “it doesn't
seem fair. I don’t believe a word of it. I would
answer for them both. Mr. Fenchurch may be in
love with Mrs. Monck — I don’t know anything
about that — but it's a monstrous idea that he
should kill her husband just because he stood in his
way. Why, half the world would be killing one an-
other if that were the case. I don't think much of
your discoveries so far. Who is the third person? I
think you said there were three.”
“Well,” hesitating, “he’s rather an uncertain quan-
tity at present. I call him ‘The Unknown.' If he


98 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
belongs anywhere, he belongs to Monck's past. I’ve
heard that he had rather an adventurous life — that
he'd knocked about the world a good deal. There
may have been somebody who was only waiting his
opportunity to be avenged — some secret enemy.”
“Of course there may have been,” Lilah agreed.
“That seems to me really more feasible than your
other theories. It looks more like revenge than
anything else. He may have kept the revolver
handy because of some secret fear he had. Curious
that it should have served him so badly in his hour
of need.”
She got up and walked towards the door. As she
passed her father, she rested her hand for a moment
on his shoulder.
“You’re a very clever man, daddy. Let me know
if you find out anything else.”


CHAPTER NINE
“Behold and see if there is any sorrow like unto
my sorrow”
BASIL Monck was buried in the little churchyard
at Ferrybridge — to most people's surprise, and not
altogether with the approval of some of them. He
had been only a summer visitor, a passer-through,
who did not belong to the soil, so why should he lie
there — a stranger among them? Many of that
quiet little community had been born, lived, and
died in the place, and were friends or neighbors.
This man had come from they knew not where, he
had nothing in common with them — and had died
a violent death. That, no doubt, was the chief
reason why the people round about wished he had
been taken elsewhere. They wanted to forget the
tragedy that had transformed their pretty village;
they would have liked to remove all traces of it as
soon as possible.
“Did he leave instructions what was to be done,
or was it by his mother's wish?” Lilah asked John-
son, the first time she met him after the funeral,
which had been conducted as quietly as possible at
an early hour of the morning.
“Mrs. Monck arranged it,” he replied.
99
...,\
º


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 101
too, he must have roughed it a good deal at one time
in those wild places abroad when he was living in a
mining-camp.”
“Yes, I suppose so, Miss. Perhaps that made him
appreciate his comforts all the more when he got
them. I didn’t know him until he had made his
money and settled down.”
“I had an idea you might have been abroad with
him — that perhaps you even met out there in one
of those queer places.” * ..."
“Oh, no.” He hesitated a moment. “As a mat-
ter of fact we did meet in rather a queer place, but
it was in London. There's as queer places in Lon-
don, Miss, as anywhere, I should say.” She gave
him a look of interest.
“I don't know why I shouldn't tell you,” he went
on, “though it's not a thing I’ve talked about. The
first time I saw Mr. Monck was at a night club in
the west end, where the gambling was pretty high.
I was an attendant there, looking after the drinks
and that sort of thing. Got anybody away quietly
who threatened to be troublesome, cooked hot snacks
in the early hours of the morning; in short, made
myself generally useful. I suppose it was seeing I
could do most things that made Mr. Monck think
I suited him.
“At all events, when the club broke up a few
months later, he asked me to go to him, and I went.
The wages were good, and I shouldn't have suited
everybody. He didn't ask for references,” he added
with a laugh. “I had knocked about almost as much
-


102 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
as he had. References might have been difficult to
find.”
Lilah remembered her father's words. Had he
judged Johnson better than she had? A man may be
very obtuse in his own home, and quite shrewd and
discerning in outside matters.
“So you suited one another very well,” she said.
“I expect you will hardly get another place to suit
you as well. But, of course, there is plenty of time
to think about that. I suppose you will take a
holiday first.”
“Yes, miss, I shall get away as soon as I can, but
I’m not leaving for good. I shall be back again in
a few weeks' time.” She looked surprised. “I’m
going to Sir Gilbert Chelford,” he explained. “He’s
not satisfied with his own man.”
“Indeed?” she exclaimed. “I didn't know — I
hadn't heard.” Her face changed, she did not look
altogether pleased.
“It's only just settled, miss. I’m to take a month's
holiday first, I don’t want more, I haven't anybody
particular to see or anywhere particular to go. Sir
Gilbert has been very kind, I hope I shall be able
to please him.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose there's much doubt of that.
You've had an excellent training and he isn’t diffi-
cult to please, not half so difficult as Mr. Monck, I
should say. It'll be quite a change.”
“Yes, miss, I think it will.”
“But — but, I rather wonder — I’m a little sur-
prised that you care to remain in Fº I


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 103
should have thought you would have had enough
of it — that you would have been glad to get right
away.”
“On account of what's happened you mean, miss?
Well, perhaps, I should, for some reasons, but it
would have been folly to refuse such a good offer.
It isn’t every day one meets a gentleman like Sir
Gilbert. I must live it down like others will have
to do. It's no worse for me than for his friends.”
After a few more words they parted. Lilah went
to look for her father when she got home, to tell him
the news. She found him in the garden digging up
a bed of delphiniums that had scarcely ceased to
bloom, throwing them out in a heap on the path.
She picked up a long sheath of blue flowers.
“What a shame!” she said. “Why, they're not
half dead.” Mr. Blake looked a little guilty.
“Well, perhaps they might have lasted a little
longer,” he said, “but I shall have so much to do
later on; the autumn's always a busy time. I
thought I had better be getting on with something.”
* “I believe you enjoy digging up things better than
seeing them bloom,” she said. “When you look at
them I seem to see you measuring how long they
have to live.” -
The beginning is better than the end of most
things, my dear. Youth is better than age, the first
kiss than the last. We plant new things with new
hopes, and there is always the chance that we may
do better than we have ever done before.”
"Johnson is going to the Manor House,” she said
abruptly. “Gilbert has engaged him.”


104 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
Mr. Blake had just brought down another blue
head, but he paused in his work of destruction to
stare at her.
“Indeed?” he said. “You surprise me, I was not
prepared for that. Now I wonder what it means.”
“Why should it mean anything? That is, any-
thing suspicious or mysterious? Gilbert wants a
new valet, and Johnson is a most capable man.”
“I must make a note of it,” Mr. Blake said, pick-
ing up his coat from the wheelbarrow and hunting
for his pocket-book. “Not that I am likely to for-
get.” He put the ivory pencil-head to his lips in a
thoughtful attitude. But, beyond shaking his head,
he vouchsafed no information.
“You see, if Johnson had done anything wrong he
would be glad to get away,” Lilah pursued, “he
wouldn't take another place here. So that disposes
of one of your theories.”
“Regarded superficially, my dear, no doubt you
are right. But you should never trust the obvious
in a case of this kind. Johnson is a man of the
world, why should he elect to bury himself in a vil-
lage, however charming? He has no country tastes,
no particular friends here, he could do as well or
better in London among congenial surroundings.
Therefore, why should he mortify himself by re-
maining here? Obviously, for reasons we do not
See?’’’
“You said we should not trust the obvious.” But
Mr. Blake pretended not to hear.
“There must be some reason stronger than his own
w


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 105
inclinations. Motives of prudence or policy —
something to be gained. I can't say what at pres-
ent, but it must be my business to find out.”
He turned back to his delphiniums, and Lilah
strolled away, but, as usual when he was gardening,
he broke into song. She caught some of the words:
“Did they love as I love when they lived by the sea?
Did they wait as I wait for the days that may be?”
“It's to be hoped not,” she exclaimed half sav-
agely, “not as I loved, poor fool that I was! or they'd
be paying the penalty as I am now.”
When Johnson went to London a few days later,
one of the first thmgs he did was to call on old Mrs.
Monck. He evidently had an appoinument, for she
received him at once in a little room adoining her
bedroom; she was not well enough yet to go down-
stairs. It would not be called a boudoir, for Mrs.
Monck was not the kind of person to bouder. There
was nothing fluffy or particularly feminine about it.
It was solidly furnished with a large writing-table,
a bookcase, two comfortable armchairs, and some
other useful articles. She herself called it her work-
room, and that was what it looked.
“Well,” she said, fixing her eyes on him as he stood
respectfully before her, his head slightly bent, “so
you have come.” Mrs. Monck's eyes had lost little
or nothing of their brightness with age — and some
people found that piercing gaze a little trying. She
sat in one of the armchairs, but not in a comfortable


106 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
attitude. She was leaning a little forward, her right
hand resting on a stick.
“I came as soon as I could, madam.” To himself
Johnson was saying, “His eyes over again.” It
had never struck him as forcibly as now, when her
cheeks had fallen away, making the eyes look un-
usually large and bright. They burnt in their hol-
lows like coals. She was an old woman, and she
looked it for the first time in Johnson's memory;
but behind the worn, haggard face, innocent now of
any make-up, the brain was quick and keen as
ever. She would wear herself out in time, no doubt,
but she would never rust out.
“There were a good many little things to settl
up,” he said. “I could not hurry away.” -
“It might have looked suspicious,” she said with
the suggestion of a sneer.
, “It might,” he agreed, respectfully.
“Well, now you are here, what have you to say—
what have you got to tell me?” She spoke impa-
tiently, tapping her stick a little on the ground.
“I don't know that I have anything particular to
say, madam. I think you know all that has hap-
pened. It was reported in the papers.”
“Nonsense!” the word rapped out sharply. “Do
I know all the talk — the whispers — the half-
spoken words? That is what I want to hear. The
papers!” She made a contemptuous sound, “they
daren't say anything; they're afraid of being called
to account. Sit down and tell me all you know, or
think, or suspect.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 107
Johnson sat down, but he seemed to find some
difficulty in beginning. Mrs. Monck leant forward
on her stick till her face was nearly on a level with
his.
“What are they saying among themselves?” she
said. “Whom do they suspect? Can't you speak?
— you're hiding something,” she broke out fiercely,
“shielding somebody perhaps.”
“I’m not doing anything of the sort,” he retorted.
“I know very little more than you do — than all the
world knows. I believe the police are keeping an
eye on several people, but it's only in the hope of
something turning up. There's nothing that can
really be called a clue, as far as I know.”
“Are you going to help me? I'll make it worth
your while. I’m not going to talk sentiment. I
don't suppose you were particularly devoted to my
son, for he would be a hard master. But if you can
find his murderer, you can ask almost any reward
you like. I know you're not too scrupulous, for you
wouldn't have suited him if you had been — that's
why I sent for you. You had better opportunities
for knowing him and his friends than most people.
You ought to be able to do better than the police.”
Johnson showed no surprise or annoyance. He
wore his accustomed air of the superior, confidential
servant, who is never taken aback.
“I’ve taken another situation in Ferrybridge,”
he said. “If necessary, madam, will you be kind
enough to speak for me in the circumstances? I


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 109
“Speak out. Don't stand on ceremony. We are
on different terms now — we're working together.
You're in my confidence.”
“I think you are right, madam, in saying that my
master came near to hating Sir Gilbert, and the
reason was that he envied him — was jealous of
him.” Mrs. Monck gave an angry exclamation, but
Johnson went on. “You said I might speak plainly,
and I am doing so. Sir Gilbert is the big man of the
place and everybody looks up to him. Mr. Monck
did not like that; he liked to come first. Sir Gilbert
was a step higher than him in every way. He was
younger, richer, better looking, and belonged to a
county family.” -
“You certainly don't mince your words.”
“I have sometimes thought,” Johnson continued
imperturbably, “that Mr. Monck paid attention to
Sir Gilbert's young lady more to annoy him than
anything else. Of course he admired her — nobody
could help it — but I think it was knowing she be-
longed to somebody else — and to him especially —
that made her so tempting.”
“I daresay you're right there. He always wanted
what he couldn't have, even as a baby. . . . And
when do you go to this paragon?”.
“In a month's time, madam.” -
“You’re taking quite a long holiday.”
His face changed a little for the first time.
“After six years? Mr. Monck never gave me
more than a few days at a time. He couldn't spare
me, he said.”


110 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Well, you had plenty of variety with him —
more than you'll have with your new master, very
likely. But I'm glad you're going to him, and that
you're stopping in Ferrybridge, for it will make
things easier. You'll be on the spot, and able to see
all that goes on.” -
“You think, madam, that it was somebody in
Ferrybridge who did it?”
“Yes, I do. Why, what do you think?”
“I don't know. Sometimes I think one thing, and
sometimes another. Of course everything's been in
confusion. When I go back after a month they'll
have settled down and I may be able to find out
something. People will be off their guard.”
There was no answer, and he got up to go.
“Wait a minute. Have you heard anything about
my daughter-in-law?”
“Nothing since she was down for the inquest,
madam, and nothing particular then. Everybody
was sorry for her, and said how well she had be-
haved. It was a trying position, and she was very
brave.”
Mrs. Monck made a half contemptuous sound
with her lips.
“Well, her martyrdom is over at last,” she said,
“she is going to be happy, for she is going to get
married again. You wouldn't have thought she
would have been in such a hurry, would you, when
the first venture had not been a success.”
“I am glad,” he said. “I hope she will be happy.”
The hard old woman glared at him.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 111
“Your sentiments do you credit,” she said. “You
talk like a Sunday School teacher. You are de-
veloping in quite a new direction.” He made no
answer.
“Well, as you are so pleased about it, you won't
mind going to see her married. It's to take place in
a few weeks, I believe. She made no secret of it to
me. She's not wasting much time, is she —not pro-
longing the days of mourning?”
“Would you believe her if she expressed regret?”
“Perhaps not, but I don't like her any the better
for showing him so little respect. If he spoilt her
life, she didn't improve his. He might have been
another man with another woman. He wanted
someone with experience to manage him. A woman
of the world who could hold her own, not a romantic
little chit, who knew nothing of men.”
“She would know a good deal now, so I hope she
will get on better this time. May I ask who the
gentleman is, madam?”
“Don’t you know? She must have kept it very
quiet down there. It's a Ferrybridge man, she told
me, named Fenchurch.”
“Mr. Fenchurch?” Johnson exclaimed. “Well, I
am surprised, I had no idea, and I don’t think
anybody else had. Of course she was only down
for one night, and, naturally, she kept very quiet
then.” .
“As you know them both you'll find the wedding
quite interesting, and I want to have a description
of it. Just curiosity, you know. I'll find out the


112 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
exact date and where it's to take place and tell you.
Of course it'll be perfectly quiet — nobody asked, for
it wouldn't look well. That is all my daughter-in-
law would consider necessary, though her husband
was done to death so foully only a few weeks ago,
and nobody but an old woman to see that he is
avenged.”
“You can hardly call him her husband — it's been
no more than an empty word for years,” said John-
son. “But I'll go to the wedding and let you know
how it goes off. I’m staying in town for the pres-
ent—perhaps you would like my address.” She
nodded, and he wrote it down.
“‘Duval's, Cross Street, Soho',” she said, reading
it aloud. “So that's where you're staying. Well, I
daresay it will suit you. Not as repectable as
Bloomsbury, but more amusing.” She dismissed
him with a nod, and sank back in her chair,
looking very exhausted. Even with her pride and
self-control, it had been a trying interview. John-
son went softly towards the door.
“Don’t forget,” she said, “that I can make you
independent, and that nobody will do as much for
you as I can. Keep your eyes open and don’t neg-
lect a chance. I’m not much use tied up here, so
you must be my eyes and ears. Think how I should
watch and listen! He wouldn't escape me.”
“I’ll do my best. You shall be kept informed of
what happens, madam. I can easily run up—it’ll
be safer than writing.”
“I’ll make it worth your while. It's not only the
*


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 113
£300 I’ve offered publicly. You shall have double
that — more — if you put the clue in my fingers
soon. Give me something to go upon, and I'll fol-
low it up, step by step, to the end. I’ve only that
to live for now.”
As Johnson went down the stairs, his feet making
no sound on the thick carpet, he put his hand to his
breast-pocket with a curious smile. He moved with
the light, deft tread of the well-trained servant. He
was never awkward or in the way, but sometimes
his movements were so quiet as to be almost secre-
tive. His action now as he put his hand to his breast
had something stealthy in it.
“I wonder what she would say if she knew what I
have here?” he was thinking. “She would give a good
deal to see that letter. It was fortunate it had the
address on the envelope, or I shouldn’t have known
where it had come from and might have left it where
it was.”


CHAPTER TEN
“Take my hands, they are yours to hold.”
RICHARD FENCHURCH and Irma Monck, were
married in an old City church early one morning
about a month after Johnson's interview with old
Mrs. Monck. The church was old and gloomy, with
a musty smell, recalling the dead that had been
buried there a hundred years ago. Irma walked on
their tombstones as she went to the altar. But it
was safe and quiet, and nobody would be likely to
see them there.
Even on this perfect morning of late summer, the
air struck chill and damp as one went in. Johnson
shivered as he stood looking round, half doubtfully
for a moment; he could not see well coming in from
the sunshine. Then he discovered that he was a
minute or two late, for the ceremony had already
commenced. He walked softly up the aisle and en-
tered a pew about half way up the church. The
service was soon over, and the two for whom it had
been performed turned away to go out into the
world together — man and wife. -
Johnson watched them curiously as they came
toward him. Richard Fenchurch was a typical speci-
*
* 114


116 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
too, sir? I hope you'll be very happy — I’m sure
you will. I hope you don't think it a liberty, my
looking in, but being close by and hearing—”
“Oh, that's all right,” Richard interrupted
heartily. “Thanks very much — very good of you.
Now we must be going, they're getting impatient,”
looking at the ancient pew-opener, who was waiting
to lock up the church. “Good morning,” and with
a friendly nod, he went on, though Irma had half
hesitated as though she would have said something.
“What was he doing there? — how did he find
out?” she said when they got outside. “I can't un-
derstand it, it seems so strange.”
“Oh, he'd nothing better to do. He's having a
holiday, and it is something to fill up the time,”
her husband replied. “Never mind about him.
Let's talk of ourselves—that's much more interest-
ing.”
“But how did he know? We've been so careful;
I’ve told nobody; we said we wouldn't. Not that
I'm ashamed, but I didn't want any fuss or bother.”
“I know. Though I shouldn’t have cared myself
if it had been shouted from the house-tops. And
we managed very well, too, for we’ve given them
all the slip. They'll have quite a shock,” with a
laugh, “when they see it in the papers to-morrow.”
Richard was so happy that he couldn't see trouble
in anything. He had got his own way. At one
time he had been afraid that Irma might sacrifice
herself and him to some absurd scruple. Now he
was safe. -


118 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
ought to have, on my reduced income. I feel savage
with myself when I think what a fool I was.”
“Never mind, we shall manage very comfortably
together. I don't want the ‘silk stockings of life'
now, as somebody says, but just a cozy hole to creep
into — a door one can shut against the world and
its worries. Sometimes when I was tired of work,
when I got up in the morning feeling that nothing
mattered, I used to spur myself on with visions of
the workhouse in my old age.”
“And yet you would not take anything from him.
It was your right; it was his duty to support you.”
“‘Duty,’ yes, I suppose so. But if I had taken
anything, I couldn't have cut myself so completely
adrift from him. I can't tell you exactly how I felt,
but when I went away, I was sick of it all. I never
wanted to see him nor hear his name again.”
“There! we won’t talk of it, it was stupid of me.
It's all over and done with, thank goodness. Now
I must wire to Peggy. I should like her to know
before anybody else. I'm afraid she'll feel a little
hurt that I didn't tell her.”
“You must put the blame on me. I think perhaps
I was a little afraid of her. You and she have been
so much to each other that she'll look on me as an
interloper.”
“That she won't. She'll fall in love with you at
once as I did. But here we are,” as they reached
the station. “Away dull care! We're off for the
holidays.” He was as happy as a schoolboy, and
Irma, as she looked at him, felt her spirits rise. She
N


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 119
was not too old to make a fresh start, and everything
promised well. Surely she had a right to be happy
In OW.
“You’ve no flowers,” he said, “you must have a
tiny bunch — just a buttonhole. I ought to have
thought of it before.”
He bought a spray of carnations and maidenhair
at the flower-stall, and she fastened them in her
waist-belt.
“That's better! You look ten years younger al-
ready than you did when I met you this morning.
I take all the credit; I’m as good as a tonic.”
“You’re a thousand times better,” she said
warmly. “Don’t you know that there's no beautifier
like happiness? I had a bad night; I was feeling
nervous and all to pieces when I met you. I couldn't
have worn flowers then, for they would have been
out of place. It's different now. I feel like a girl
again, I’ve gone back a hundred years.”
She looked up at him with shining eyes. Irma's
nature was too sensitive for her own comfort, and
was apt to go up and down too quickly. Richard
answered her with a smile that set her heart beating.
She had had a hard struggle, she had been buffeted,
and passed over, and forgotten, and now it was good
to be something to somebody again — to have things
done for her instead of doing them herself. Best of
all was it to have Dick Fenchurch with his honest
eyes and straight, clean ways. She had had enough
of clever men.
“That's our train,” he said. “Come along,” and


