"I was on by half-past five, sir, not coming here at first, but----"
"Where"s Monk this morning?" again interrupted Tod, who had turned imperative.
"The Squire sent him over to Evesham for the seeds. I heard him go by in the light cart."
"Sent him when?"
"Yesterday, I suppose; that is, told him to go. Monk came to me last evening and said I must be on early. He started betimes; it was long afore five when I heard the cart go by. I should know the rattle of that there light cart anywhere, Mr. Joe."
"Never mind the cart. What has done _this_?"
That was the question. What had done it? Some blasting poison must have been set to burn in the greenhouse. Such substances might be common enough, but we knew nothing of them. We examined the place pretty carefully, but not a trace of any proof was discovered.
"What"s this?" cried out Jenkins, presently.
Some earthenware pot-stands were stacked on the ground at the far end of the greenhouse--Mrs. Todhetley always called them saucers--Jenkins had been taking two or three of the top ones off, and came upon one that contained a small portion of some soft, white, damp substance, smelling just like the smell that pervaded the greenhouse--a suffocating smell that choked you. Some sulphuric acid was in the tool-house; Tod fetched the bottle, poured a little on the stuff, and set it alight.
Instantly a white smoke arose, and a smell that sent us off. Jenkins, looking at it as if it were alive and going to bite him, carried it at arm"s length out to the nearest bed, and heaped mould upon it.
"That has done it, Mr. Joseph. But I should like to know what the white stuff is. It"s some subtle poison."
We took the stack of pot-stands off one by one. Six or eight of them were perfectly clean, as if just wiped out. Jenkins gave his opinion again.
"Them clean saucers have all had the stuff burning in "em this night, and they"ve done their work well. Somebody, which it must be the villain himself, has been in and cleaned "em out, overlooking one of "em. I can be upon my word the stands were all dusty enough last Tuesday, when the greenhouse was emptied for the ball, for I stacked "em myself one upon another."
Tod took up his perch on the edge of the shut-in brick stove, and surveyed the wreck. There was not a bit of green life remaining, not a semblance of it. When he had done looking he stared at me, then at Jenkins; it was his way when puzzled or perplexed.
"Have you seen anybody about here this morning, Jenkins?"
"Not a soul," responded Jenkins, ruefully. "I was about the beds and places at first, and when I came up here and opened the door, the smoke and smell knocked me back"ards. When I see the plants--leastways what was the plants--with their leaves and blossoms and stems all black and blasted, I says to myself, "The devil must have been in here;" and I was on my way to tell the master so when you two young gents met me."
"But it"s time some of them were about," cried Tod. "Where"s Drew? Is he not come?"
"Drew be hanged for a lazy vagabond!" retorted old Jenkins. "He never comes on much afore seven, he doesn"t. Monk threatened last week to get his wages stopped for him. I did stop "em once, afore I was ill."
Drew was the under-gardener, an active young fellow of nineteen. There was a boy as well, but it happened that he was away just now. Almost as Jenkins spoke, Drew came in view, leaping along furiously towards the vegetable garden, as though he knew he was late.
"Halloa, Drew!"
He recognized Tod"s voice, turned, and came into the greenhouse. His look of amazement would have made a picture.
"Sakes alive! Jenkins, what have done this?"
"Do you know anything about it, Drew?" asked Tod.
"Me, sir?" answered Drew, turning his wide-open eyes on Tod, in surprise at the question. "I don"t as much as know what it _is_."
"Mr. Joe, I think the master ought to be told of this," said Jenkins.
"As well get it over."
He meant the explosion of wrath that was sure to come when the Squire saw the ravages. Tod never stirred. Who was to tell him? It was like the mice proposing to bell the cat: n.o.body offered to do it.
"You go, Johnny," said Tod, by-and-by. "Perhaps he"s getting up now."
I went. I always did what he ordered me, and heard Mrs. Todhetley in her dressing-room. She had her white petticoats on, doing her hair. When I told her, she just backed into a chair and turned as white as Jenkins.
"What"s that, Johnny?" roared out the Squire from his bed. I hadn"t noticed that the door between the rooms was open.
"Something is wrong in the greenhouse, sir."
"Something wrong in the greenhouse! What d"ye mean, lad?"
"He says the plants are spoiled, and the grapes," interrupted Mrs.
Todhetley, to help me.
"Plants and grapes spoiled! You must be out of your senses, Johnny, to say such a thing. What has spoiled them?"
"It looks like some--blight," I answered, pitching upon the word.
"Everything"s dead and blackened."
Downstairs I rushed for fear he should ask more. And down came the pater after me, hardly anything on, so to say; not shaved, and his nankeen coat flying behind him.
I let him go on to get the burst over. When I reached them, they were talking about the key. It was customary for the head-gardener to lock the greenhouse at night. For the past month or so there had been, as may be said, two head-gardeners, and the key had been left on the ledge at the back of the greenhouse, that whichever of them came on first in the morning might get in.
The Squire stormed at this--with that scene before his eyes he was ready to storm at everything. Pretty gardeners, they were! leaving the key where any tramp, hiding about the premises for a night"s lodging, might get into the greenhouse and steal what he chose! As good leave the key in the door, as hang it up outside it! The world had nothing but fools in it, as he believed.
Jenkins answered with deprecation. The key was not likely to be found by anybody but those that knew where to look for it. It always had a flower-pot turned down upon it; and so he had found it that morning.
"If all the tramps within ten miles got into the greenhouse, sir, they"d not do this," affirmed Tod.
"Hold your tongue," said the Squire; "what do you know about tramps?
I"ve known them to do the wickedest things conceivable. My beautiful plants! And look at the grapes! I"ve never had a finer crop of grapes than this was, Jenkins," concluded the pater, in a culminating access of rage. "If I find this has arisen through any neglect of yours and Monk"s, I"ll--I"ll hang you both."
The morning went on; breakfast was over, and the news of the strange calamity spread. Old Jones, the constable, had been sent for by the Squire. He stared, and exclaimed, and made his comments; but he was not any the nearer hitting upon the guilty man.
About ten, Roger Monk got home from Evesham. We heard the spring-cart go round to the stables, and presently he appeared in the gardens, looking at objects on either side of the path, as was his usual wont. Then he caught sight of us, standing in and about the greenhouse, and came on faster. Jenkins was telling the story of his discovery to Mr. Duffham.
He had told it a good fifty times since early morning to as many different listeners.
They made way for Monk to come in, n.o.body saying a word. The pater stood inside, and Monk, touching his hat, was about to report to him of his journey, when the strange aspect of affairs seemed to strike him dumb.
He looked round with a sort of startled gaze at the walls, at the gla.s.s and grapes above, at the destroyed plants, and then turned savagely on Jenkins, speaking hoa.r.s.ely.
"What have you been up to here?"
"_Me_ been up to! That"s good, that is! What had _you_, been up to afore you went off? You had the first chance. Come, Mr. Monk."
The semi-accusation was spoken by Jenkins on the spur of the moment, in his anger at the other"s words. Monk was in a degree Jenkins"s protege, and it had not previously occurred to him that _he_ could be in any way to blame.
"What do you know of this wicked business, Monk?" asked the Squire.