120 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
they hurried to the platform. They were going to
have a fortnight's honeymoon motoring about the
country in Dick's comfortable two-seater, which was
to meet them some way down the line. They hadn't
made any plans, beyond the one that they were
going to enjoy themselves. Nothing had been ar-
ranged or mapped out; they were to follow the fancy
of the moment.
“We'll stop at the prettiest village inns and go
over the old country churches, and never know to-
day what we are going to do to-morrow,” Irma had
said, and so it had been decided. “I’m tired of being
punctual and methodical. I should like to be as
haphazard as a tramp.”
And Dick, who loved the country and whose tastes
were simple, adopted the idea with enthusiasm, as,
indeed, he would have agreed had she suggested a
journey to Timbuctoo, being in that frame of mind
when one believes that the beloved can do no wrong.
It is surely to their credit that women do not take
more advantage of this condition; perhaps they do
not realize, at the time, that it is not eternal.
When Johnson left the church, he strolled leisurely
away, wondering what he should do with the rest
of the day. Perhaps it would be best to see Mrs.
Monck first and get that settled, then he would be
free to enjoy himself. He had little or nothing to
tell her, but he knew she would be expecting him.
He took an omnibus going in the direction of Russell
Square and mounted to the top. He liked London;
he liked the crowds, the movement, the life. He


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 121
leant back, a cigarette in his mouth, and watched
the coming and going, the huge drama, the little
side-scenes, with eyes that noted everything.
“It's the only place worth living in,” he muttered.
“Why do I go back?” His blood quickened, and he
grew more alive. Here he was a man among men;
nobody knew anything about him; nobody knew
or cared. There was something exhilarating even
about that. At Ferrybridge, he was Johnson, the
valet, a superior upper servant — nothing more,
nothing less, and he had trained himself to look and
speak the part to perfection.
But once, a long time ago, fifteen — twenty years,
he had been something better — a free man, with the
world before him. Now what concerned him most
was to make comfortable provision for his old age;
not to be at the mercy of anybody.
He glanced at Mrs. Monck's house before he en-
tered, and wondered if she were looking out for him,
behind the closely curtained window where she was
sitting. It had always been, to his thinking, a dull
house in a dull square, but it seemed to have grown
duller. The shrubs had withered in the window-
boxes, the blinds were half down, there was no sign
of life or movement anywhere. His spirits drcpped.
The atmosphere of the house weighed on him. It
was so fresh and buoyant outside, here everything
was as heavy and still as death.
“Well,” she said, as he went in, “well, what has
happened? Is it over?” Her voice was eager and
impatient, as though she had found it hard to wait;


122 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
as though, too, she hoped something might have
intervened at the last moment.
“Yes, they are married,” he said. She dropped
back in her chair. Johnson looked at her curiously.
For the moment she seemed to have forgotten him,
staring straight before her, as if other things claimed
her attention.
“So, that's done with,” she said at last. “She's
Basil's widow no longer, but another man's wife.
She'll be no more use. It rests with you and me
now. . . How did she look?” she asked abruptly.
“Very happy and contented — they both did.
There was nobody there, but I don't think they
wanted anybody, and there were no flowers or music,
or anything to make things cheerful, but I don't
think that mattered much either. They were happy
enough without.”
“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” she
sneered. “I don't know anything about him, but
she isn't as happy now as when she married Basil.
This man's only got the second-best, after all. When
do you go back to Ferrybridge?” she asked, closing
the subject.
“The day after to-morrow, madam.”
“I’m glad of that. There's been enough delay,
and we must set to work at once.” She spoke with
feverish energy. “Keep a diary and jot down every
trifle. I may see some meaning in it if you don't.
It'll be something for me to do, and I may be able
to help that way. You can post the notes on to me
outside Ferrybridge. Of course they mustn't know


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 123
down there that we've anything to do with one an-
other.” g
Johnson gave a sigh of relief when he got outside;
he was not in the mood for such things. He had
only a few more hours to be his own master, and he
wanted to enjoy them. So he went to call for a girl
friend and took her to lunch at a little Breton res-
taurant in Soho, where everything was calculated
to put you on good terms with yourself, from the
welcoming smile of Madame, the patronne, to the
“petit filet” done to a turn. The white-painted
lattice windows, the spotless linen and quaint
crockery, the neat-handed Breton waitresses, were
all harmonious details of a delightful whole. John-
son turned to his companion with a smile when the
more substantial plats had been disposed of.
“An omelette au rhum, Lolette?” and Lolette said
she would. She was half French, and half English,
and wholly charming. Johnson was not in love with
her; he was not in love with anybody; he, himself,
would have said that he had got over all that sort
of thing long ago, but she was a good pal. You
could not have wanted a better for a dull day. Lo-
lette swam on the surface of things, like a may-fly,
whose life is too short for worry, and Johnson was
glad enough to do the same for a change. He had
gone down to the depths often enough.
“You are happy, my friend,” she said presently.
“I have never seen you so gay. What has hap-
pened?”
“Perhaps it's the wine,” he suggested, taking up


124 V THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
the wicker-cased bottle. “Gone to my head — you
know I’ve a weak head.” She laughed as though it
were a great joke. “You must chink glasses with
me — I’ve a toast to propose.” He filled her glass,
and she looked at him with dancing eyes.
“Wish me good luck,” he said, “a pocketful of
money. I’ve got a big thing on.” She put down her
glass with a little gesture of disdain.
“Money!” she said. “But no! I cannot drink,
it is not a pretty sentiment, see you, it would spoil
the wine.”
“There's no other for me now; nothing else that
matters half as much.” She looked at him reproach-
fully.
“For me,” she said, “‘Il n'y a que l'amour et la
mort.” When one is gone then I am ready for the
other.” He had a smattering of French, as of most
things, and he understood.
“You’ll know better, some day,” he answered with
a laugh, “you'll find out that lots of things come
between ‘love and death.’ Commonplace things,
perhaps, but enjoyable in their way. But drink up
your wine, I'll forgive you. I was foolish and ro-
mantic myself at twenty.”
“You!” she said with a flout of her lips. “But
it is impossible — I cannot picture it. You must
always have been of a wiseness, truly remarkable—
an example for the others.”
“You’re wrong there,” he answered, his face cloud-
ing, “I’ve made one or two of the worst mistakes a
man could make; otherwise I shouldn't be where I


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 125
am at four-and-forty. But, please the pigs, I'm not
going to make any more.” He put a cognac in his
coffee and drank it off. “Now come along; we'll go
and see ‘The Rumpty-tumpty Girl.’”


CHAPTER ELEVEN
“There is fair store in Love's garden
Of herbs to heal and bless,
But the fairest vail is poppies pale
That bring forgetfulness
Sleep and forgetfulness.”
“I’M sorry you wouldn't go away with mother,”
Gilbert said, “it would have done you good. She
was very disappointed.”
“Not really, I think. Lady Chelford was very
kind; nobody could have been kinder, but we
haven’t much in common. She will be happier with
Peggy.”
“I wanted you to go, for it would have been a
good opportunity for you both to get better ac-
quainted. She took Peggy, because you wouldn’t
go, and she was sorry for her. Dick's marriage up-
set her a good deal. I think he might have let her
into the secret, even if he didn't want anybody else
to know, though why they should have kept it a
secret at all I don’t see.”
“It was very soon afterwards,” in a low tone.
“Six or seven years. They had been separated
as long as that, I understand. That is the way it
should be looked at, according to my thinking–
126


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 127
the only fair, sensible way. Why should she waste
any more of her life? She had been tied to him
like a slave — such things ought not to be.”
“I was sorry for Peggy too; I wonder what she
will do now? Her home is gone. It was kind of
your mother to take her away. She will get over it
a little before she meets them.”
“But you won’t let her be kind to you. You keep
us all at a distance, even me. Lilah, it can’t go on
like this.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“It's two months now since it happened, but
you've never been the same since; you don’t seem
to get over it. I’ve made every allowance for the
shock and horror, but I confess I don’t understand
you, and it makes me miserable. . . . Are you still
mourning for the man who should have been noth-
ing to you?”
“I don't know. I don't understand myself. I’ve
tried, but it seems no use.”
“You’ve tried what?”
“Tried to forget, to be my old self, to — to do my
duty.” -
He sighed. “Your duty to me, do you mean? Has
it come down to that — is that all you can do for
me, Lilah?” She did not answer.
“I asked you once before — since this happened —
if you would like your freedom, and you said no. If
I asked the same question now. . . .”
“I should give you the same answer — No! —
No! You're my best friend. How could I want to


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 129
times — that hearty laugh, which rang out at any
excuse. She had not heard it much lately.
He turned and met her eyes, and took hope from
them. His face flushed. She must care still or she
would not look like that. He put out his hand half
diffidently — he had always been too diffident.
Basil would have taken while he hesitated. He
clasped the slack hand that lay in her lap.
“Why won't you trust me?” he said. “We’re
neither of us happy nor likely to be, going on like
this. Why not make a change; it could hardly be
for the worse even from your point of view, you look
so ill and miserable. Marry me, as quietly as you
like, but without any more delay, and trust me to
make you happy — if not to-day then to-morrow.”
He felt her shrink, but he went on. He must say
all he could now, for he felt that he had given way
too much.
“You know that people are talking. They think
you are fretting for him, and they pity me.
Wouldn't it be better to put a stop to it, for your
sake as well as mine? Of course they don’t say a
word to my face, but I know what they're thinking,
and it's all I can do sometimes —” he stopped
abruptly. “I might break down some day, it would
be better not. My nerve's not as good as it was; I
can’t always answer for myself. . . . Am I very
selfish?” he added, as she did not answer.
“You’re not selfish at all; you've been only too
kind and patient. But — ”
“There is no reason for delay. We should have


130 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
been married before this, probably, if nothing had
happened. Trust me to make you forget. We'll
bury the past together. I know all about it, and I
know it can be forgotten. I,” his voice changed, “I
may not have been as strong as he was living — to
my shame, be it said — but I’m more than a match
for him dead.”
“Hush!” she cried, “don’t say that, don't speak of
him. It's not he that stands between us now — at
least I don’t think so; it's myself. I don't seem to
have any heart for anything. I only want to be left
alone.”
“It’s the worst thing for you. The longer you shut
yourself up, the harder it will be to come out. Make
an effort for my sake. Remember how happy we
were in the beginning. For the sake of those days,
if you cared the least bit, be good to me now. If
you're on the rack, so am I. I don’t sleep well, I’m
always thinking and worrying.”
“Poor Gilbert! What a muddle it's all been —
what a lot of harm I've done! And I didn't mean to
do any harm. I was foolish and careless; I went
my own way, without thinking, and this is the end.”
“Not the end,” he said. “At your age, with so
much life before us, why do you say such things?
At the most it is only the end of a chapter; begin
the next with me.”
“If you wish,” she said after a moment, “if you
wish — if it will make you happy.”
“Of course it will,” eagerly. “It’s the best thing
in the world for both of us. Does that sound very


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 131
conceited?” tenderly. “Trust me, it'll come true,
I’d do more for you than anybody else would, for I
understand and I’d be patient. Only give me a
chance.”
“You come first,” she said, “I’ve nobody else to
think of. It shall be as you wish.”
“But you wish it too? If it's not quite the same
as it was, you do care still, don't you? You're not
doing this only to please me? I shouldn't like
that.”
“No, to please myself as well. You're right; it
will be best. I’ve brooded too long — made too
much of things. I'll make a fresh start and get away
from them. You mustn't let me think.”
“You shan't! We'll be so gay and frivolous that
you'll never have time. We'll take every pleasure
that comes along. We'll forget everything and
everybody except ourselves. Will that do? Only
first, we must be married. You haven’t ‘named the
day.” yy
There was some argument over that, but eventu-
ally Gilbert reduced the time of waiting to three
months. They would be married early in the New
Year. “I don't see why we should wait at all,” he
said.
“Your mother wouldn't like a hole-and-corner
wedding; everything must be done properly. It's
due to your position—and to me. I don't want
people to say that I rushed the thing for fear of
losing you.” -
“They're not likely to say that. But perhaps


1& THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
you're right. Three months then — not a day more.
I'm as happy as a sandboy,” throwing up his head
with a gay laugh. “You’ve taken years from my
life. Do you know," growing grave, “that I was
getting very old.”
“Poor boy! But you mustn't think about it any
more. I'm going to make you happy if I can, for
you deserve it." Already she looked brighter and
better for the decision. She held herself more erect;
there was hope in her face, a light in her eyes that
had not been there formany a day. She was young;
she would forget. She was surely not so weak that
she could not free herself—shake off the thoughts
and fancies that tormented her.
“I’m sorry about one thing—that you’ve taken
Johnson,” she said presently.
“Why, don't you like him? He's a splendid
servant. I've never been so well looked after
before.”
“I daresay. All the same, I'm sorry.”
“But why? What difference will it make? He
won't interfere with you.”
“Of course not. It's only a silly fancy. He — he
reminds me of all the horrors, for he was with him
so long that I can't help connecting the two together.
I don't like to think of him being with you.”
“But that's nonsense! He couldn't help it, poor
chap. It was hard luck for him. He was awfully
upset at the time, but I'm glad to say he's getting
over it now.”
“Oh, I know I'm unreasonable, for, of course, he's


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 133
not to blame, but it's just a feeling that I can't help.
I would rather not have had anything to remind me.”
“But there are other things — that isn't all. We
must live at the Manor House — you will see . . .”
He hesitated.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said slowly.
“We’ll run up to town pretty often, go anywhere
you like, but this must be our home. It's my duty
to live here and look after things. I couldn't be
happy long anywhere else. You see that, don’t
you?”
“Yes. As you say, I must get over it. I won’t
give way any more. I’ve made up my mind.”
“If you really object to Johnson, I'll give him no-
tice. I spoke to him on the impulse of the moment.
Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn't
come, though he's so quiet and unobtrusive, you'll
hardly notice him. He never speaks of what hap-
pened unless I do — never says a word about his
former master.”
“Don’t say anything; leave it as it is,” she said.
“You can’t send him away now. It wouldn’t be
fair — besides he would wonder. I’ve no fault to
find with him personally — quite the contrary.”
When Gilbert was leaving, Lilah went out with
him, and they ran against Mr. Blake in the garden.
He greeted them with his accustomed cheerfulness.
“Something accomplished, something done, has
earned a night's repose,” he said, passing a delicate
handkerchief over his brow. “I’ve really had a hard
day's work.” His mind was full of transplanting.


134 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
Shrubs that did not do their duty had scant grace
allowed them, or he might have noticed something
different from usual in the pair. “I’ve moved the
arbutus round to — ”
But Gilbert was impatient.
“I should like to tell you my good news,” he said.
“Lilah has fixed the day and we're going to be mar-
ried in three months.” Mr. Blake looked at them
with more interest.
“Really?” he said. “Well, I'm glad — really quite
delighted, though of course, I shall miss her terribly
— terribly. But she's been rather off color lately,
for that affair at the cottage was a nasty shock. It’ll
do her good to get away from it all for a time.” He
shook his head at them mournfully. “Ah! youth —
youth! there's nothing like it. ‘Gather ye roses
while ye may,’ the time is all too short.”
When Lilah went back to the house, she found
her father in the library. He was smoking a cig-
arette and reading the paper, but he put it down at
once when she came in. She thought he looked at
her more attentively than usual.
“That's a good chap,” he said, “honest and above-
board; you couldn't do better. When I'm under the
daisies it'll be some comfort to me to know that.
You're a beauty — I don't speak as a father but as
a man of taste — but all the same you’ve been for-
tunate. I hope you recognise that, my girl.”
“I think so,” she said. “Gilbert is all that I could
wish.”
“It sounds a little cold, but that's the way of the


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 135
present day. You take everything coolly — even
love. In my time we lost our heads, and were glad
to lose them. But I suppose it's all right — it comes
to the same thing. . . . You're happy?”
“Of course. Why shouldn't I be?”
“Why not, indeed? I've been rather a careless
father, I'm afraid — nature does not always make
the proper people parents — but I should like you to
be happy. You've fluttered about my life like a
white butterfly, and I shall miss you.”
“Why, daddy!” She knelt down by his chair
and put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid;
I shall be all right.” -
“I hope so, my dear. I’m glad to hear you say so.
Lately once or twice, I’ve wondered if anything
were the matter, but I don’t think being a parent
gives one the right to pry. I’m a light, superficial
person myself, and I thought you took after me.
There are so many beautiful things waiting to be
enjoyed that it seems a pity to look for trouble.”
When Lilah went upstairs to dress for dinner she
put on a loose wrapper and sat down in front of the
toilet-table with her hair undone, but that was as
far as she got. She leant back in her chair, and her
thoughts wandered. It had all happened so suddenly
that she could hardly realise it yet. An hour before
she had not thought of such a thing. But she was
not sorry that it was settled — that the future was
taken out of her hands, as it were. She felt more at
rest.
Half mechanically, she took up the little book of


136 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
poetry Basil Monck had given her, then looked at
some drawings on the wall, at some curios he had
picked up in his wanderings, gifts from him too.
What should she do with them all? Destroy them?
She had a good excuse to do so now, or in a few
weeks' time, when the room would be dismantled.
It might look strange to do so before. Destroy
every memory — every sign of him. That was the
best, the only way.
She threw down the book and stretched out her
arms as though she were shaking off some burden.
Then she leant forward, on a sudden impulse, and
looked at herself intently, in the glass. Had she
changed very much? she wondered. She felt so much
older; she was quite a different being. Did it show?
She shook the cloud of gold hair. Not very much;
a few weeks of happiness would do away with all
the tell-tale signs. She was too young to have lines.
Her beauty did not depend on coloring alone. Hap-
piness, yes, but was she going to have that? Peace
and forgetfulness, she might win, but happiness was
a big thing.
The eyes in the glass stared back at those other
eyes that looked and looked as though they were
searching for something. “Les yeur verts, vont a
l'enfer,” that was what he had said once. It flashed
back on her now, as his words so often did. And he
had added that he was ready to go with them
wherever they went. Such a thing would never have
occurred to Gilbert; the idea would shock him. He
thought of her as going quite the other way. Well,


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 137
so she would, now she was free of the influence that
had dragged her down. She would redeem the past,
be all that he wished. If she made him happy,
surely that would go a long way towards atonement?
But Gilbert had no misgivings. He walked home
feeling happier than he had done for months past.
His heart was as light as a bird, and it had lain in his
breast very heavy of late. How different everything
was. He looked round with a smile; he was a friend
of all the world; he wanted everybody to rejoice with
him.
“She's mine again; I'll make her happy — I'll
make her happy,” he was saying to himself over and
over again. They would live in the dear old house,
among the people he had known all his life. Lilah
would soon love it as much as he did. New people
could come to the cottage, and Basil Monck would
be forgotten; it would all be like a bad dream.
He was sorry his mother was away, that there was
nobody at home to whom he could tell the good
news; he was not accustomed to be thrown back on
himself. His mother would be glad for his sake,
he knew, and soon she would welcome Lilah for her
own. There had been an estrangement, but that
would disappear now the cause was no longer there.
Look which way he would, the signs were all favor-
able, and he could see no cloud. His heart rose up
in thanksgiving; out of darkness had come light.
They would value their happiness all the more be-
cause it had been in peril.
He ran up to his room lightly as a boy, and flung


138 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
open the door. Johnson was putting out his dress-
clothes, and looked round with a start. Gilbert
laughed the hearty laugh which had irritated Lilah
sometimes.
“Did I startle you? I didn't know you had any
nerves. I suppose I did come in with rather a rush,”
he said.
“It's nothing, sir. I didn't hear you come up. I
was thinking of other things.”
“You do too much thinking, Johnson; we’ve all
done too much lately, but that's all going to be
changed.” Gilbert did not see the quick glance that
his man gave him; he was too busy, with his own
thoughts. “We’re going to brighten up, be gay and
frivolous and happy. It's been a sad house of late,
but I hope those days are over.”
“Yes, sir,” Johnson murmured respectfully.
“I may as well tell you that Miss Blake and I are
to be married soon — in two or three months. So
you see, there's plenty to be done; the old place will
have to be smartened up a bit. I want everything
to look its best for her.” Glibert could not keep
his good news to himself.
“Of course, sir, I see, sir. I hope you'll be very
happy.”
“By the way, Johnson,” Gilbert hesitated, “I’d
better give you a word of warning. Don't speak
about the murder to Miss Blake, I want her to for-
get all about it. Of course I don’t suppose you
would unless she happened to first, but even then,
say as little as possible. I would rather the matter
º


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 141
*.
were dropped entirely in the house, if possible. The-
others will follow your lead.”
“I will remember what you say, sir.”
“It’s better for all of us that we should put it out
of our minds now; it's been discussed long enough.
I hope I haven't hurt your feelings by saying this.
Sl will understand I mean no disrespect to Mr.
->
Nite understand, sir.”
*
* \
|
º


CHAPTER TWELVE
“Thus we know not the day, nor the morrow,
Nor yet what a night may bring forth.”
THE days had passed peacefully and uneventfully,
and already Lilah was looking more like her old self.
Four weeks had gone of the twelve, and dressmakers
were busy with the trousseau, Lilah found herself
taking an interest again in frocks and frills. She
had a stronger will than most people gave her credit
for. Her fragile appearance was scarcely an index
to her character, and she kept a strict watch on her-
self. The past was forbidden ground.
She was busy looking over some patterns one
afternoon when the maid came in with a note. “The
lady asked me to give you this,” she said. “She
wouldn't say her name.” Lilah looked up impa-
tiently.
“Who is it?” she said. “What does she want?”
“I don’t know, miss. She asked to see you —
asked if you were alone. I've shown her into the
drawing-room. She's an old lady, miss, but quite
the lady,” the maid added to save herself a possible
reprimand.
“Very well, I'll come directly. Collecting for
something, I suppose.” Lilah took the letter, and
140


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 141
the maid went out. She opened the envelope in-
differently, expecting to find an appeal for some
charity, and was surprised to see only a visiting-card
inside. How queer to send it up like that! She
took it out with some curiosity and looked at the
name: — “Mrs. Monck.” There was something
written in pencil. “I hope you will be kind enough
to see me for a few minutes.”
The card dropped from her hand, and she sat
staring before her as though turned to stone. She
was as rigid as if something had arrested every
movement — her face set and empty. For a mo-
ment she had thought it might be Irma; then she
remembered that she was married. It could only
be his mother, there was no other Mrs. Monck. . . .
His mother. She drew a long breath, as one slowly
returning to consciousness, but she had not lost her
senses for a moment, though she had had a bad
shock. It was so unexpected; she had been feeling
so much better and happier, and now a sudden blow
had sent her back. She felt the shadows of the past
closing round her again; she struggled to throw them
off.
“I won't see her — I won't!” she muttered fiercely.
That terrible old woman, hard and bitter and re-
vengeful. She remembered how Johnson had de-
scribed her. What did she want here? What right
had she to come and torment her? She would send
a message that she was ill — engaged, anything to
get rid of her.
She had turned towards the bell when her hand


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY - 143
tea.” Mrs. Monck stopped her as she was going to
ring.
“No,” she said, “nothing, thank you. If you will
let me talk to you for a few minutes, that is all I
want. It is kind of you to see me, I cannot be a
very welcome visitor.”
“Why not?” Lilah asked, as in moments of strain
we ask questions to precipitate events eager to know
the worst. “Why should you think that? I am very
sorry for you — if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“That is kind of you.” Was there a suspicion of
sarcasm in the quiet voice? If so, Lilah was too
distraite to notice it. “But the sight of me must
recall events you would naturally rather forget—
it is only his mother who remembers.”
“You must not say that,” Lilah said after a mo-
ment in a low tone, “we have all remembered; it has
made a terrible difference; the place has not been
the same since.”
“But now you are forgetting, I saw the announce-
ment of your approaching marriage in the Morning
Post. That will make a pleasant change; the village
will be en fête. It is quite right — quite natural;
life is like that all through. We turn from the dead
to the living.” Lilah did not know what to say.
“When I saw that I thought I would come down
and try to see you before you went out of my reach.
I didn’t want anybody to recognise me, to know who
I am, so I sent my card up in an envelope, and put
on a thick veil. They say my son and I were much
alike.” She threw back her veil as she spoke and


144 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
Lilah gave a little exclamation. Yes, so might Basil
have looked had he lived to be old.
“You see the likeness?”
“Yes — yes.” She shrank back, but the fierce old
eyes seemed to cling to her face. She felt as though
they were searching — searching. They seemed to
go through her, as his had done sometimes when she
had tried to deceive him, to put him off. He had
seen through all her pretexts and flimsy barriers.
“You will have heard, perhaps, that my son was
very much to me. I never thought that he would
go first — and in such a way! It has taken all the
zest out of my life; it's made me an old woman.
I’ve nothing to live for now except to bring his mur-
derer to justice. . . You think I’m right, don't
you?” she asked.
“I — I don't know.”
“I’m not one of the lukewarm sort who are al-
ways ready to forgive and forget — I shouldn’t say
you are either. I think you will understand. After
all, I’ve the best authority for what I do; it's the
old law of a life for a life.” .
“You don’t think it can be paid for in any other
way?”
“No — do you? There's nothing that equals life,
nothing so valuable. Other things can be replaced.
And life meant so much to him. You, who knew
him well, must know that. He was only forty, at
the height of his powers, and he might have done
much — gone far. Think of what he's been robbed!
He enjoyed every minute of it, work and play. . .
Could you ask me to forgive?”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 147
“Your son never told me any secrets — why should
he? I know no more than the rest of the world.
I'm sorry for you, very sorry, but I can give you no
help. Why not give it up? You will wear yourself
out. He must have come across so many people,
made some enemies no doubt, and it may have been
somebody who belonged to his old life. What chance
would you have of finding him?”
“I must go on, I can’t stop to think of the chances,
I must keep on. It's the one thing I have to live
for. You know,” she added after a moment, “they
say that if you give yourself up body and soul to
one thing, you're bound to get it sooner or later.
That helps me. I'm thinking about it all day long,
and even at night, I don't forget.”
Lilah shivered as if she were cold.
“That's very bad for you,” she said. “You’ll get
morbid. You’ll imagine things — things that are not
true, very likely.”
“I don’t think so. I'm not a nervous hysterical
person, I shan’t lose my head. I’m strong enough
yet to do what lies before me. Do you think I shall
fail my son when he has only me to depend on? I
thought I might have found an ally in you, but it
seems I was mistaken.” -
“I don’t know why you should have thought that.”
“Never mind, it was only an old woman's fancy.
Of course you have other and pleasanter things to
think about — this, for instance,” leaning forward
suddenly and picking a little bit of pink silk off
Lilah's sleeve. “You are choosing your trousseau?”


148 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Yes.”
“A delightful occupation. And pink is a charming
color, the color of youth and happiness, I always
think. You will be very happy no doubt.”
“I hope so. It will be my own fault if I'm not.”
The tone was a trifle defiant.
“Well, I must be going. It is very kind of you to
have put up with me for so long.” She got up
stiffly, swaying a little as she leant on her stick.
Lilah sprang forward to help her.
“Thank you, don't trouble. I am used to looking
after myself. Basil,” she spoke his name quite
calmly, “was not a domesticated person, you know.
He didn't pay me the little attentions that some sons
pay their mothers.” *
“You spoilt him,” Lilah said abruptly. “He
thought he could do as he liked — that the world
was made for him.” Mrs. Monck looked at her
sharply. - º
“Spoilt him? — Did I? And yet I wasn't a par-
ticularly fond or foolish mother. I’m not a domesti-
cated character myself. I didn't teach him his first
steps or go into raptures over his first tooth. I had
more interesting things to do. . . . So you think he
was spoilt, eh?”
“Yes, perhaps, I spoke without thinking. I hope
I have not hurt you.”
“Oh no, I am not as easily hurt as that. But I
don’t think I spoilt him as much as other women
did. They could never leave him alone. . . Good-
bye and thank you. I've a cab waiting for me, so
'hall be all right.”


150 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
shall meet again, so I won't say good-bye. . . Au
revoir!”
Lilah stood at the gate, watching the ancient
vehicle crawl down the road to the station. She
stood there in the same attitude long after it had
disappeared.
“What are you looking at, Lill?” her father called
out when he came along presently. “Anything hap-
pened?” She looked up with a start.
“No,” she said — “No.” And neither then nor at
any other time did she speak of Mrs. Monck's visit.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“There is no armour against fate.”
IRMA and Dick had returned from their honey-
moon and were established in a little house in Ken-
sington. Dick had suggested a flat, as being more
easy to leave, but Irma had negatived the idea at
once; she had had enough of flats. “There's no
privacy, you're never by yourself,” she said. “Some-
body's always in the hall, or on the stairs, or some-
where.”
“But what does that matter?” he had asked with
an indulgent laugh. “We don’t want to hide, for
we've done nothing to be ashamed of. I’m rather
fond of my fellow-creatures. And it's so nice to be
able to lock up and go away.”
“Well,” laughing too, “you can do that anywhere.
But my idea of a home isn't a place that you're
always wanting to leave. I’m rather like a cat; I
like my own chimney-corner.”
So a house had been taken and furnished, and now
Peggy was staying with them as their first visitor.
She had felt a little hurt at being kept in the dark
about the wedding, and was naturally inclined to
blame Irma more than her brother for what had
seemed rather unkind treatment, but she had for-
- 151


152 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
given her now. She couldn't help it. Irma had
taken so much trouble to win her over. After all,
Dick was happy, and that was the principal thing.
Peggy was not selfish, and the fact that she had lost
her home by her brother's marriage did not turn her
against Irma. Lady Chelford was very fond of her,
and she was going to her on a long visit when she
returned to Ferrybridge.
“You must live with us,” both Irma and Dick
had said, but Peggy had shaken her head with de-
termination. She was a young person with a will of
her own and plenty of common sense.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I don’t care about
being the third person, who is always in the way.
It's very sweet of you to ask me, but I can't accept
the sacrifice. I’ve enough to live on, and if I hadn't
I could work.”
“But you're too young to be left alone,” Irma
said doubtfully. She felt bound to try and persuade
Peggy if possible, but at the same time, she did
want Dick to herself. It was so new to her to have
such companionship. She loved to hear him
whistling about the house, to have him call out for
her when he came in, to know that she was the pivot
on which his life turned. They had found each
other and the rest of the world didn’t matter very
much.
“I’m twenty-two,” Peggy said, “a good age now-
adays, and I know my way about. I haven’t been
kept in a glass-case. I was brought up on the ‘read-
and-write-and-speak-the-truth and pull-up-your


154 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
we’ll invent a new profession, which doesn't require
any training. You're a nice presentable person, and
there are still plenty of soft jobs in the world.”
“You don’t think you could write as well in the
country?” he said. “I might go in for poultry-
farming.”
“Or some other refuge of the destitute which al-
ways fails,” she cried. “You’ve been reading the
Daily Mail, so that you see a fortune in a chick or a
bee, and from what I can gather, they are two of the
most disappointing things in the world. No chicken
ever does what it is expected to do any more than a
bee gathers as much honey as it should if it paid
any attention to statistics. As to writing in the
country, I'm sorry, but it's impossible. All my
work has been done in London, and I'm too old to
change.”
“I should have thought nature would have in-
spired you —”
“Should you? Well, it doesn't. Mine is only a
little talent and it wants a great deal of stimulus,
nothing less than London. You see, I can't draw
on my own experience — except in one direction —
and it's only the happy people, who are in the
minority, who want unhappy stories.”
His hand touched her caressingly, and she looked
up and smiled. It was enough — the little cloud
vanished. He could always disperse her fears.
Every day the past drifted a little farther away. It
was only at night, in her dreams, that it came close,
frightening her sometimes, because it pretended to
be the present.


156 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
much now unless something happens to bring it up.
But it seems dreadful that such a thing can happen
and leave no trace — that, in a little while, every-
thing should be as it was before.”
“I don’t think it has come to that—yet. As long
as his mother lives there will be one person who
remembers, who won’t let it rest.”
“I didn't think of her. One has heard so little
about her. She has kept so in the background that
I suppose she has been overlooked. It must have
been dreadful for her.”
“Terrible. At her age one doesn’t even pretend
to get over such a thing; the wound never heals.”
“I suppose,” Dick said, “that you haven’t seen her
for some time?” He would not have started the
conversation; he avoided any reference to the past,
but as it had come up by accident, he put the ques-
tion before the subject was dropped.
“No, not since our marriage. Of course she didn't
approve of it, and there was no use in meeting. It
only made us both bitter. We have never had much
to do with one another. It is hard on her, no doubt,
that she should be the only one to grieve, but I had
grieved so long. I had no tears left — even for my-
Self.”
“But we won’t talk about it. Tell me some Ferry-
bridge news. We heard that Miss Blake is going to
be married soon. I am very glad.”
“Are you? Why? I didn't know you knew her,”
a little curiously.
“I don't—hardly. We met once, that was all,


158 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
Irma looked up in some surprise at being taken
so seriously, but the touch of bitterness in the girl's
voice kept her silent. She wondered what it meant.
“You’ll think me a very disagreeable creature,”
Peggy went on with a half laugh. “But perfection
is always a little trying, you know, and Lilah, in her
way, is perfect. If I could find a flaw, perhaps I
should like her better.”
“I can’t say I agree with you,” Dick chimed in.
“I admire Miss Blake, of course, but she isn't my
sort. She doesn't seem the sort of person for every-
day use. A little too cold and stately and stand-
offish, perhaps. I don't pretend to understand her.
She'd got the best chap in the world and look how
she treated him!”
“But that's all over and done with,” Irma said
gently after a moment. “We all make mistakes.”
It was curious how the forbidden topic obtruded it-
self. “Sir Gilbert looked in radiant spirits the other
day, he's evidently happy enough.”
“Well, I hope it'll be a lesson to her,” Dick said.
“She might have landed herself in a pretty quan-
dary. You wouldn't have thought it, she looks so
calm and superior, but there's no doubt she lost her
head for a time.” Then he remembered the man
for whom she had lost her head had been Irma's
husband and he stopped abruptly. “I must go and
write some letters,” he said and went off in rather
a hurry. He hated to think of Basil Monck in his
relation to Irma; he hated to think that she had
ever been his wife. The anger and bitterness that


160 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
he saw a letter for him lying on the hall table and
picked it up. It had just come by post. He took it
on without opening it. It did not look very interest-
ing; he did not know the writing. The den was a
slip of a room in a state of chronic disorder, in-
habited by golf clubs, tennis rackets, pipe racks,
sporting prints, and other evidence of the tastes of
the owner. Dick cleared a chair and sat down.
First he filled his pipe, then he opened his letter.
He looked at it indifferently. What was it all
about? He looked again more attentively, and his
brows met in a frown. For what would have seemed
a long time to anybody watching him he stared at
the sheet of paper without moving. It only con-
tained a few lines, and he must have read them over
and over again. It was written in a small neat hand-
writing, as though each letter had been carefully
formed, and the contents were as follows: —
“All sin is dogged, and, though that which follows
may lag, it never loses the track.
“Basil Monck's murder will not go unavenged.”
That was all; no signature, no address, nothing
that could give an idea as to who the writer was.
Dick stared in blank amazement. What did it
mean? Who could have sent it? He was still star-
ing and wondering when the door opened and Irma
came in.
“Why, what's the matter, Dick? What have you
got there?” she cried. “You look as though you
couldn't make it out.” She spoke with a half laugh.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 161
“I can't,” he said, looking up. “It’s a puzzle, I
don’t understand in the least what it means.”
“Let me look,” she said, coming behind him. If
he had had time to think he would probably have
kept it from her, but she had glanced over his shoul-
der and read what was written before he could stop
her. *
Her face changed pitifully.
“Dick! — oh Dick!” she cried. *
“Why, Irma, what is it? There's nothing to be
frightened about. What's the matter? — What are
you afraid of?” He pulled her down into the chair,
holding her close to him. “What a foolish little
woman it is! Why you're trembling all over. I had
no idea I had married such a bundle of nerves.”
“We’ve had such a short time,” she said in a
choked voice. “We’ve been so happy, I've felt some-
times that it couldn't last — that it was too good to
be true.” -
“What nonsense! What is going to happen, do
you think? Who pays any attention to anonymous
letters? I'm surprised you should be so upset about
it. You shouldn’t have seen it if I had had any idea
you would take it like that.”
“It seems like fate,” she said half hysterical. “I
can't get away from him; he follows me even from
the grave. I bring bad luck on everybody, and I’ve
brought it on you. You ought never to have had
anything to do with me.”
“Why, Irma, I can’t believe it's you talking like
that. You've been so brave through all your
* -


162 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
troubles, and now when you've got me to look after
you, you break down. It isn't very flattering to me.”
with comical reproach.
“Oh! Dick, don’t you see it means trouble? Some-
body's watching you — it's hateful to be watched
and followed like that. You don’t know what they
may do — what they may find out.” His arm
loosened, and he looked at her a little sternly.
“Do you know what you're talking about?” he
said. “I don’t understand you. What harm could
a hundred such letters do me?” She clung to his
arm and lifted her white face to his.
“Don’t be angry,” she pleaded, “I can’t help being
upset. It's so strange, it frightens me. Why should
anybody send such a letter to you? What does it
mean?”
“I know no more than you do. But I am not
going to bother about it. I wish I had thrown it in
the fire at once.”
“No, don’t do that. It's too valuable, too im-
portant. You must be careful. Don't do anything
in a hurry.”
“Why do you make so much of it? It's unpleasant,
of course — all anonymous letters are; but why do
you attach so much importance to it? It's beneath
contempt, to my thinking.” Perhaps he spoke more
lightly than he felt, seeing the effect it had had on
her.
“It’s not contemptible, as much as terrible, to my
thinking,” she replied. “It shows one thing very
clearly — that you must have an enemy, a secret


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 165
“Poor little woman, I'm sorry. But it seemed as
if you couldn't trust me. Don't you see that just
because the charge — if it is a charge—is so absurd,
we need not take any notice of it? Let them do
their worst! I am really quite curious to see what
will happen next.”
And from that she could not move him.


168 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Well, how does the new ménage progress? Are
you happy?”
“Quite, thank you. But I don't suppose you
sent for me to talk about my happiness. What
can I do for you?”
“You are in a hurry to be gone. Nobody wants
to stay with old age and misery. It's a selfish
world. I sit here alone day after day thinking—
thinking. I had plenty of friends and acquain-
tances, as you know, but they've all dropped away.
I don't want to see them, and they don't want to
see me. They call occasionally to inquire how I
am, for decency's sake, but that's all. I’ve devel-
oped into a tiresome old woman with a mania —
that's what they say. I know as well as if I heard
them.”
“It's not good for you to shut yourself up so
much.”
“No, I suppose not. That's a very sensible re-
mark.”
Irma moved uneasily under the fixed gaze of the
mocking eyes. She did not know what to say. What
was she expected to say or do? Why was she
wanted?
“You wonder why I sent for you? I don't quite
know myself. I haven’t seen anybody for weeks,
and it was strange that I should have taken a fancy
to see you. Perhaps I was afraid of losing my powers
of speech, I talk so little nowadays, for there's noth-
ing to say, and nobody to say it to. I'm always
thinking of the one thing, and people are tired of
You can guess to what I refer?”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 169
“Oh yes.”
“And you don’t want to hear about it any more
than they do. Of course not. It's quite natural.
We all shirk the unpleasant. I probably should if
I could myself.”
“I can do no good.”
“I wonder? That's why I sent for you. You
wouldn't help me I know from love, but can't I get
you any other way? You're a clever woman, and I
should be glad of your assistance.”
“What could I do? What do you mean?”
“I want somebody younger and stronger than I
am – somebody who can go out and about, mix
with people as one of themselves, hear them talk,
watch and listen for a clue, somebody who would
have no scruples, show no mercy, be as relentless as
hate, as remorseless as death.” -
The sunken eyes flared up with passion. What
hate was there! What malevolence! Irma shud-
dered as she looked.
“I don't understand,” she said again. “What do
you want?” -
“You are not rich, and I would pay you well.
Money is no object to me now. After all, you were
his wife — you loved him once — you are the most
natural person to help.”
“Do you forget that I am another man's wife now?
— that I was thankful to cut myself off from him
and all that belonged to him? You force me to say
these things.”
“I forget nothing.”


170 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Are you offering me money to turn detective,
trying to bribe me to help you in your schemes of
vengeance? Do you know me as little as that? I
wouldn't have listened at all, only you are old and
unhappy and I am sorry for you.”
“That is kind of you.”
“Why not let sleeping dogs lie? How do you know
what you may find? You and I know what Basil
was. Oh yes, you know as well as I do, though the
knowledge didn't eat into your heart as it did into
mine. He was a false lover, a faithless friend — a
man without honor or principles. Isn't it more than
likely that — terrible though his death was — it had
been earned, it was deserved?”
“How dare you say such things?”
“You forced it from me. He had led a wild reck-
less life, careless what enemies he made — he wasn’t
a coward. What wonder if retribution overtook him
at last? He had had a long inning, considering all
things. Why not let it rest? There is no slur on
his name now; people are sorry for him. If you
found out the truth, he might not fare as well.”
“You said,” slowly, “that he was a false lover and
a faithless friend. Of whom, or what were you
thinking?”
“Of nobody in particular. I was speaking gener-
ally.”
“I can't help thinking you had somebody in your
mind. You have been mixed up with Ferrybridge
of late; you must have heard your husband talk.”
“My husband never speaks of the past, if it can


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 171
be avoided, any more than I do. Besides, the sub-
ject has almost dropped out of notice now.”
“It will never die — never be forgotten while I
live,” Mrs. Monck cried with sudden fierceness.
“I’ve money enough to keep it alive — to keep the
best brains working. We gather a little here, a little
there, trifles light as thistle down, but, put all to-
gether, strong enough to make a halter some day per-
haps for a man's neck.”
“Don't!” Irma said sharply. “It’s horrible. I
can’t bear to hear you.”
“You’re too sensitive, my dear. You wouldn't
make a good detective, I can see; still, I’m sorry you
won't help me. You might as well earn the reward
as anybody else; it's sure to be earned some day.”
“I wouldn’t have it,” passionately. “Do you
think I would touch it — blood-money?”
“Money for finding your husband's murderer.”
“Not my husband for years, but my worst enemy.
The man who stood between me and love and happi-
ness, and all that makes life anything but a pen-
ance.”
“You speak bitterly. According to that, you and
your present husband had more reason to hate my
son than anybody else — you had more reason to
wish him out of the way.”
“That's true. Why should I deny it?” hotly.
Irma was incensed and did not pause to choose her
words. Mrs. Monck generally succeeded in making
her lose her self-control, and she had not failed
this time.


172 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Well, it's rather a rash thing to say. It's just as
well I alone heard you.” For a moment Irma looked
at her without understanding. Then she laughed
contemptuously.
“I see what you mean,” she said, “but it's not
worth answering. Somehow, that way out never
struck me, though it would not have been much
wonder if it had. In France, at all events, they
would have held me justified.”
There was no reply, and Irma got up.
“I am sorry I came,” she said, “it has done more
harm than good. You goaded me on until I said
more than I meant. I wonder why you did it? I
suppose you hate me so much that you can’t help
yourself. Or is it only that you are angry and bitter
with all the world? In either case, don’t send for
me again; it would be no use.”
Irma went a round-about way home, for she
wanted time to think, to calm down before she met
Dick. How angry he would be if he knew! But she
did not mean to tell him. Her visit had been a mis-
take, and she would say nothing about it to any-
body. What a terrible old woman Mrs. Monck
was — so cruel and vindictive! Irma could not
understand even now why she had sent for her. Had
it been only to torment her? It seemed like it. She
was so unhappy herself that she grudged any happi-
ness to others, particularly to her, her dead son's
widow, who had found happiness through his death.
Yes, that must be it. She was like some sorely
wounded wild creature, striking out blindly in the


174 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Don’t you agree with me?” she asked as John-
son looked dubious.
“Not altogether. Another man — Sir Gilbert
Chelford — had as good reason to hate Mr. Monck
as anybody. The relations between them were very
strained.”
“But there's no evidence against him, whereas
there is against the other. You heard this Fen-
church and my son quarreling the night before; you
heard Fenchurch use threats—I've never been able
to understand,” she broke off abruptly, “why you
kept that all so close at the time, and why you
didn't tell the police.”
“Mr. Fenchurch is a very nice gentleman and I
didn’t want to get him into trouble. Besides I
didn't attach any importance to it.” She dismissed
the explanation with a contemptuous gesture.
“You don't choose to say,” she said. “You’re not
so simple as all that, or so soft-hearted. I suppose
you are waiting to see how you could turn the knowl-
edge to your own advantage. You not only heard
them quarreling the night before, but you saw Mr.
Fenchurch in the neighborhood of the cottage when
you went out on the night my son was murdered.”
“Yes, he was coming towards the cottage as I was
going away from it,” he said. “I saw him, but he
didn’t see me.”
“I don't see how you are going to explain your
silence to the police. They will wonder why you
haven't spoken before.”
“I was, naturally, too much upset at the time to


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 175
think connectedly,” he said. “It is only lately that
my conscience has troubled me — that I have felt
uneasy. Then I came to see you about it — being
the person most concerned — and you told me that
it was my duty to tell the police. I didn't want to
make trouble. It might do me harm in my position.”
She looked at him attentively. “I see,” she said,
“at least, I think I do. In any case, it is to your in-
terest to run straight with me, and I think I may
trust you to be true to your own interest. What I
am paying you for your information does not con-
cern anybody but you and me. It's as well to keep it
quiet. People might suspect your good faith.”
“Then they would be wrong,” he said quietly. “I
have only told you the truth. I am very sorry to
say anything that might hurt Mr. Fenchurch, and
I would have spared him if I could. Of course he
may be able to account for his time that night —
in which case what I saw and heard would go for
nothing.”
“You left the cottage soon after eight and re-
turned at ten. So what happened must have been
done in that time.” He nodded his head in assent.
“Unless,” she said, fixing her eyes on him and
speaking very slowly, “unless it were done before
you left.” His glance met hers like the crossing of
swords; his figure stiffened. The silence was so
intense that it seemed as though they held their
breath. . . . Then he laughed. But his face was
still very white.
“That is a pleasant suggestion,” he said. “I will


176 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
not affect to misunderstand it, but I can afford to
laugh at it. My long service and my devotion to
your son speak for themselves.”
“I don't know that I meant to be taken so seri-
ously,” she said, half apologetically. “I see no
reason why you should have done it. If the police
could have found any cause for suspicion against
you, no doubt you would have known it long ago,
as you were — so far as can be discovered at pres-
ent — the last person to see him alive.”
“Yes, that is true,” he said. “I had thought of
that myself.”
“I don’t know why I said it, for I can’t afford to
quarrel with you. It was only a passing thought.
My mind is in such a state that I’m ready to suspect
all the world. Don’t think any more about it.” He
inclined his head in silence.
“I must do you the justice to say that my son
told me more than once that you were the best man
he had ever had, and that he had never been so
well looked after. He said you could turn your
hand to anything.”
“Mr. Monck always appreciated my services,”
he said. It was noticeable that, though he spoke
quite respectfully, he had dropped the tone and man-
ner of a servant. They stood on a different footing.
“Well, that's all, I think,” she said after a minute
or two. “You are going to see the police now? I
suppose you will ask them not to make your name
public at present, if they can help it. It might make
it unpleasant for you at Ferrybridge.”


CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“The soul of thy brother is a dark forest.”
JoBNson got back to Ferrybridge in time to be
in his master's room when he came up to dress for
dinner. Gilbert was whistling as he ran up the
stairs. He was in the best of spirits in these days,
for everything was going well. Lilah was getting
more like her old self every day — indeed, more
sweet and devoted than she had ever been before.
She always wanted him now, and, at times, she
seemed to cling to him in a pathetic way. And it
was not only because of the past; it was because she
cared for him more than she had ever done — Gil-
bert was sure of that.
“Hullo!” he called out as he saw Johnson. “I
told you not to hurry back.”
“Thank you, sir, but I had plenty of time to do
everything I wanted.”
“I never knew such a punctual chap. You're al-
ways on the spot. I begin to think sometimes, John-
son, that you're scarcely human. You're as
methodical as a machine, and just as reliable.”
“I had to be, sir, with Mr. Monck.” Gilbert looked
surprised. It was so seldom that Johnson mentioned
his late master.
178


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 179
“Ah, yes, I suppose so. He would have been a
little difficult, I should say, and, no doubt, expected
a good deal. Well, you must take things more easily
here.”
“Thank you, sir. I do, sir.”
“If there's anything you want, you must tell me.
I like people to be happy and comfortable.” Gilbert
was always a kind and indulgent master, but at the
present time his own happiness made him even
more kindly-disposed towards others than usual. “I
thought at first you seemed a little worried and up-
set — it was quite natural — but you're getting over
that now, I hope.”
“Yes, sir, I’m getting over it. I've never been so
comfortable before in my life, I’ve everything I
want.”
“That's all right, then. We're both of us satisfied.
You've been here some time now, you know, and I
haven’t been able to find anything to grumble at
yet.” He laughed.
“I hope you never will, sir. I should be ashamed
of myself if you did. I’ve never been so well treated
or with such kindness. I — I’m not exactly used to
it, sir. Mr. Monck was different.”
“And yet you stayed with him a long time.”
“Yes, a long time, sir. I should have been with
him now but for what happened. I can’t realise it
sometimes even now, and it's over four months ago.”
“Yes — and nothing found out, nor likely to be
now, I should say. It'll be another of the undiscov-
ered mysteries. In London or any other big city you


180 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
could understand it, but in a little place like this it
does seem queer.”
“That's why the police think it must be somebody
in Ferrybridge, sir.”
“Do they?” looking round a little startled. “I
didn't know that. Why?”
“Well, I suppose because they could just stay
here, sir, and go on as usual. There'd be no need to
hide or go away if they had the pluck to face it out.
That's what makes it so difficult.”
“I see,” slowly. “Of course there's something in
that, but it's not a pleasant thought. I hoped it
might turn out to be some tramp — some stranger.
I suppose Mr. Monck had outside visitors some-
times, people not belonging to Ferrybridge, I
mean?”
“Very seldom down here, sir. I’d never seen him
so well contented as he was here; he was younger
and brighter than he'd been for some time. The
rest and the change seemed to do him good. In Lon-
don he was always knocking about.”
Gilbert frowned. He was reminded of something
he wanted to forget. He knew well what had made
Monck so contented at Ferrybridge. But in a minute
his face cleared. “What need” he thought “had he
to trouble now?” Monck had paid for his sins and
follies — paid heavily. Gilbert could afford to let
him go.
“I suppose you knew as much, or more, about him
than anybody. You knew what friends and acquain-
tances he had, and you must have learnt a good deal


182 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
tions, some of them with very little point, as far as
I could make out, but then I don't know what
they’ve got in their minds.”
Gilbert said no more until he had finished dressing.
Then, as he was going out, he turned at the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I hoped it was blowing over,
that it would soon be forgotten. I had no idea we
were being watched like this. You don't think you
can have been mistaken?”
“I don’t think so, sir. You see, I've knocked about
a good deal, and I’ve learnt a few things. Then, of
course, I’ve taken a special interest in this case, not
only on account of the family, but because, in a
manner of speaking, it was a reflection on me. A
man like me has to be very careful. It's not every
gentleman who would have been as good about it
as you were, sir.”
“I don’t quite understand.”
“It's this way, sir. People are apt to fight shy
of anybody who has been mixed up in anything un-
pleasant. Of course they don’t blame you, but, all
the same, they'd rather have somebody else. A
murder isn’t exactly a recommendation, especially
when it's such a mystery. It's a sort of slur.”
“But that's very unfair! How could you help it?
You weren't even in the house.”
“No, sir, but people don't stop to think. If they
take a prejudice, it's all up with you. I've seen, over
and over again, what a difference a little thing
makes. It's a hard world, sir, though I don't suppose
you've found it out.” There was a touch of intense
bitterness in his voice.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 183
Gilbert came back into the room. “I’ve thought
sometimes, Johnson, that you weren't too happy.
I hope you're not in any trouble? I don’t want to
pry into your affairs. I’ve no right, but if you care
to tell me anything — if I can be of any help, I
should be glad.”
“Thank you, sir, it's very good of you. But
there's nothing new — nothing special. I've missed
my chances, sir, and it's too late to go back. It
makes a man feel a little bitter sometimes.”
“You’re young enough to have fresh ones.”
Johnson shrugged his shoulders. º
“I think not, sir – not in the same way. I'm too
old to begin again, I haven't the courage or the
energy. I must go on as I am. My nerve's gone,
and I'm afraid of taking any risks. I’m talking like
a coward, but it's true enough.”
Gilbert did not know what to say.
“You wonder what happened, sir, that's made me
so. Well, a good deal one way and another. I wasn't
lucky — I suppose there was something wrong in me
somewhere. Then I was a gambler. I couldn't re-
sist the cards; I loved the feel of them, and the
sight of them. Nobody but your born gambler can
understand what the feeling is, how it draws you on
till you’ve no thought of anything else. More than
once I lost every penny I had in the world.”
“Did Mr. Monck know?”
“Yes, sir,” with a half smile. “Mr. Monck was a
gambler himself, though not in the same way. He
played to win — and generally did. I played for


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 185
“And you did everything you could for him in
return, I know. You showed by your devotion to
his interests how —”
The dinner-gong sounded, and the rest of Gilbert's
sentence was lost. With a nod to Johnson he went
downstairs. He resolved that the conversation
should be finished another time. He was much in-
terested and surprised. He would not have thought
of Johnson — steady, sedate, eminently respectable,
as he was to outward appearances — as a gambler;
or of Basil Monck as a reformer. It only showed,
he said to himself again, what mistakes in judgment
one might make.
When Johnson was alone he did not begin putting
the room tidy, but stood quite still where Gilbert
had left him, staring at nothing. His face was set
like a mask, and his eyes were hard and empty. He
stood absolutely still for at least a minute, then he
threw out his clenched hand and laughed; it was
not a pleasant sound.
“Bless his innocent heart!” he said. “He does
know a thing or two. Bless his innocent heart!”
Then, mechanically, he began folding up things
and putting them away. Presently he caught sight
of his face in a glass and stopped with a start. He
must not go down looking like that. He was not
too popular in the servants’ hall, as it was, and his
expression would arouse curiosity. He did not talk
enough to suit the others; he kept himself too much
to himself. He did not unbend even to Mrs. Brace,
the housekeeper, or to Mr. Shute, the butler, who


186 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
were old family servants, and had welcomed him
courteously when he came.
If anybody saw his face now, they might think —
what? He passed his hand over his eyes. Had he
something still to learn about self control after all
these years? Could it be that he was not such a
well-trained machine as he had thought himself?
Downstairs, the dinner proceeded merrily, and the
sound of laughing and talking came out when the
door was opened, but the laughter was most often
Gilbert's. His companions — his mother and Peggy
Fenchurch — followed his mood, for they would not
damp his spirits, but they did not feel happy them-
selves. Lady Chelford was reconciled to her son's
marriage, but Lilah was not the wife she would have
chosen for him. She never felt quite at home with
her; she had an idea that she never would now.
There was always a feeling of constraint between
them. She had caught Lilah looking at her curiously
once or twice, and had wondered what it meant. It
had gone in a moment, before she could lay hold of
it, but she was sure it had been there — something
questioning, half-fearful, half-pleading.
“What is it, dear?” she had said once. “Do you
want anything?” Lilah had turned away and an-
swered a little curtly. So she had never tried again.
Would Gilbert be drawn into this estrangement
when he was married? Would Lilah take him away
from her? They had been so much to each other,
not just mother and son, but friends and com-
panions. She had never even been tempted to marry


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 187
again, though she was a young woman when his
father died. She had devoted her life to him; was
all to count for nothing now? She did not grudge
Lilah what belonged to her, but if she should draw
Gilbert away, it would be hard to bear. Gilbert was
weak where his beautiful fiancée was concerned —
his mother knew that. He would never willingly do
anything unkind, but people drift apart when there
is a want of harmony — and it seemed that Lilah
and she would always be more or less strangers.
She had voiced her fears once to Gilbert. She had
said:
“I wonder what my life will be like when you have
gone out of it? You know your son's your son till
he gets him a wife,' afterwards —” she waited a
moment, “afterwards he's as much your son as his
wife will let him be.” -
“Mother!” he looked at her in astonishment, it
was so seldom that she said anything bitter.
“Mother darling, you don’t mean that? You know
it wouldn't make any difference between you and
me if I had fifty wives.”
“I shouldn't like to test that” she had answered,
trying to laugh. “One is enough, and I'm afraid the
one isn't very fond of me.” -
“Oh yes, she is, but she's a little shy or nervous —
a bit afraid of you, I think, but it'll wear off when
she knows you better. It would have been all right
but for — but for what happened. She can’t quite
forget, poor girl — though she's sorry enough now —
and she thinks you can't quite forget it either.”


188 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“So long as you're happy,” she said, “that's the
chief thing. Mothers only reign supreme in the
nursery. When that door opens for good they ought
to learn to take a back-seat. You've spoilt me,
Gilbert, and now I don't know my proper place.”
He had been so hurt at her doubts and fears, had
taken such pains to show her that she would not be
losing a son, but gaining a daughter, that she had
let him think he had persuaded her, and that all was
well. She wouldn’t ruffle his happiness again. She
would accept the inevitable with a good grace.
Things might turn out better than she expected.
Of one thing, at least, she was very glad. Lilah was
undoubtedly in love with Gilbert now, whatever she
had been once. Basil Monck's influence was gone,
and her infatuation for him had gone with it.
Peggy was feeling a little dull too, but she would
not show it. She had no excuse for being depressed,
as she told herself — in fact she ought to think her-
self very lucky. Lady Chelford had asked her on a
long indefinite visit, and as Peggy felt that she was
really wanted, she was glad to stay. Gilbert liked
to have her there, to be a companion to his mother,
for he was so much away now. To-night after dinner
he strolled round to the Dutch House, as he often
did, and the two women were left alone. There was
much to consult Lilah about — what she would like
done here, what alteration should be made there.
The old house was to be done up from attic to cellar
while they were away on their honeymoon. So there
was always an excuse to go out.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 189
“I shan’t be more than a few minutes,” he said,
“so I won't say good-night.” Lady Chelford looked
across at Peggy and smiled as the door closed.
“I wonder how often we have heard that?” she
said, and the smile was a little wistful.
“I suppose time flies, under such circumstances,”
the girl answered. “I can't speak from personal ex-
perience, but I've always understood that, when the
world begins and ends with one person, a little lati-
tude must be allowed.”
“You’ll know all about it one day, Peggy.”
“Shall I? I wonder! Everybody doesn’t, you
know. There are always people who are left out. I
feel that it is in me to become a nice useful old
maid, one of the old-fashioned sort, that were always
sent for by the family when anything unpleasant
had to be done, and ‘returned with thanks' when it
was over.”
She changed the subject abruptly.
“What do you think of Johnson?” she asked.
“Think of him?” Lady Chelford repeated a little
surprised. “I haven’t thought much about him.
Why should I? What do you mean? He seems
rather a superior sort of person.”
“Because,” Peggy said slowly, “I don't like him,
myself. I hope I'm not very rude; he's not your
servant, so you can forgive me. He moves about so
softly, and is altogether so irreproachable that he
gives me the ‘creeps.’ I wonder sometimes if any-
thing would startle him. I’ve thought of jumping
out at him from behind a door with a wild whoop,


190 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY |
but I should look such a fool when he would say
quietly, “I beg your pardon, miss?”
Lady Chelford laughed.
“You see he's a Londoner,” she said, “and has
traveled about a good deal, and that makes a dif-
ference. Most of our servants are country-bred. I
like to know all about them and where they come
from.”
“You wouldn't know much about Johnson, except
what he chose to tell you. It's my belief he has a
‘past.’ 2x
“Well, so long as he hasn't a ‘present,' I don't
much mind. I don't want him to do anything start-
ling here. I prefer peace and quiet. But at his age
— I suppose he's nearly fifty—I should think he
had done with adventures.”
Lady Chelford took out her Patience cards and
played her own particular game, which never by
any chance came right, and was therefore perenni-
ally fresh and stimulating. +
“It went worse than ever to-night,” she said with
a certain satisfaction when she put the cards back
into their little silver box at ten o'clock. “I never
had a ‘space.’” º
“I really must take to Patience,” Peggy said as
she threw down the Sketch. “It’s a resource for
one's old age, like knitting, and more entertaining
than all these simpering actresses. I'm so tired of
their teeth and their smiles. It would be such a re-
lief to see one without any teeth at all!”
It was a lovely night for November, and when


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 191
t
Peggy reached her own room, she threw open the
window and leant out. How good it smelt! Just a
wholesome country smell of dewy earth and trodden
leaves and from a little way off came the sound of
lapping water. The river was at the bottom of the
garden, and there was enough light from the brilliant
stars to see a gray streak here and there between the
trees. Peggy was not tired — ten o'clock is early .
for young life to go to bed — so she leant out there
in the darkness, full of vague thoughts and desires.
It was very quiet, so that a step coming from the
direction of the stables caused her to look round
quickly.
Who could be moving about so late? Not Gil-
bert — he wouldn't come that way. Ten o'clock was
the hour for the servants to go to bed, as Peggy
knew, and Mrs. Brace was very strict. She leant
out a little farther and saw a man wheeling a bicycle
away from the house. It was Johnson. She could
not be mistaken, her sight was very good, and he
was readily recognizable, for he was taller and
broader than the other men-servants. She listened
intently, and heard, a minute later, the click of one
of the gates in the drive. Where could he be going
so late? It must be some distance or he would not
have taken his bicycle with him. Why had he not
gone sooner? The answer must be that he wanted
to go secretly. She was sure of it, all his movements
had been so stealthy and cautious. No doubt he had
reckoned on his master not being back before eleven.
She moved back into the room, shivering a little.


192 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
It seemed to have turned cold all at once. She
dropped the blind, switched on the light, and pre-
pared for bed. But she could not get the thought of
Johnson out of her mind. As she lay awake in the
darkness she was unconsciously listening for his re-
turn but she heard nothing.
In the morning she had not forgotten, but it
seemed less important by daylight.
“I suppose we were all sound asleep when you
came in last night?” she said to Gilbert at breakfast.
“Were you very late in?”
“No, a little after eleven, that's all. I went for a
stroll after leaving the Blakes', it was such a lovely
night.” He had been too happy to go prosaically
home and to bed; four walls were too narrow to
hold him — he wanted the universe.
“Johnson was up,” he added. “I never knew such
a chap; he never seems tired or impatient. I've
told him not to wait after eleven, but he seems to
think I can’t get to bed without him. I wonder he
doesn't tuck me in.” -
Peggy decided not to say any more. After all,
Johnson was free to go where he pleased — and
people don't thank you, as a rule, for suggesting
trouble. The incident might mean nothing.


194 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
haps, when you've 'ad enough, you'll kindly shut
the winder down. It goes to my chest.”
“Oh! you and your chest,” Cook exciaimed with
good-natured contempt as she complied with the
request. “You’re not a very cheerful one for a
wedding. Speaking of myself, I like a little sweet-
'earting in a house; it makes things pleasant. Janet
says (Janet was the parlormaid) that she's never
seen anybody so liberal with his 'alf-crowns as Sir
Gilbert.”
“Well, that don't affect you and me — she don't
share 'em. As to weddings,” darkly, “it ain't come
to that yet.”
“No, but it soon will. It's in the air, and you can
feel it — presents coming by every post and he and
she looking so 'appy, it does my 'eart good to see
'em.”
“Well, it's a change, at all events; they looked
gloomy enough a while back, goodness knows!”
Eliza suffered from chronic indigestion, and her
views of life were tinged by soda-mint tabloids.
“I never knew such a one as you, 'Liza. Why not
let bygones be bygones? You may not 'ave 'eard,”
with fine sarcasm, “of lovers' quarrels and such-
like, but they do 'appen all the same. And nobody
thinks anything about 'em afterwards.”
“Oh! if it was only that!” with a toss of her head,
“being engaged myself I shouldn't 'ave thought any-
thing of that. Of course, bein’ in and out of her
room, I saw a good deal more than you or Janet
either. She kept up when she was downstairs, but


198 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
felt like this, but it's stronger than usual to-night.
When I was most miserable, I was conscious of that
feeling of waiting, and now when I'm most happy
it's still there, buried deep down. It won’t let me
forget—not quite — if I could. It comes, like a
faint tapping, in the midst of everything. I have to
stop and listen.”
He saw how deeply she was moved, and he did not
know what to say. He could only take her hand and
caress it softly.
“I had no idea,” he said, “I never guessed. I don't
understand even now. But go on; say anything—
speak out, it may be better. You've been brooding
too long. You've been frightening yourself with
bogeys like a child.”
“I don’t think I’ve anything more to say,” she
said wearily, looking suddenly exhausted. “I’m ner-
vous no doubt, and hysterical. Put it down to that.
No sensible person would think anything of it.”
“I shouldn't call you hysterical,” he said gently.
“You’ve been doing too much, and, you're tired and
overwrought. That's nothing. It happens to all
of us.”
“My nerves were strong enough once,” she an-
swered, “but they're not now. They’ve had a good
deal to try them. I jump at shadows, nowadays.”
“You’ll get over that. We're going to have a long,
long honeymoon, you know, so long that we shall be
prosaic old married people by the time we come
back. You'll laugh then to think of how you fright-
ened yourself with ghosts.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 199
/
“Ghosts?” sharply. “I shall never laugh at ghosts.
They're too real — too near. In the night, when
you lie awake, it seems only a step into that other
world. You feel them hovering over you — half-
suffocating sometimes; you can hear their whispers
in your ear.”
“I didn't know that I was engaged to such an
imaginative young woman,” he said, trying to speak
lightly. “You ought to have warned me. I hope
you won’t find me too hopelessly commonplace.”
“I’m thankful to have you — thankful,” she said
with sudden passion. “You’re like a rock of defence;
the one thing I can absolutely rely on in the whole
world. I love you just as you are, I wouldn't have a
thing in you changed.”
“Come, that's good hearing. I feel quite proud of
myself . . . and now run indoors; I've kept you out
in the cold too long. And mind you eat a good
dinner. There's nothing like a good dinner for lay-
ing ghosts.”
She gave a tired little sigh.
“You’re so nice and sensible, and straight,” she
said. “It’s so restful. I’ve had enough of underhand
ways for the rest of my life. . . . Goodnight!”
“Good-night and good-bye till to-morrow,” he
answered. “I shan’t be round again till then. Go
to bed early and have a good sleep. If any ghost
worries you, think of me. I'll keep it at bay. . . .
Good-night, my Lilah.”
He was turning away when she caught him by the
8.TIn.


202 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
His eyes met hers and he saw fear in them — a
fear that was abject terror. He saw how she leant
against the gate for support.
“It’s absurd,” he said, “there's some mistake.
There's nothing to be frightened about. It’ll soon
be put right.”
“But what is it — why don't you speak? Give me
the paper, I can't wait. Why do you keep me in
suspense?”
“It’s Fenchurch,” he said, “isn't it absurd? I
don’t know what they're thinking about. There are
no particulars, only the bare fact is announced.”
“Do you mean that Dick Fenchurch has been
arrested?” she said with stiff, white lips. “That —
that he is accused —” She could get no further.
“Of causing Basil Monck's death — yes, that is
what it seems to be. But they'll soon find out their
mistake, of course. Why, they must! Don't be dis-
turbed.”
He was almost as upset as she was. It was hor-
rible — an old friend, a man they all liked. There
could be no evidence against him. “He'll be out
again in no time,” Gilbert said. “It’s unpleasant, of
course, but there's nothing to be anxious about.”
“Oh! I'm afraid, horribly afraid!” she wailed.
“This is only the beginning; there's more to come.
What will the end be? I'm afraid to think.”
“Lilah, you must pull yourself together. You
must make up your mind to be brave. Nobody
could be more sorry than I am that the dreadful
story has been revived, but we'll face it together—


204 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
stood there, as though it were a summer night, won-
dering, and thinking things they did not dare to
put into words.
“I hope Dick will be able to prove an alibi,” Gil-
bert said presently, “that would settle it. No doubt
he'll be able to account for his time that night.” He
stopped abruptly and looked at her.
“You remember,” he said in a low tone, “what
happened — that I was there? I wonder if that will
turn out to be of importance if — ”
“No, why should it?” she interrupted. “Your be-
ing there wouldn’t prove anything one way or the
other. You didn't go over the whole house—you
said so. You didn’t go into the room.”
“No, but it seemed all right when I was there. I
saw nobody — heard nothing. If anything had hap-
pened at the time, surely there would have been
some evidence. . . . And yet, if Monck was all right,
why didn't he come out when I called? Where was
he?”
They looked at one another for a moment in
silence.
“I may have to speak out,” he said then.
“No — No!” she cried. “You promised me; you
can't break your promise. You can do no good. For
God's sake, keep out of it. You don't know what
harm you may be doing.”
“But if it will help him, I must tell what I know,”
he said. “You can’t dispute that. I only promised
to be silent so long as my silence did not injure
anybody.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 205
“And what about me?” she said. “Have you no
thought—no care for me? Am I to be held up to
public scorn and contempt? You would have to ex-
plain about the telephone, and why you assumed
his voice. The whole story would come out.”
“I can't discuss it any more now,” he said wearily.
“It's a horrible complication, and I must take time
to think it out. It's all happened so suddenly, I
feel half stunned.”
“What did I tell you?” she said. “I think I always
knew it was there — waiting. I think I’ve always
felt sure it must come some day. It didn’t seem
natural that everything should be wiped out so
simply and easily. Oh! Gilbert, Gilbert, what is
going to happen now?”
“God knows!” he answered heavily. “There! go in,
dear; you must keep up. Don't let anybody see you
looking like that. We must hope for the best.”
“But you haven’t much more hope than I have.
I can hear that. We were too happy — I knew it.
I've never felt really safe.”
“I ought to have spoken out at first,” he said,
“then it would have been all over and done with.
It wouldn't have attracted so much attention then.
But it's too late for regrets; we must simply make
the best of it now.”
“We shall never have done with him — never —
never,” she said despairingly. “He’s only been bid-
ing his time.”
“Lilah, you mustn't take that tone, it's absurd—
unnatural,” he said sharply. He spoke the more


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“She ceased almost to hope, but never to expect.”
THE first wonder and speculation were over, and
people were waiting for what would happen next.
The sensational arrest had revived the general in-
terest, which had been dying away for want of sus-
tenance. People had thought that it was all over
and done with, that nothing more would be dis-
covered; and now, suddenly, the mystery flared up,
more engrossing than ever. -
The accused man's wife waited, praying, and
working, and hoping, but never losing courage. At
first she had been passionately angry. The dreadful
affair was so monstrous, such a foolish mistake, that
she expected her husband's release every hour. He
would be set free with explanations and regrets.
But when days passed, and there was no sign of his
release, when even his lawyer did not seem to expect
it, then her anger became touched with fear. The
law made such horrible mistakes sometimes, mis-
takes that were never rectified, or only when it was
too late. She had read of such cases more than
once, cases of mistaken identity — and of circum-
stantial evidence; it was horrible how fate some-
times seemed to take a malicious pleasure in con-
- - 207


208 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
founding the innocent. Fenchurch himself took the
matter philosophically after the first, natural out-
burst of indignation.
“It'll all come right,” he said. “They seem to
have worked up quite a pretty case against me, but
it'll topple to pieces presently. I’m not the first
innocent person that has been arrested.”
“But it's so unfortunate,” his wife said, “that you
should have gone out alone that night—that Peggy
should have been away. If she had been at home
she would probably have gone with you.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“If I had known what was going to happen, no
doubt I should have arranged better. I went out
for a stroll soon after eight and I got back about
ten o'clock. That is all I can say.”
“If you had only got back by nine-thirty, it would
have been all right. Miss Blake said in her evidence
that she spoke to Basil at half-past-nine.”
“Yes, but I didn't. I met one or two people I
knew when I first went out, the last person I spoke
to was old Rogers at 9.30, when I was passing his
farm. I am sure of the time — and so would he
be — because we heard the church clock chime the
half hour.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t much use. It's the time be-
tween 9.30 and ten that matters. Even the doctor's
evidence won't help us, it seems. They say that
rigor mortis sometimes appears instantaneously
when there has been a sudden or violent death, so
nothing can be determined from that. It was


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 209
strange, and most unfortunate, that Miss Blake hap-
pened to ring him up just at that time. If it had
been earlier or later — even quarter of an hour later,
it would have made such a difference! You couldn't
get from the cottage to your place in less than ten
minutes and the servants heard you come in a few
minutes before ten.”
“That's how things happen. The margin's a
narrow one that keeps us safe. A quarter of an hour
seems a little thing to be so big with consequences.
But if the time had been longer, I don't see that it
would have done me much good.”
“Oh, but it would. If Miss Blake had not rung
up, nobody would have known anything of what
happened at the cottage from the time Johnson left
it till the time he returned; that is, roughly speaking,
two hours. No one seems to have seen Basil in that
time, or even to have been near the house, so far
as can be ascertained. If anyone had been near he
must have heard the shot.”
“You mean there would have been two hours
under suspicion, instead of one half hour?”
“Yes — it gives a wider range, so that others
might have been suspected. There would have been
more time and opportunity. As it is, unfortunately,
you were the only person seen near the cottage that
night. They say you were waiting about, watching
your opportunity — Oh, I don’t know what they
say!” she cried with sudden passion. “It's horrible!”
“It's true enough that I was in the neighborhood
of the cottage twice that night, and, once, I actually


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 211
“Have they found out who sent it?” he asked.
“No, but I have a very strong suspicion — the
same person who is making all this trouble, who is
at the back of all that has happened — Mrs.
Monck.”
“But why should she fasten on me? What have
I done to make her hate me?”
“I don't suppose she hates you much more than
she hates the rest of the world, or, if she does, it's
because I love you. I think she would hate anybody
that was alive and happy now that her son is dead.
Her mind is warped. I’m not sure that she is quite
sane on this point, but perhaps that makes her all
the more cunning and clever.”
“But I shouldn't have been arrested simply on
her suspicions. There must be more behind, some-
thing more serious.”
“Yes, I know that, but I am sure she is the moving
spirit, that she has stirred up the trouble. She is
so cruel and vindictive that she had to find a victim,
and, unfortunately, you had laid yourself open to
suspicion. It's not only your being seen near the
cottage on the night of the murder, but there's that
quarrel you had with him the night before. Why
did you never speak of it?”
“Why should I? I didn't attach any importance
to it. I don't think I gave it a thought after what
happened. That put everything else out of my
head. It wasn't the first quarrel we had had.”
“But the bitterest, I suppose. Leeson seems to
think it's rather important, and that — combined


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 213
“No doubt he was. They're in league together,
those two — I’m sure of it now. He's helping her.
Why, I don't know, but I’m convinced I am right.”
“It looks like it. But, if so, he'll be called as a
witness, and then it'll all come out. The sooner we
know the worst, the better. I'd rather be in the
dock, standing my trial for murder, than shut up
here waiting. It's that that gets on my nerves.
I can't sleep, and I get all kinds of silly fancies. If
I were kept here long enough,” with a half laugh,
“I might come to believe I did it.”
In Ferrybridge, where Dick Fenchurch was ex-
tremely popular, nobody would listen to a word
against him. Basil Monck had been a stranger and
not generally liked; there was no question on which
side the sympathy was. Hardly anything else was
discussed; it was the one topic of conversation. But,
though they spoke of it less than others, nobody was
as interested as Lilah and Gilbert. It meant more to
them than to anybody else — except Irma.
“Let me speak — let me tell what I know,” Gil-
bert implored more than once.
“No! no! Wait and see what happens,” was her
answer. “If he's released, why should you say any-
thing? It's not as if you could clear him —you
can't.” -
“It makes me feel like a traitor. I’m ashamed to
go and see him. If I couldn't actually clear him I
might, at least, help. It's just because he was the
only person seen near the place between half-past
nine and ten that they suspect him.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 215
other friends, were doomed to disappointment.
Matters appeared to have taken a serious turn, and
there was, at present, no chance of his release. He
would have to stand trial for the murder of Basil
Monck.
As soon as Johnson saw that he would be impli-
cated, that he could not hope to conceal the part he
had taken in bringing about Fenchurch's arrest, he
spoke to Gilbert himself. He naturally preferred to
give his own version and, told as he told it, the story
not only did him no harm but redounded to his
credit in a way. He appeared to have been as kind
and considerate as possible; exposing himself to mis-
understanding and censure from the police in his
endeavors to shield Fenchurch.
“I thought I had put. them off,” he said, “that
it had all blown over, but it appears I was mistaken.
You may remember I told you, sir, that they were
always coming and going. I believe they were
watching me all the time. They must have sus-
pected I was keeping something back. They found
out that Mr. Fenchurch came to the cottage the
night before, and then it was all up.”
“How did they discover that? I don’t think he
said anything about it himself.”
“No, sir, it's a pity he didn’t, as it's turned out.
I'm afraid I must have grown careless, thinking it
had blown over, and I may have let slip something.
They're quick at putting two and two together.
Give them a word and you're lost. Of course, I was
obliged to speak then, for they were bent on worm-
ing out everything.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 217
tend to be a bit slow and stupid, that I didn't under-
stand how important it was. I did everything I
could, sir, and I assure you, it's upset me very much.
I wouldn't have done Mr. Fenchurch any harm if
I could have helped it, sir. He's a gentleman I’ve
always liked and respected.” Johnson spoke, ap-
parently, with a real feeling of regret. If it had been
possible to gain his own ends some other way, he
would certainly have preferred it.
“Nobody could possibly blame you, Johnson.
You've done all you could and more than anybody
had a right to ask. It's unfortunate that they'll
make the most of your keeping it back, but that's
only part of the bad luck. Of course, anybody who
knows Mr. Fenchurch knows how absurd such a
charge is, but that won't help him much, I'm afraid.”
Gilbert told his mother what had passed, and she
shared his anxiety and dismay. The black cloud, at
first no bigger than a man's hand, loomed suddenly
large and threatening. She was fond of Dick Fen-
church for his own sake as well as for Peggy's.
“It's strange,” she said, “Peggy didn't like him —
Johnson, I mean. She spoke about him only a few
days before she went away, before the trouble came.
I didn't pay much attention at the time, but it
comes back to me now. She said he gave her the
‘creeps,’ he seemed so secretive, and went about so
quietly.”
“He did all he could; nobody could have done
more,” Gilbert said warmly. “He shielded Fen-
church as long as possible, and ran some risk himself


218 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
in doing so. It would be very unjust to blame him
because it has come out now.”
“Of course,” Lady Chelford agreed. “Still, it is
as well perhaps Peggy isn’t here; it would be awk-
ward. She wouldn’t care to see him, even though
the affair is no fault of his.”
“I suppose there's no chance of her coming back
at present?”
“No. She wants to-be near her brother, and do
what she can for his wife, poor woman! What a
tragedy it is! We had hardly got over one before
another comes. If anything would make me dislike
Ferrybridge, this would. It doesn't seem the same
place.”
“You remember,” he said presently in a hesitating
tone, lowering his voice, “that — that I was at the
cottage the night it happened?”
“Hush! Yes, I remember.” She looked at him
fearfully.
“Most unwisely, I'm afraid, the visit was kept a
secret, but I may have to speak of it now, however
awkward it may be. Unfortunately, it will mean
dragging Lilah in. It'll all come out about her and
— and Monck. It seems as if there would never be
an end of it — or of him,” bitterly.
“Gilbert, you'll be careful. Don't do anything in
a hurry — think it all out first. Of course if you can
help poor Dick, you must speak, there can be no
question of that, but oh! be careful. I'm afraid,
horribly afraid. What does Lilah say?”
“Natura'y she is very much upset. She can't


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 219
bear the idea of my saying anything. She has made
herself quite ill — and she was looking so well and
happy! Fate seems to be against us. I don't know
what to do. I’m torn two ways, and the longer I
wait, the worse it is. I'm afraid for Lilah — afraid
of the effect on her of all this. She isn't very strong,
you know, and she's had a lot to try her lately.”
“I wish I could do something — that I could be
some comfort to her, but she keeps me at a distance.
I haven’t seen her lately, I can't make a friend of
her — she won’t let me. But I’m sorry for her, poor
girl. She's paying dearly for her folly.”
They discussed the matter a little longer — then
Lady Chelford said:
“You must do your duty, Gilbert; you mustn't
let consideration for Lilah, or me, or anybody else
stand in the way of that. I know you won't. As
you say, you can wait a little longer to see how
things go. It's not as if you could prove Dick in-
nocent — you can't.” A sudden thought struck her.
“What about the wedding?” she asked. “Is it —
will this make any difference?”
It's bound to,” he said gloomily. “I think Lilah
has dropped all preparations for the time; she's too
upset to do anything. It must be postponed for
the present, at all events. If things turn out better
than they promise at the moment, we can be married
quietly without any fuss.” He flung himself down
by his mother, and put his head on her shoulder as
he used to do when he was a little boy, tired of play.
“It's a weary world,” he exclaimed, “and I used


220 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
to think it such a happy one. Do you remember
how well everything went once? I hope I’m not a
coward, but I'm afraid — I don’t like the look of
things.”
“You haven’t had much trouble up to now, thank
God!” she said, “you're not used to it. Now it's
come in an avalanche and almost swept you off your
feet, but not taken your courage away; that's there
right enough. Don't be afraid. You'll fight through;
I know you will.”
But in her heart she could not help thinking that,
but for Lilah, none of this would have happened.
If Gilbert had fallen in love with Peggy, as she had
always hoped, he would have stood outside the
tragedy of Monck's death, instead of being in the
midst of it, as he was now.


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BEHIND THE WEIL
LILAH had known little rest or peace since the
night when the newspaper boy had come, like a mes-
senger from fate, destroying the fragile fabric of her
happiness with his ominous cry. She had always
felt that it rested on no sure foundation, and now
it lay in fragments shattered like glass. Could it
ever be made whole again? Was there any hope?
That was what she asked herself over and over
again. She could not bear to part with the joy and
happiness that had been hers for so short a time.
She clung to the shreds of it with an intensity that
would have astonished her in the days when she had
taken Gilbert and his devotion so much for granted.
Now their life together promised everything that
she desired, she could not bear that it should be
threatened in any way. Gilbert was amply avenged,
though that was the last thing he would have
wished. Lilah cared far more for him now than she
ever had before, and she had the misery of knowing
that all the present trouble that overclouded them
both was her own fault. She had sown the seed of
the vicious growth that had sprung up between
them. Now she prayed day and night for strength
to cut it down — for a miracle to destroy it—for
}
221


222 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
anything to happen — so that the way was left
clear.
After thinking over many schemes she decided to
go and see old Mrs. Monck. She did not know what
good it would do, but she was in a state of mind that
made it imperative that she should do something,
however hopeless it might appear. She was as con-
vinced as Irma had been that Mrs. Monck was the
moving spirit in what had happened, and that it was
her money and untiring efforts that had brought
about Dick Fenchurch's arrest. The old woman was
bound to find a victim sooner or later; she would
move heaven and earth to avenge her son's death.
Lilah shuddered when she remembered what Mrs.
Monck had said — how she had looked. There was
no mercy there.
Lilah shrank, in every nerve, from the thought of
seeing Mrs. Monck again, and yet something drove
her to go. Basil's mother had something of Basil's
compelling power. Besides, there was nobody else
who knew as much! Mrs. Monck might tell her
something if she would; she might disclose what
chance Dick Fenchurch had, what evidence there
was against him. The papers had told very little.
“Will she wonder why I have come?” Lilah asked
herself. “Will it look strange?” She drew her breath
hard. After all, she had not made the first advance;
Mrs. Monck had been to see her. One visit would
not be more strange and unexpected than the other.
So, without saying a word to anybody, she went.
The journey seemed as unreal and unnatural as


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 223
a nightmare; she did everything mechanically, as
though obeying some unseen force. She appeared
quiet and self-possessed, but she knew and saw
nothing of what was going on around her. As she
sat in the train her mind was intent on one thing
alone. She saw Mrs. Monck sitting in solitude, day
after day, waiting and watching, weaving her webs
with untiring patience, neglecting no chance, throw-
ing out lines that seemed hopeless . . . determined
to catch something in time.
When she arrived at Russell Square, she was
shown into a gloomy room, where the blinds were
half-down, while the maid went up to inquire if the
mistress would see her. Lilah was not afraid of a
refusal; she never even thought of it. She knew
that she was going to face Mrs. Monck again. As
she sat waiting she looked absently round the room.
Even in her abstracted state she could not help
noticing how neglected it looked. Lilah loved order
and neatness; dust and dirt were an abomination to
her. She shrank into herself with a little shiver of
distaste. What a dreadful room it was!. No flowers
— no books—nothing of endearing interest. It
looked as though it had not been used for years.
Evidently, now their mistress was out of the way,
the servants had let things go.
Though it was a cold day and there was no fire,
the room felt close and oppressive. It was the lack
of fresh air. The minutes passed, and Lilah sat
there, stiff and motionless as a statue; just waiting.
She turned with a start when the door opened.


224 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Will you come upstairs, please,” the maid was
saying, and feeling as though she had just been
roused from a heavy sleep, Lilah got up stiffly and
followed her. She tried to pull herself together, to
remember her excuses, and what she had to say, but
her mind responded badly. She had had so many
sleepless nights, and had thought so much, that all
she was conscious of now was a great sense of fa-
tigue. The journey seemed to have used up the
last of her strength.
The maid opened a door, and Lilah went in.
This room was as hot as the other had been cold,
and it was equally oppressive in another way.
Lilah, who was accustomed to open windows at all
seasons of the year, felt the need of fresh air; the
closeness of the room seemed to catch her by the
throat; she could hardly breathe. Mrs. Monck was
sitting over the fire, as if she could not have enough
of it, but she turned round as her visitor came in.
For a moment there was not a word. The maid
closed the door, and the old woman and the young
looked at one another as Lilah came slowly up the
room. Lilah's feet felt curiously heavy, and she was
painfully conscious of the keen glance that swept
her from head to foot and then rested on her face.
She was thankful for the protection of her veil.
“So you have come,” Mrs. Monck said. Lilah
made an effort to throw off her lethargy.
“Yes,” she said, “I hope you don’t mind — that
you don’t think —” Mrs. Monck interrupted her, not
rudely, but as though such phrases were a waste of
time.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 225
“Do you remember,” she said, “that when we
parted I said 'au revoir' not 'good-bye'? I had a feel-
ing that we should meet again. I am not in the
least surprised to see you.”
Lilah had forgotten, but it came back to her with
a shock. She felt trapped — as though she had been
unconsciously drawn this way ever since that day
when Mrs. Monck had disturbed her while she was
choosing her trousseau.
“But what is it? Of course you have come to say
something—something special, I mean?” She
looked at her with eager eyes.
“No,” Lilah said — “No, I don't think I have.
But I have been very much upset — in great trouble
— and I thought you might be able to help me.”
She felt that she was not making a good beginning.
“Indeed? I didn't know that I had such a good
reputation, or that it had traveled so far. Not many
people have come to me to be helped. But what is
it? What is the trouble?”
“It’s about Mr. Fenchurch.”
“You mean the man who has been arrested for
the murder of my son?”
“Yes. He is innocent, and it's a dreadful mistake,”
Lilah broke out. Then she stopped, unable to go
on with those eyes on her face — Basil's eyes, grown
old and fierce and cruel beyond belief. She stared
back, fascinated. How she had changed even in a
few weeks! She had looked old and worn that day
she came to Ferrybridge, but not like this. Now she
looked only half alive. She was swathed in wraps


226 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
like a mummy, and she hung over the fire as though
she had no warmth in herself, her claw-like hands
stretched out to the blaze.
Lilah shivered with a feeling of repulsion. When
people looked like that they ought not to be alive,
she thought; they were better dead.
“Well,” came the toneless voice, sounding so far
off, “well, what do you think of me? Am I changed?
Do you feel sorry for me? Do you wish to express
your pity and sympathy? Pray do. Let's get it
over, and then we can proceed to business.”
“I am sorry to see you looking so ill.”
“One does not flourish on the food I have had
lately. I was a strong woman, or I could not have
done what I have, but it has used me up—yes.
I haven't much strength left, but it will be enough,
for my work is nearly finished. She turned and
looked at her visitor deliberately, then she went on:
“But you are nothing to boast of yourself. You
look older — tired, and pale, and worried, very dif-
ferent from when I saw you last. I noticed it the
moment you came in. You were in the middle of
preparations for your marriage then, do you re-
member? Are they all completed?”
“No,” the conversation had taken a turn Lilah
had not intended it should; she was answering ques-
tions instead of asking them, but she was powerless |
to help herself.
“No? How is that? Nothing gone wrong, I
hope?” The old voice grew eager with expectation.
She seemed suddenly to wake into life.
— am -


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 227
“They couldn't go on in the midst of all this fresh
trouble, it would be too ghastly. We were very
much upset. He was a great friend, and we were
both very fond of him.”
“Of whom are you speaking?”
“Of Mr. Fenchurch, of course — poor Dick Fen-
church. Who else could it be?”
“I thought you might be speaking of my son.”
The words dropped slowly and deliberately from her
lips, each one receiving full value.
“I thought,” after a moment, “that you might
have remembered that he – my son — was once
your “great friend,’ that the knowledge that he was
going to be avenged at last might have turned your
thoughts from your own happiness.”
Lilah stared at her without speaking.
“Have you quite forgotten what he was to you
not so many months ago?”
“What do you mean?” Lilah asked quickly. “I
don’t understand.” -
“Oh yes, I think you do. There were two women
from whom my son might have expected something,
two on whom he had a claim — his wife and you —
and both failed him.”
“A claim — on me?” Lilah made a great effort;
the ground seemed slipping from under her feet;
she tried to laugh. “I can excuse you, under the
circumstances, for I know how much you have suf-
fered — that perhaps you hardly understand what
you are saying. But a claim—it is absurd—pre-
posterous!”


228 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Is it? I am sorry I should have made such a ra.
take. You must forgive me. I am an old woman,
and, as you say, perhaps I hardly know what I am
talking about. Let us say no more about it.”
“But I should like an explanation. What gave
you the idea? — how came you to think of such a
thing?”
“I knew my son admired you very much. I
guessed more than he told me, and I thought you
might have returned the feeling. It would have
been only natural — what one might expect. He
was not accustomed to rebuffs.”
“We were friends, certainly — intimate friends,
but how does that constitute a claim?”
“A claim to be remembered — what other claim
did you think I meant?”
“I have remembered — too long. There are
others who are nearer and dearer, who come first
now.”
“Then they did not always? You have given your-
self away, my dear.” Lilah turned on her fiercely.
“As you know so much, you shall know more,”
she said. “Your son fascinated me for a time, al-
most wrecked my happiness — do I owe him any
thanks for that? . . . I wish to God I had never
seen him!”
For a minute there was silence, a silence that
could be felt — pregnant with meaning. Passion
was in it, doubt and suspicion, and something like
despair. Lilah's overstrained nerves had snapped,
and for a moment she did not care what happened.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 231
! all this trouble on your own initiative? That was
indeed kind. You must have taken the matter very
much to heart.”
“I have — we both have.”
“What did Sir Gilbert say? Did he approve of
your coming to see me?”
“He doesn't know, but there is no reason why he
should disapprove. I am free to do as I like.”
“Of course. It's different now from when I was
married. Then young women didn't run about by
themselves. No doubt you will tell him all about
it when you get back.”
“I may or I may not. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I don’t want to give you away. I might
speak of it by accident to somebody and it might
get round to your fiancé. Then he would naturally
wonder why you hadn't mentioned it. If you wish
your visit kept secret, you have only to say so, and
I shall respect your wishes.”
“It is of no importance either way. I have asked
you one favor and you have refused. I am not
likely to ask you another.”
“I am sorry that you should go away feeling like
that— that you should look on me as an enemy.
My son ought to be a bond between us. I can’t treat
you as a stranger. I never have, you may re-
member.”
Lilah felt a little shudder creep over her. A bond
between her and this terrible old woman! It was the
last thing she desired. She wanted to be done with
her and with all belonging to her, but it seemed as


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 235
who throws the shadow of his prison walls on every-
thing. Do you think we can be happy while he lies
there?”
“Of course it's very sad, but, after all, he wasn't
on such intimate terms with either of you that your
lives should be spoiled because of him. I confess
I don't understand your distress; it seems to me
excessive.” -
“Nobody understands. Perhaps that is the only
comfort about it.”
Her father stared at her, but he brushed the re-
mark aside, as he had brushed other things that in-
terfered with the even tenor of his way. Women
were naturally contradictory and ambiguous, and
it was best not to take any notice of them.
“Well, I must be off,” he said, as he carefully se-
lected an apple from a dish and put it in his pocket.
Mr. Blake was a firm believer in an apple after
breakfast, and he liked to crunch it up schoolboy
fashion. It made him feel young. “There's a lot
to do in the garden, clearing up for the winter.” He
nodded to his daughter and went away, feeling a
little sorry for himself. Lilah had been rather de-
pressing of late. He did not want any tragedy in
his own life, though he was keenly interested in the
tragedies of other people.
However, as soon as he opened the hall door he
cheered up. It was an ideal autumn morning, bright
and frosty, with a “bite” in the air that set one's
blood tingling. Mr. Blake broke into song, to show
his appreciation.


236 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“From the desert I come to thee
On my Arab shod with fire,”
he trolled out. It seemed to him just the song for
such a morning, hearty and stimulating.
Lilah heard him, and felt inclined to scream, the
heartiness of it got so on her nerves. Everything
jarred on her this morning. She would have liked
to run away from everything and everybody; most
of all from her own thoughts. She had been think-
ing, thinking, all night. She had done no good by
going to see Mrs. Monck; it would have been better
to have kept quiet. Now she could not forget her,
nor the gloomy old house in which the old woman
watched and waited, hidden from the world.
What a personality hers was! Lilah shivered as
she pictured her sitting over the fire, so aged and
feeble in body, so strong in mind and brain. She
saw again the relentless eyes, which nothing escaped;
she heard the gibing voice saying things that pricked
and tormented. What did she mean? Had she
meant half she said? She had said some queer
things; they had come back to Lilah in the silence
of the night which added force and intention. That
she should speak of a bond between them was the
worst of it all. Lilah hated the idea of it, hated it
all the more bitterly because she too was conscious
of something that seemed to draw them together,
fight against it as she might. Sitting here in the
pretty, bright room, with everything homely and
cheerful about her, flowers on the breakfast-table,


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 237
w
sunshine outside, she still could not escape from an-
other and a very different influence. The pain and
trouble shut up there in that other house seemed
more real than the ease and comfort surrounding
her here.
She wandered restlessly about all day, doing noth-
ing for long. She did not want to see anybody, not
even Gilbert; he could give her no comfort. There
was almost as much pain as pleasure in seeing him
now. She did not mean to tell him of her visit;
he would wonder and want some explanation, and
she had none to give. She could not explain it even
to herself. But, though their love was troubled, she
clung to it all the more passionately. She loved
Gilbert as she never had in the happy careless days
when she had felt sure of everything and everybody.
Towards evening, when it was getting dark, and
she was not likely to meet anyone, she went out. It
soothed her to be there in the cold and dark, safe
from curious eyes; she could look as she pleased,
and throw off the restraint that she was obliged to
keep up indoors. She had not gone far before she
saw someone coming towards her. It was Johnson.
She would have avoided him if she could, but it was
too late. She said “Good evening,” and would have
passed on, but to her surprise he stopped.
“May I speak to you, miss? I've been on the
lookout for you for some days. Can you spare me
a few minutes?” His manner was perfectly respect-
ful, but different from what it would have been if
anybody else had been present. Lilah felt that, of


238 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
late, he had given no sign of any understanding be-
tween them.
“It's about Sir Gilbert, miss.”
“What about him?” she asked hastily. “He isn't
ill? There's nothing the matter?”
“He isn't exactly ill, but I'm afraid there's a good
deal the matter. He's looking terribly worried.”
“We are all worried — naturally,” she said shortly.
“It’s an anxious time for all of Mr. Fenchurch's
friends.” -
“Of course, I quite understand that, miss. But
I'm sorry to see Sir Gilbert so put out. He's a very
kind master, is Sir Gilbert. I’ve never met anybody
half as good and kind, and it fidgets me to see him
looking so ill and troubled.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Is there anything new?
I haven’t seen him for a day or two. I went to town
yesterday, and I was too tired to see anybody to-day.
Speak out. I can see that you have something on
your mind.”
“Well, it's like this, miss—but perhaps you'll
think I’m forgetting my place. It's a liberty I know,
but I’m very much attached to Sir Gilbert — that
must be my excuse.”
“Go on,” she said impatiently. “Why do you
stand on ceremony? It isn't the first confidential
talk we've had, though we haven't had any lately.
Now, all the trouble seems to be coming back.”
“If you'll pardon my saying so, I think you're
making a mistake, miss. You're thinking too much
about the past.”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 239
Lilah stared at him. What did he mean? His
tone was grave enough.
“I’m speaking in your interest as well as Sir Gil-
bert's,” he went on, “though I don’t deny that it's
him I’m thinking of. He's been a real friend to me,
and I should like to do him a good turn if I could.”
Still Lilah looked and said nothing. “You don't
need me to tell you, miss, how his heart's set on you.
You could do what you liked with him.”
“And what do you want me to do?” she asked
slowly.
“Take him away — now, at once, right away, out
of it all.” He waited a moment, then he added im-
pressively. “Take him away before a worse thing
happens.”
She stared at him in the dim light, while her face
grew white and her breath came quickly. Johnson
had himself under better control, but he too showed
signs of tension.
“What do you mean?” she stammered. “I — I
don't understand.”
“I think you do — enough for the purpose. Too
many words are a mistake. Make use of any argu-
ment you like, but take him away out of all the
trouble and suspense. Go away, both of you. You
could be married quietly in a few days.”
“But it would seem so heartless — I don't know if
it's possible, and if he would consent. I don’t know
that I wish it myself; it doesn't seem lucky at such
a time.” Johnson made an impatient movement.
“Take my advice,” he said. “You’ll regret it if


240 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
you don’t. Go to the ends of the earth for your
honeymoon, right away — where even a whisper of
the trial can't reach you.”
“And where would that be?” she asked bitterly.
“Is there such a place? Where's peace to be found?
Could we forget? Shouldn’t we always be wonder-
ing what had happened? Better stay and face it
out.” Johnson shrugged his shoulders.
“I have warned you. I can say no more.”
“But you haven't told me,” looking at him sus-
piciously, “why you have said so much. Why should
we run away as though — as though we were
afraid?” The man made no answer.
“I’m speaking for your good — for your happi-
ness,” he persisted. “Why can’t you trust me? After
all, what is Mr. Fenchurch to you, compared to Sir.
Gilbert?”
“Nothing,” she said, and her mouth closed like a
Snap.
“Then why bother so much about him? Some-
body must suffer. I gave you credit for more pluck
and determination, and less—less conscience, may
I say?”
“I don’t know that my influence is strong enough
to carry through what you suggest. After all, there
is a man — our friend — shut up, awaiting his trial
for a terrible crime. It isn't decent to go off and
enjoy ourselves when he is between life and death.”
“I don’t think there is any fear of it going as far
as that. They couldn't bring it in more than man-
slaughter if the worst happens. There is no evidence


242 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“I, miss? Have you forgotten? I was only a ser-
vant; what could I say or do? You would not have
listened — you would have been furious—and
rightly so. I should have been ruined. It is only
now, when so many things have happened, that I
venture to say a word — and that more for Sir Gil-
bert's sake than anybody else’s.”
“I understand. You don’t like me; you don't
approve of me.”
“I have felt sorry for you, miss—if you will allow
me to say so.”
“Sorry?” The word came almost in a whisper.
“Why?”
“Because he was almost as much your master as
he was mine. Because I knew his tender mercies.”
“It was not his fault or mine that we cared,” she
said. “Those things happen. We have both paid
dearly for our folly.”
“Then you think his death was a punishment?—
an act of revenge?” He was watching her closely.
“Perhaps it was. We are not let off much, are we,
even in this world? If we sow the wind we reap the
whirlwind.”
“I’ve wondered sometimes,” Johnson said, hesi-
tatingly, “if you understood him rightly, even now.
If you knew what he was — the way he looked at
things.” -
“How do you mean?”
“I’ve no doubt he made the best of himself to
you, naturally enough. He was clever with his
tongue; you may have believed what he said —


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 243
taken him at his own value.” She looked at him in
surprise. -
“How strangely you speak! Didn't you like him
after all? You always seemed so devoted; you were
with him so long.”
“I was his devoted servant, miss. That was all
he wanted. He made that safe. But to go to back
to what I was saying — if you have any illusions
left concerning him, any scruples, any pity, I think
you may put them all on one side. You can do noth-
ing for him now, and he certainly deserved nothing
from you. I venture to say this because I’m not
sure that even now you don’t think of him too
much.” -
“If I do, it's not with any particular affection or
respect,” she said bitterly. “All that's gone long
ago. But he's a difficult man to forget.”
“That's true, miss—you're right there. But you
must make a fight for it. You're not going the right
way to forget. You think too much and brood too
much, and Sir Gilbert's getting the same way. You
know,” he hesitated, “even if he had been free, he
would have gone on as he was; he never really
thought of marying again. He didn't want to. He
liked his freedom too well.” Johnson felt rather
than saw the wave of color that swept Lilah's face.
“How do you know that?” she asked in a low tone.
“He said so, over and over again. He made no
pretence about it; he didn't mince his words. He
hated to be tied in any way, he shirked any obliga-
tions and responsibilities. He liked to take what
he wanted and go on his way.”


244 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
Lilah made no answer; she could not trust herself
to speak. She trembled with anger and bitterness
— anger against the dead, who had held her so
lightly, even while he was professing an eternal de-
votion — anger and contempt for herself that she
should have fallen such an easy victim. She had
only been one of many — that was evident enough,
and, to her, he had been the one man that mattered,
for whom she had risked name and honor, the pres-
ent and the future. It had scarcely been a fair
exchange. She laughed, and Johnson looked up with
a start.
“It's the truth, miss,” he said gravely. “I'm only
telling you the bare truth.”
“I know,” she said. “I don’t doubt it for a mo-
ment. It's the truth I’m laughing at. I think I've
always known it at the bottom of my heart — known
that he was worthless and heartless, and thought of
nobody but himself — but I chose not to believe.
So you see it's my own fault. I don’t deserve any
pity or sympathy — I don’t want any.”
“I shouldn't presume to offer it, miss. I hope I
know my place too well for that, and I’ve said, per-
haps, more than I should.”
“I wonder,” she said presently, “why you stayed
with him — what kept you. After what you've said,
it couldn't be any kindness or liking for him. I
used to think it was, but I must have been wrong.
When you speak of him now, your voice sounds
hard and bitter— almost as if you hated him.”
He made no answer.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 245
“You’re not going to tell me what kept you to-
gether? Very well. Of course it's no affair of mine,
only, as you played the part of the faithful servant
so admirably in his case, why shouldn't you be play-
ing the same part now? How do I know that the
regard you possess for Sir Gilbert is any more real
than the other? — that the advice you have given
me is genuine?”
He put his hand inside his coat, and took out a
pocket-book. He opened it and drew out a letter
from an inner pocket, while she watched him in
astonishment, and with a touch of apprehension.
What was he going to do?
“There!” he said. “Read it. I think that will
prove that I'm Sir Gilbert's friend.” He held out
the letter to her, but she shrank back.
“I don't understand,” she said. “What is it?”
“It’s a letter Sir Gilbert wrote to Mr. Monck and
posted the night of his death. It was left at the
cottage the next morning, and I took possession of
it. I knew where it came from, for, as you see, it
has the address on the envelope. . . . Read it.”
She took out the sheet of paper, and going to a
street lamp, she read the few lines in fear and won-
der. She had known nothing about it; Gilbert had
never told her.
“Well, what do you think of it?” he asked, as she
put the letter back in the envelope without a word.
“What do you think would have happened if the
police had found it instead of me? Wouldn't they
have asked some awkward questions?”


246 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“No doubt.” She looked at him closely. “Why
didn't you show it to them? What made you hide
it?”
“I thought it might be useful. I don’t pretend to
be a saint. I’ve had a hard life, and I didn’t want
to be at anybody's mercy again. I wanted to make
a corner for myself where I could die comfortably.
I thought Sir Gilbert might be willing to pay a good
sum to get it back.”
“I see. You are frank. Well? What was the
result?”
“He’s never seen it, he's never likely to now. I
shouldn't have shown it to you, only I wanted to
convince you that I’m dealing straight with Sir
Gilbert. He's treated me like a white man. Lord!
I couldn't understand it at first; I wondered what
he was up to. For a time I kept it, waiting my
chance, then, in case I should change my mind, but
now I'll put myself out of reach of temptation.” He
deliberately tore the letter across and across, again
and again, until it was in fragments. These he
tossed up in the air, and the wind blew them in dif-
ferent directions. -
“There!” he said with a laugh. “That's done. It's
out of my hands now — the first good deed I’ve done
for years. Won't you congratulate me?”
The next minute he had gone back to his old
manner; he was a servant again.
“Thank you for letting me speak to you, miss.
I’ve said my say, I won’t trouble you again. But I
hope you'll see your way to doing as I venture to
suggest.” *


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 249
Thank goodness I haven't a sensitive conscience that
would keep me awake at night. After all, I’ve only
told the truth. If I kept it back till I could be paid
for it — well! that was just a matter of business. I
learnt something about buying and selling when I
was with Mr. Monck.”
“I see. There's no need to say any more about
it; it's no concern of mine. I'm not too scrupulous
myself, and I don’t pretend to be shocked. You've
let in a little light, but I don’t want to explore any
further, for I’ve enough on my hands. I’m an old
woman, and I’m getting very tired.”
“I’d better be going, madam, if there's nothing
more you wish to say?”
“I don’t think there is. . . . With you, Johnson,
goes one of the last links. The old life's slipping
away very fast.” He listened with respectful at-
tention, but she looked in vain for the slightest sign
of feeling. . . . “You’re glad to go?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Very well. You've been dragging at your chain
for some time, I fancy.”
“For years, madam.”
“Ah! I wonder why, but it doesn't matter. You
wouldn't tell me if I asked. . . . That's all, thank
you, Johnson. We're not likely to meet again. I
shall think of you sometimes, busy among your
roses.” She laughed — just an empty sound, the
ghost of a laugh.
“Thank you, madam. Good-evening. May I
offer my respectful wishes for —”


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 251
there for the last time. How often he had gone up
and down those stairs in attendance on his master,
waiting on him hand and foot, while he hated him
in his heart. How meekly he had had to take every
taunt, every sneer, when that master was in a bad
temper; he had trained himself to show no sign, to
betray nothing of what he had thought and felt.
He had been a machine more than a man.
Well! it had come to an end at last. He opened
the door and went out, meeting the fresh, bracing air
with a feeling of relief. In there it was so airless,
and quiet, and still; like a house of death more than
of life. He walked rapidly away, he was impatient
now to have done with it all, to be free. But first,
there was the trial, and after that, he had to give
Sir Gilbert notice. He had said nothing yet.
He moved his shoulders impatiently, as though
eager to shake off the burden that still rested on
them. He wanted his freedom; he grudged every
day, almost every hour now that held him back.
He was eager to begin his new life, and he had no
time to spare. The only regret he had was that he
would see no more of Sir Gilbert. He had grown
sincerely attached to him, and he would have done
anything in reason to insure his happiness. That
was why he had counseled Lilah to take him away.
He saw how worried he was. He guessed there was
something wrong.
“I hope she'll have the sense to do what I said,”
he was thinking. “They’re both wearing themselves
out. There's something queer, something that


E.
THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 253
all seemed hopeless and inevitable. What had
Johnson meant? Had he forgotten that she would
be called as a witness, or had he taken the matter
so seriously that he thought it worth while to run
any risk to get out of the way? It looked like it.
He had said “go to the ends of the earth,” where
they would be out of reach.
Thinking of this, she made one more effort.
“Then you won't have me, Gilbert? I’ve been
bold enough to suggest a runaway match, and you
refuse.”
“I’ll have you and be thankful,” he said tenderly,
“but we won't run away—either to be married or
from poor old Dick. We'll stop and face the music.
There's been too much deception and misunder-
standing already. But why shouldn't we be married
openly, without any ceremony, as soon as I can get
a special license? I could look after you better
then.”
“And spend our honeymoon in the shadow of the
prison walls?” She shuddered. “No! certainly not.
It would scarcely be a happy omen. That was not
what I meant. I wanted to escape from it all.”
“Have a little more patience, and, please God,
he'll be free, and the guest of honor at our wedding.
I know how hard it is on you. You've been through
so much and there's more to come. But we can't
run away from it. What would people say and
think?” -
“You’ll have to explain why you answered the
telephone in Basil's voice.”


254 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Yes, but I shall make as light of it, as possible.
I shall say I was unreasonably jealous, that I was
ashamed of myself the next moment. You don't
suppose that I would let any blame attach to you?”
“You won’t if you can help it, I know, but, of
course, people will talk. And it's no more than I
deserve. If that were all, I might think myself
lucky.”
“What more could there be?”
“Oh, I don’t know, but it's always a risky business
to stir up mud. No doubt they'll find somebody who
won't give me quite such a good character as you
would. I'm not particularly popular, either among
my own set or in the village generally. I don’t visit
their stuffy cottages, or kiss their sticky babies.”
Gilbert laughed, glad of the lighter tone.
“But you’ll have to,” he said, “when you come to
the Manor House. It's a tradition with us.”
“When,” she echoed — “when!” There was an
intense bitterness in the one word.
“Lilah! what do you mean? You'll be coming
soon — why do you speak like that?”
“Shall I? I wonder? Fate seems bent on keep-
ing us apart, and fate is stronger than you or I.
Look how many things have happened, that we did
not foresee. In the ordinary course of events, we
should have been married long ago. You might al-
most say that the wedding has been postponed twice.
That's not lucky, is it?”
“No, I'm not particularly superstitious or fanci-
ful, but there does seem something queer about it—


256 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
though it's been all my fault. I’ve wondered some-
times what your thoughts have been – if they
were not harder than your words?”
He looked at her in surprise. She spoke with
more feeling than usual; she was gentler, more sub-
dued. The tone of her voice was almost pleading.
In the old days, she had never doubted herself; she
had been supreme; she had gone on her way, and
taken all the good things of life as a matter of
COUITSC.
“Why, Lilah —”
“Yes, I know, you've been all that is good and
kind and generous, but it would be only natural if
a hard thought had obtruded sometimes. So I just
want to say how sorry I am — that I’ve paid for my
folly and madness in long days and nights of pain
and remorse. You're sorry for me now, but if you
knew all, you would pity me more. You would say
I had been punished enough.”
“Lilah — my dearest!”
“I just want to hear you say that you forgive me
everything—everything, even the things you don't
know. It would make me so much happier. It's
just a foolish fancy, perhaps, but women have queer
fancies sometimes, you know. You'll be patient
with me, you've always been so patient. . . My
poor Gilbert!” She touched his face caressingly.
“If there's anything to forgive, I forgive it with
all my heart,” he said. “I’ve never had a hard
thought of you, God knows! Or, if it came for a
minute, it was gone the next. But what specters are


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 257
you conjuring up? Is there anything I don't know
that you would be the happier for telling me?”
“No,” she said — “no.”
“I thought the less said the better — the less there
would be to forget. But if it would ease your mind
to speak, I am ready to listen. I only want what
is best for you. Has anything new happened?”
“No, nothing. It's the same miserable past that
I try to forget and can’t. Things won’t let me. But
you know enough about it; you can't help me, and
nobody can — only time. But I just wanted you
to know that I haven’t been blind or indifferent,
though I’ve never thanked you. I couldn't — I
hadn’t enough words.”
“Are thanks necessary between you and me?”
“It's been the one thing that's saved me — to
know that you were there the same as ever, caring
still, thinking no evil, refusing to believe. .
Your loyalty kept me up when, otherwise, I must
have gone under. It was only you that held the
whispering tongues at bay. What could they say
when you — the man I was to marry — showed no
doubt or dissatisfaction? If you had thrown me
over — as many men would have done—they would
have had no mercy.”
“Why talk about it?”
“Because I want you to know that I love you for
it; that, at last, I know your worth, though it's late
in the day. That, if I have the chance, I'll do all
in my power to make you happy—to make you
forget all the pain and grief I’ve caused you. I pray


260 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
it placed him (Gilbert) in an unpleasant position,
and exposed both him and Lilah to much comment
and curiosity, especially on the part of the general
public. People at Ferrybridge, of course, were not
so much surprised. Gilbert told his story in a frank,
straightforward way that could not but make a
favorable impression, in spite of the censure he had
earned by his delay and concealment. It was gen-
erally understood that he had been trying to spare
Lilah, to keep her name out of the papers, and people
admired his chivalry, and forgot that he had really
been very much to blame. He had come forward
now of his own accord—which was also in his
favor.
“Can you forgive me?” he said to Irma. “I ought
to have spoken out from the first, but Lilah would
not be persuaded that it was I who had answered
her, and—and —”
“And your first care was for her. It was quite
natural,” she said. He heard the bitterness in her
tone, and knew that she found it hard to forgive
him. Dick had been more generous. Dick had said
that he would have done the same himself, but that
was like him.
Irma was perhaps more prepared for the verdict
than anybody else. Life had made her afraid—the
worst seemed to her more natural than the best. But
the blow was none the less awful because she half
expected it. If it had not been for Dick she would
have collapsed completely after the weeks of strain,
but, because she had him to think of, she would not


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 261
give way. She must be brave for him, fight for him,
as he could not fight for himself. She would not
tamely submit; there must be something she could
do; she would move heaven and earth to get justice.
That was what she asked for—simply justice; not
mercy. The verdict had been against the weight
of evidence—she was not alone in thinking so.
Most people had expected an acquittal. The prose-
cution had been exceptionally severe, making the
most of every trifle, but so cleverly as to alienate all
sympathy from the prisoner. The case throughout
had been handled with consummate skill. Dick
was made to appear as Monck's secret enemy —
clever, unscrupulous, and plotting against his good
name and honor.
The prisoner had been in love with the dead man's
wife — the jury, essentially British, did not like
that — and he had, since, married her: reason one
for wishing her husband out of the way. He had
lost a considerable sum of money through the mur-
dered man: reason two that he should be his enemy,
as he undoubtedly was. He did not deny it himself.
More than one witness had heard him use strong ex-
pressions about Monck; the rupture between them
was well known. The victim's valet, who had been
devoted to his dead master, spoke with commendable
restraint and showed no rancor, but this only made
his evidence the more important. He was an admir-
able witness, and made a most favorable impression.
But none of his friends—not even Gilbert — was
so overwhelmed by the verdict as Lilah. It was a


262 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
greater shock to her than even to his wife. She had
never expected it; she had refused, up to the last,
to believe that such a thing could happen. He would
be acquitted; of course he would be acquitted, she
said over and over again. It was absurd to suppose
anything else. -
And now he was condemned, and his sentence was
a heavy one. Not the supreme penalty, not death,
but a death in life, surely as bad or worse to a man
like Dick Fenchurch. Everything would be taken
from him — even his name. He would become a
machine — a slave, who lived and moved at other
men's bidding. He would be tied hand and foot.
His life, so far as it was worth calling life, would be
over when he put on his convict's dress. If he lived
to put it off — and that with such a man was doubt-
ful — he would be a poor broken wreck, no pleasure
or use to himself or anybody else.
All this, and more, Lilah was thinking as she
sat alone on the night of the day on which Richard
Fenchurch had been found guilty. She had had a
telegram from Gilbert telling her what had happened
before the verdict could reach the evening papers.
She had taken it upstairs without breaking the en-
velope, and there, shut up in her own room, she had
torn it open and learnt the worst. Since then she
had sat there like a statue, staring out into the dark-
ness, thinking — thinking. She would not let any-
body in, she would answer no questions. All she
said was that she wanted nothing—only to be left
alone. Even when Gilbert came round after dinner


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 265
That seemed the only reasonable explanation of her
condition. He suddenly realised how little he knew
his daughter. He had been content to accept the
obvious — to believe what she told him. He did
not like trouble and it was so much easier to take
a superficial view of things. As she was Gilbert's
promised wife he had taken for granted that she
cared for him, but perhaps she did not. Or, if she
did, possibly she cared for Fenchurch more. She
might only recently have found it out. He specu-
lated and wondered, but without arriving at any
satisfactory conclusion. It was impossible to ques-
tion Lilah. He had always shrunk from awkward
questions, and they could do no good now. What
had happened?
So he petted and comforted her as best he could,
without probing the wound, and all day long, she
sat there; he did not know whether she were asleep
or awake. She sat huddled up like an old woman,
a shawl round her shoulders, staring into the fire, or
she lay back with closed eyes, neither speaking nor
moving. Once she startled him by laughing shrilly,
but when he asked her what was the matter, she
said nothing. As a matter of fact, she had been
thinking of old Mrs. Monck, and it had struck her
how alike they were. Last time she had seen the old
woman she was sitting huddled up over the fire in
much about the same way as she herself was now.
Was that another proof of the bond between them?
Lilah had laughed hysterically at the idea, as one
might laugh in the face of death — or worse.


266 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“Gilbert is sure to look in after dinner,” Mr.
Blake said, when the long day had come to an end,
at last. “You will see him now, won't you? It
will do you good.” She started up, at once, refusing
almost violently; she would not hear of it.
“There! — there!” Mr. Blake said soothingly,
“you shall do as you like. Don’t upset yourself —
nobody shall come in unless you wish. I'm only
thinking of you.” Her refusal strengthened his
idea that something had gone wrong—that she
must care for Fenchurch, or surely she would be glad
to see Gilbert? He ought to be able to comfort her
better than anybody.
When, a little later, a ring came at the hall door,
she caught hold of his arm, her face working ner-
vously, her voice sharp and excited.
“Go!” she said, watching the door. “Make haste,
see who it is. He's not to come in here. I can’t see
him. Quick! They may bring him in. Find out
everything and come back and tell me.”
He went out quickly and closed the door behind
him, but he had scarcely left the room, before Lilah
sprang up. She swayed for a moment from weak-
ness, then she ran over to the door and locked it,
leaning heavily against it in a listening attitude. She
had heard Gilbert's voice. They were talking in
the hall, and she tried to hear what was being said,
but could only catch a word here and there. Her
hands were locked round the handle of the door, her
head a little bent. She hardly seemed to breathe,
so intently did she listen. There was no pretence


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 267
about her now; no disguise. She might have been a
study in pain and fear, so terrible and tragic was
her face. She looked like a creature at bay, who
knows that she has only one chance left, and that
a poor one.
She heard somebody say good-night, then noise-
lessly, she unlocked the door, fled back to her place,
and crouched down in the big armchair. The hall-
door opened and closed — Gilbert had gone. She
half started up as though she would have called him
back—her face turned to the window. Every step
he took on the gravel drive, firm but light, seemed
a step on her heart. He was going away from her.
She pressed her hands to her breast, as though the
pain was more than she could bear. She clenched
her teeth to keep back the cry that rose to her lips.
She had sent him away, but never in all her life
had she wanted him so much. She heard her father
cross the hall — more slowly than usual — then
the door opened, and he came in. In a flash her eyes
were on his face — questioning, appealing. What
was he going to say? She looked at him as though
begging for mercy.
“Well?” she said breathlessly, as he did not speak
- “Well *
Mr. Blake sat down.
“Gilbert was very disappointed not to see you,” he
began. She brushed the words aside impatiently.
“But what has happened? — what news did he
bring?” she questioned. “Could he do anything,
have they done any good?” He shook his head.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 269
exactly blame them. You see, he might have done it
in a moment of passion, not realising what it meant.
Things happen like that. Nobody thinks it was pre-
meditated, but —”
“He couldn’t do it — Dick couldn't do it,” she
broke in. “Are you turning against him too? . . . Oh,
my God, how awful it is! And we sit here doing
nothing — nothing.” She rocked herself to and fro,
hardly knowing what she did. “Tell me,” she said
after a minute, “how does he take it? Is he – is he
terribly upset?”
“I am afraid he is,” Mr. Blake said slowly. “You
see, he didn't expect it any more than we did. I'm
afraid it was a knock-down blow.”
“And his wife?”
“She takes it bravely, poor woman, but Gilbert
said he couldn't bear to see her. She looks awful.
She's just keeping up for his sake. She won't give
way. She'll be there as long as he wants her, but
he's gone out of reach. . . .” Mr. Blake shook his
head. “She's bound to collapse then, I should say.”
“And Dick's broken down — poor Dick! He was
such a fine, strong fellow, and she's a delicate woman
—but you say she still keeps up. Queer, isn't it?
It's wonderful what a woman can bear and live.”
“Now you know all about it, don't you think you
might be able to get some rest?” he suggested pres-
ently. “Go to bed and shut your eyes, poor child.
You must sleep. There's nothing more to wait for.”
She dragged herself to her feet.
“That's true,” she said, “ — there's nothing more


CHAPTER TWENTY-Two
“The Truth shall make you free”
“If you please, sir,” Johnson said in his usual
respectful manner, “I should be glad if you could
make it convenient to let me go at the end of the
month.”
“Go?” Gilbert repeated absently. “Go where?”
He was tired out, he had been in town all day, rush-
ing about and seeing people. He was more than
tired—heartsick and depressed. He realised that
nothing could be done for Dick, and that the law
must take its course. He had just returned from
the Dutch House, where Lilah had refused to see
him. Everything seemed to be going wrong — there
was nothing but trouble and worry.
“I’m sorry to bother you at such a time, sir, but
I'm thinking of retiring, I’ve had enough of service.”
“Do you mean you want to leave?— that you're
giving me notice?” Gilbert exclaimed, looking at
him in astonishment. “What is it? — what's the
matter? Has anything happened?”
“No, sir, but I'm tired of work, I feel that I'm
getting old, and that I should like to have a little
place of my own. I’ve saved a little, enough to keep
me with care. I’m not a helpless person; I can
turn my hand to most things.”
271


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 273
“I want a complete rest and change, sir, something
to divert my mind. I’m thinking of taking a little
cottage in the country, and growing roses.”
Gilbert stared. If he had not felt so miserable
and upset he would have been amused. Johnson
and roses seemed to have so little in common.
“Well, of course you know best,” he said in a
tired voice. “I can’t say any more.” He felt a little
hurt. He liked Johnson, and he had put himself
out to do all he could for him because he felt sorry
for what he had been through. It seemed ungrate-
ful that he should want to go just when he had
worry enough over other things. He would not have
thought so much about it at any other time, but
just now his own nerves were on edge.
“I hope you don't think I'm ungrateful, sir — that
I don't recognise how kind you've been. I hate
leaving you in one way, for nobody's ever treated
me half so well. But I want to be free — free to
go away and begin a new life, and forget. I’ve
taken a good deal out of myself, one way and an-
other, and I don’t know how long I may have. I
want to be my own man once more.” There was a
suppressed intensity in his manner, which Gilbert
could not fail to notice. It seemed, indeed, as
though he could hardly restrain himself, his impa-
tience and eagerness were so great.
“I don’t want to put you to any inconvenience,
sir, I'll stay till you get suited. It's not that I'm
ungrateful, but I can't rest, now that my mind's
made up. It's queer,” with a nervous laugh, “how


276 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
matter what he said. That robbed him of half his
satisfaction—but I went through a good deal first." |
It was plain enough that he had. Now the mask :
had gone, the tortured face told its own tale. It
had needed some exceptional experience to make it
look like that.
“But why — what in heaven's name made you
put up with it?” Gilbert asked.
“Because I had no choice, sir— no choice between
that and ruin, and, by ruin, I mean prison and dis-
grace.” He passed his handkerchief over his clammy
face. It cost something to break the silence after
so long. Gilbert did not know what to say, but his
surprise was only equalled by his pity. That John-
son should have strayed so far from the paths of
respectability amazed him, but he sympathised too
much to be greatly shocked.
“It would have been far better for me if I had
faced it out at first, if I had let him do his worst.
But I was afraid. I'd never come within reach of
the law before, though I haven’t been too scrupu-
lous. So I was fool enough to ask for mercy — from
him.” He laughed. “I’m a good servant, as you
know, sir. He didn't want to lose me, and he said
he'd overlook it.
“Overlook it?” he repeated savagely. “Why, he
never for one moment forgot it. It was always on
the tip of his tongue, ready to be used if I offended.
You didn't know much of him, sir, but you know he
could use his tongue, and make it cut like a whip.
It took the heart out of me, broke my spirit, I was


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 277
like a frightened child. I used to go cold when I
heard him coming, wondering what mood he was in,
and he knew it — curse him! — though I did my
best to hide it.”
“Don’t curse the dead,” Gilbert said gravely.
“Why not, sir?” and his voice rose fiercely. Didn't
be curse me living — give me hell for six years—
and isn't that a thousand times worse? Whatever
I say or do, I can never get even with him now —
never. I used to comfort myself with thinking that
something awful would happen to him some day.
I used to gloat over all kinds of torture—he drove
me half silly sometimes—it was the only relaxa-
tion I had. And now he's safe out of it all.”
There was something terrible in such hate; it was
so intense, so relentless, so devouring. Gilbert
shuddered.
“Have you forgotten?” he said. “Didn't he pay—
didn't he suffer for his sins?” Johnson laughed.
“Not as I would have made him pay, sir, if I’d
had the power or the courage. Why, he slipped out
of life with scarcely a pang. It must have been all
over in a minute. He couldn't have had time to
realise what happened. He went with everything
at its best, when he'd never had a hitch or a care
worth mentioning. If I’d had the ordering of it,”
slowly, “he shouldn't have gone till he'd known the
other side through and through, all the pain and
misery he dealt out so freely to others. I wasn't
the only one. Look at what his wife suffered,
look—” He stopped abruptly.


278 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“I can't understand why you put up with it, why
you didn't break through. I don’t know what you
have done, but you couldn't very well have come of
worse, according to your own account.”
“Because I was a coward, sir, that's the truth of
it — a coward. At first I had no idea; I didn't
realise what it was going to be like, and, by the
time I did, it was too late. Up to then I hadn't
been more of a coward than most men — less per-
haps—I had roughed it here and abroad. I knew
how to fight in the open, but his way did for me.
I couldn't stand up against it; it took all the heart
out of me. I was grateful to him when he said he
wouldn't prosecute — that I might stop on, but be-
fore a month was up, I begged him to let me go, and,
long before the end of the year, I would have gone
cheerfully to prison or anywhere else to get rid of
him. But I was too useful. He couldn't bear to
part with me, he said.”
“Still I don't understand.”
“Why I stayed? No, sir, a gentleman like you
wouldn't, I hardly understand it myself at times.
At first I was afraid of being ruined. I knew the
horror of being out of work, without a character or
a friend. Afterwards I grew timid and afraid. I
had never been afraid of a man in that way before,
and it did for me. He was brave enough, and he
laughed at my threats and entreaties alike, he dared
me to go. He said he would never lose sight of me
if I did. It should be gaol first, and me branded as
a thief ever afterwards. He would take care of that.
Sr.. I stayed.


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 279
“By that time I think he hated me almost as
much as I hated him. . . . But I didn't serve him
less well on that account. Hate and fear make you
work as well as love — or better. But it was a hard
punishment for what was nothing more than a
sudden temptation. I had been gambling, and lost
heavily — for me. I had to pay before a certain day,
and I didn't know which way to turn for the money.
I had asked Mr. Monck to advance me my wages,
but he was put out at the time and refused. I knew
he kept some money in his safe, and I thought I
should be able to replace it before he found it out.
I was a fool,” bitterly. “Though he was lavish with
his money, in a way, he was not careless. I borrowed
four five pound, notes, and before a week was up,
they were traced to me; he had taken the numbers.
I think he suspected me from the first because he
knew I was hard up.”
“I see,” Gilbert said gravely. “Yes, you have
paid dearly for the slip.”
“You could never understand how dearly, sir—
nobody could. It went on, year after year, until I
was little better than a machine, just living and
moving as he willed. When he died, it was almost
too much for me — I couldn't realise my freedom,
I didn't know what to do with myself. I had learnt
self-restraint if nothing else in all those years, or I
think I should have gone mad. When I had been
listening to condolences and sympathy all day I
used to go out at night to some place where I was
safe and laugh and shout. It seemed too absurd
that I should be expected to grieve for him.”


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Le jeu est fait. Rien ne va plus!
LILAH was probably not quite in her right senses
when she went up to see old Mrs. Monck the day
after Gilbert had brought the news that there was
no hope for Dick. She had slept very little all night,
but she kept to her own room till after lunch, re-
fusing to see anybody. Then a sudden impulse seized
her, she dressed hastily and slipped out of the house,
leaving word that she would be back to dinner. The
impulse had been too strong to be resisted; she had
no strength left to fight; she was tossed to and fro
by her emotions like a leaf caught by the wind.
She must go and see Mrs. Monck; she must see
her just because she was Basil's mother, because —
what was the use of denying it? — there was a bond
between them; the old woman understood her better
than anybody else. Something insisted that she
should go, and Lilah went. But, though the call
was too strong to be resisted, she hated to go. She
would have kept away if she could. She did not
reason about it; she was not in a condition to weigh
the consequences of anything. She did not know
what was going to happen — what she meant to do.
Beg for mercy for Dick again, perhaps, though she
knew beforehand that it would be useless.
282


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 285
Why were you so mad — so foolish? Why didn't
you let sleeping dogs lie?”
“And suffer my only son to go unavenged?”
“Your son had had enough from life — more than
his share. Why couldn't you keep quiet? Even he
would have wished it if I know anything of him.”
“Who should understand him if you don't?” The
voice was soft, almost purring, in contrast with
Lilah's excited tones. “You who had so much in
common with him, both of you young and hand-
some, both of you selfish and wilful, both of you, as
he would have phrased it, with a ‘devil of a tempera-
ment.’”
“What do you mean?” sharply.
“I seemed to know you quite well before ever I
saw you,” the slow, relentless old voice went on.
“He would talk when he was in the mood about any-
thing and everything, and, of course, you came in
for your share of attention — it would have been
strange if you had not. Ferrybridge was a new ex-
perience to him, and it would have been dull with-
out you. You were a gold-and-white beauty, he
said, a touch-me-not article — apparently; so cold,
and dainty, and superior. You looked like a saint,
and —” She stopped, and left the sentence unfin-
ished.
“And, at heart, I was a sinner; is that what you
want to say? Well, why don’t you say it? Surely
you are not afraid. As we have got to plain talking,
I don’t mind telling you that it was he, your son,
who taught me to know myself — my worst self —


286 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
and I don't thank him for the knowledge. He
brought out the evil I had never suspected — did
his best to degrade me to his own level, and I, poor
fool! looked up, and wondered, and followed.
“He owes me something — you, as his mother,
owe me something. Pay your debt — pay it now,
and I may be able to forgive him at last. Let Dick
go; he'll die if you keep him shut up much longer.
Do what you can to atone to him and to me.” Lilah
spoke under the pressure of great excitement. There
was a scarlet patch in both cheeks; her eyes shone
like stars; she seemed at times almost to fight for
breath, but she had never looked more lovely. It
was an unnatural beauty perhaps — too brilliant
and feverish — but startling enough to surprise Mrs.
Monck into a reluctant admiration.
“What a picture you would make in your righteous
anger!” she said. “You might be championing a
lost cause — and a lost cause it is,” she added after
a moment. Lilah turned on her fiercely.
“You will do nothing? — you won't help me, after
all I have said?”
“My dear, it has been most interesting, the best
talk we've had. I always guessed there was more
behind. You haven't told me all yet, I daresay, but
how does it alter things? I couldn't set your friend
free even if I wanted to — and I don't.”
“You would punish an innocent man — keep him
just because you want a victim? It's like a savage.
It's a horrible, senseless sacrifice.”
“You say so often that Mr. Fenchurch is innocent


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 287
— how do you know? Has the guilty person per-
haps confided in you? Well, put he – or she — in
his place, give him up to me, and your friend shall
go free. I can’t say fairer than that.”
Lilah made a despairing gesture.
“My dear, why do you trouble so much about this
man? What is he to you? You are engaged to be
married. Your fiancé, I have heard, is all that a
fiancé should be, and yet I might think this “Dick,”
as you call him, had touched your heart. It's not
such a cold heart — is it? — as some unobservant
people might suppose. Though your eyes give you
away a little — those gray-green eyes that were
never yet found in a saint's face.”
Lilah had turned very white.
“What do you mean? How dare you?” she said.
Her eyes flamed. “You mean to insult me, I — I
hate you. If you were not so old I —” She broke
off abruptly. “Haven’t you and yours done enough?
Have you no shame?” She got up trembling from
head to foot. -
“Sit down and compose yourself,” Mrs. Monck
said. “You can’t go out like that. You take things
too seriously; your nerves have gone to pieces. Will
you have a glass of wine?”
“Do you think I could eat or drink in your
house?”
Mrs. Monck shrugged her shoulders.
“You are not very polite, but I can make excuses
in the circumstances. You are not quite yourself.
What is this good Sir Gilbert thinking of to let you
get so worried and upset?”


288 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
Lilah laughed, but nothing was ever less like
mirth. She sat there, a statue of despair, not know-
ing what to do, which way to turn. She seemed to
have reached the end of everything. She would
have gone, but she seemed to lack the energy to
move, and yet, once outside the door, she knew that
all hope would be over. It was horrible to stay, but
it would be still worse to go.
“Yes,” she said, “I am a little upset,” and she
laughed again.
For a minute not a word was spoken; then Mrs.
Monck leant forward and touched her on the
knee.
“Don’t you think you might as well finish?” she
said, – “get it off your mind? Tell me the rest.”
Lilah turned slowly and looked at her.
“What do you want to know?” she asked in a dull,
mechanical tone, almost as though she were hypno-
tised.
“What was my son to you?”
“A traitor and a coward,” came the swift, fierce
reply.
“Indeed? I should have said he had courage
enough.”
“What would you call a man who did his best to
spoil your life, and showed no pity or shame or
remorse? Who, because you were a woman and
could not call him to account, let you go down into
the depths of humiliation? I had thought a good
deal of myself; people had spoilt me; I had never
dreamed that a man could be what he was. I had


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 289
trusted him —” She closed her lips sharply on the
next word.
“Loved him, were you going to say?” Mrs. Monck
asked softly.
“No!” hotly, “never loved, as I know love now.
Nothing so fine and sweet. But he fascinated me,
and I lost my head.”
“And what broke the spell?”
“He did himself. He had done his utmost to get
me away from Gilbert, and I was ready to break my
engagement when he said the word. I thought
every day that he would say it. I waited and
waited till the strain grew almost more than I could
bear. People were talking — talking even in the
village. It was hateful. Some of my friends were
beginning to look coldly at me, and I was growing
ashamed for myself. At last I could stand it no
longer.”
“Then what happened?”
“I went to him and told him I could bear it no
longer, that the situation was intolerable. I said I
was ready to break with all the old ties and — and
I waited for him to speak.”
“What did he say?” Lilah began to laugh wildly.
“He told me that he was married — married. I
think I went mad. I had never even suspected such
a thing — nobody had. I thought he was only wait-
ing an opportunity to ask me to be his wife. It was
the only thing for an honorable man to do — he
owed it to me. I forget half what I said, but I asked
where his wife was — if he could not get a divorce.


290 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
Then,” she put her hand to her throat, and her voice
choked, “then he said he did not want a divorce;
he did not want to get married again.”
She rocked herself to and fro as though even now
the memory was almost more than she could bear.
“He said it, looking so calm and unconcerned —
said it as though ours had been just an ordinary
little flirtation that would end, now the summer was
over. He never expressed regret, or sorrow, or
shame. He advised me to be sensible and say
nothing, to go back home and marry Gilbert. He
said he should be going away very shortly, and
things would settle down as they were before. . .
As they were before! I can hear him now.”
“You would not put up with that. What did you
do?”
“I snatched the revolver he was cleaning out of
his hand meaning to kill myself — or him. I was
desperate, I had to do something. I didn’t care
which of us went, but one had to go.”
“I quite understand. . . And it was he?”
“Yes, we had a struggle and the weapon went off.
I wondered for a moment what had happened, then
I saw him fall and I knew that justice had found
him at last; he had been made to pay. I wasn't
sorry; I was glad. He deserved it. Even after-
wards, when my heart ached for him sometimes, I
was still glad.”
Lilah had been too absorbed in her own emotions
to notice her companion, or to realise the full con-
Sequences of what she was saying and doing. As


294 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
But she would do it in death, not life. So much
choice she had. She would write a letter of con-
fession and leave it behind her. The world would
be more merciful to her dead than living. The two
she loved — Gilbert and her father — would suffer
less if she were safely out of the way, deaf to the
hardest words, blind to the most scornful looks. Jus-
tice could do nothing to her dead. Dick would be
released, and, bye-and-bye, she would be forgotten.
Gilbert was young; even he would forget her some
day; no one remembered for ever. He would marry
— Peggy perhaps. Yes, Peggy was well suited to
him, better suited than she had ever been. His
mother would be pleased, everybody would say how
suitable it was.
And how much would she care? She wondered.
How much did people see and know where she was
going?
Well! she must take her chance of that. It was
easier to go than to stay. She tried to picture what
it would be like if she elected to stay and shuddered.
All the horrible talk, the hints, the public exposure.
All the fresh details they would drag out day by day.
Her father disgraced; Gilbert broken-hearted. She
herself, even if the law let her off, condemned forever
to a life worse than death. She would never be able
to hold up her head again — she who had been so
proud, who had thought so much of herself.
Life had been sweet and she had fought hard to
keep it. When she had rushed home that night,
leaving Basil Monck lying dead behind her, she had
__ –


THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY 295
kept her head sufficiently to telephone as soon as she
got in, so as to avert any possible suspicion from her-
self. She knew that Johnson was out when she ar-
rived at the cottage about half past eight, but she
thought he might have returned since, and that he
would answer her call. In any case, she would be
able to prove that she had telephoned. She had
never expected that Gilbert would be there and that
he would answer. That had been the beginning of
the Nemesis that had followed her; she had never
been free since. Fate had been tracking her down,
step by step, ever since . . . and now she was con-
quered.
She was not afraid. A merciful numbness had
deadened her senses; she could not feel anything
very acutely. She was worn out in body and soul.
Just not to be — not to suffer or hope or fear any
more — would be unutterable relief. After all, what
was death? A giving over of a game that must be
lost. Sooner or later, fight and struggle as one
might, one had to go, and if a little sooner, what
matter when life had lost its savor?
She sat down and wrote out a true account of
Basil Monck's death, giving no unnecessary particu-
lars. She would spare herself as much as she could,
for her father's and Gilbert's sake. She would like
them to be able to think of her with more pity than
shame. She signed her confession, and threw down
the pen. It was strange to think that she would
never use it again. Then she remembered the re-
volver, which she had taken with her when she


296 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
rushed away from the cottage in her mad haste.
That had been another mistake. If she had left it
behind, it might have been supposed that Basil had
killed himself. She got it out from the hiding-place,
where it had been concealed since the fatal night.
She had never seen it since. She looked at it now
with shivering curiosity before she wrapped it up
with the letter, and addressed the parcel to Gilbert.
Now it was all done. She was glad, for the effort |
had almost exhausted the little spurt of energy. She
sat down by the open window and looked out. Dawn
was just beginning to creep out of the corners, dark-
ness was giving way to a gayness that was infinitely
less friendly. It was time for her to go.
She got up and switched on the light. She was
about to drop the blind when she heard the click
of the garden-gate. She stopped in astonishment.
Who could it be at this hour? She looked out and
saw the figure of a man approaching. As he came
closer his appearance seemed familiar. He stopped
under her window and looked up. She recognised
Johnson.
“I was glad to see your light, miss. Can you come
down?” he said in a low tone.
She stared at him, too bewildered to speak. She
had been on the borders of another world, had at-
tained an unnatural calm, and now everything would
have to be gone through with again. She resented
his presence.
“Please come down, miss; it's important. Don't
wake anybody up.”


298 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“You are wrong. . . . I ran out of the house.”
“Ah!” It was more a long breath than an ejacu-
lation. “Well! I don't know that I’m very much
surprised. I was afraid there was something queer.
I’ve seen how upset you’ve been for some time.”
“I meant to end it all to-night.”
It was his turn to stare at her in astonishment.
“Nonsense! miss. Why, I thought you had more
courage. I thought you would fight the lot of
them.” -
“I’ve struggled as long as I could, but there's no
other way out. I'm hemmed in; I can’t escape.”
She waited a moment. “You know?—you under-
stand? I’ve wondered often, though I never quite
knew.”
“Yes, miss, I know. And what I don't know I
can guess.”
“Well, then, we can drop all pretences. Why have
you said nothing? I was afraid to speak — I
couldn't ask.”
“It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. I didn't want
to drag you in. I knew what you'd been through,
and,” with a twist of his lips, “I was grateful to you.
You had rid me of him.”
She shuddered. -
“Why did you come to disturb me? What is the
good of anything now? I would rather kill myself .
than take Richard Fenchurch's place — and that
is what I must do if I live. Did you think I was vile
enough to let him suffer for me?”
“I was beginning to wonder. If this hadn't hap-


300 THE FERRYBRIDGE MYSTERY
“An accident?”
“Yes. You didn't mean to shoot him — I could
see that. You were more likely to shoot yourself.
You must tell Sir Gilbert everything; don’t be
afraid; he'll stand by you. He's a white man all
through. Of course you'll have to tell the police too
and take the consequences, but I don't think they
can do much when they hear what I have to say.
I may get into trouble for keeping silence, but
they couldn't expect me to give you away.”
He went over to the window and flung it wide
open. The air blew in, fresh and sweet; a lovely,
rosy light now flooded the sky. It was a new day.
“Don’t you think it would be much worse to go
out and leave all that? Why, miss, you’ve long
years of life and happiness before you. It only
needs a little courage. Think of him — Sir Gilbert.”
“You’ve taken my breath away,” she said. “I
don't know what to do — or say. I’ve been think-
ing of him all the time. I hoped he would forget
me, marry somebody else. I’m not good enough
for him.”
“That's true, miss, but he thinks you are and
that's really all that matters. . . . But I can hear
somebody moving, I can't go away without your
promise. I owe it to him to leave you safe.”
She flung her hands up to her face, rocking her-
self to and fro.
“Quick, miss. Put yourself in my hands and I
promise I'll see you through. You needn’t be afraid,
people will be more sorry for you than anything


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