"Why out of the question?" asked Percivale, persistently.
"Why, because--because--my good sir, why are _you_ out of the question, the thing is just as absurd," answered Claud, almost crossly.
"Is it? I wonder," said Percivale, thoughtfully. "We shall soon see, if you can answer a few more of my questions for me. To begin--_I_ am out of the question because it can be proved that I was not in Edge Valley at the time either crime was committed. Can you say as much for this Saul Parker?"
"No, of course he was in the place at the time, but the whole idea is absurd. He is gentle, tractable, most beautiful in face, and sat to Miss Allonby as a model for a picture Mr. Fowler now has----"
"Where was he at the time Mr. Allonby was attacked?" coolly continued his interrogator.
"Where was he? I----" a sudden memory burst upon Claud of Mrs.
Battishill"s kitchen when he first beheld it.
"He was in the kitchen of Poole Farm," he answered, triumphantly, "for I saw him there myself. I think that proves the _alibi_ all right."
"Did you see him there before or after the attempted murder?"
"After--naturally."
"Ah!... where does this Saul Parker live?"
"He lives with his mother in a cottage on the Quarry Road. She is the widow of a quarry-man."
"It was along the Quarry Road, I think, that Miss Brabourne and her brother went to the cliff yesterday? I wish you would kindly take me back to the village that way. I should like to see the idiot, foolish as you think my theory sounds. Is he very small and puny?"
"Oh, no--a great fellow, taller than I am," admitted Claud, with a vague, vague wonder growing in him as to whether, after all, the stranger had chanced upon the truth of what had baffled them all this summer.
And--the absurdity of the idea!
Even as this sentiment crossed his mind, he could not help owning that, though he could reiterate that it was absurd, he could give no substantial reasons for his opinion. Everyone would have thought it absurd--anyone in Edge Valley to whom the suggestion had been made would have pa.s.sed it by with a contemptuous laugh. The idiot was probably the only person in the whole place whose goings and comings were never challenged--who wandered in and out as he listed, now in this farm kitchen, now in that, kindly tolerated for the sake of his beautiful face and his affliction. It was of little use to question him.
"Where have "ee been, my lad? Haow"s yer moother?" or any other like civility. A soft smile or a gurgling laugh would be the only response at times, or, if mischievously inclined, he might give an answer which was not the true one.
Yet, now that Claud began to think over what he knew of the boy....
His intense aversion to strangers was one point in his character which rose to immediate remembrance. He recalled Wynifred"s story of how she had caught him in the act of throwing a stone at Mr. Haldane when his back was turned; and Clara Battishill"s complaints of his cruelty were also fresh in his memory.
But G.o.dfrey he knew to be the special terror of Saul"s life, and the object of his untold hatred. G.o.dfrey set his bull-dog at the idiot, laughed at him, bullied him--one blow from that heavy cudgel which Saul habitually dragged after him would be more than enough to avenge his wrongs on the frail boy. And yet--and yet----
Somehow, Elsa"s guilt seemed painfully obvious. Her embarra.s.sment, her confusion of the night before--how were they to be accounted for? Was there any other solution possible? Her untruthful equivocation as to where she had been--what else could it portend?
This idea about Saul was, after all, too wild and far-fetched. How could he have been guilty of the attack on Osmond without the Battishills being aware of the fact?
No; the theory was ingenious, but, in his opinion, it would not hold water. He said so, aloud, after a long interval of silence.
"I shall at all events see if facts fit in at all with it," said Percivale, quietly. "Drowning men catch at straws, you know." Pausing a moment he then added, almost reverently:
"If that beautiful woman is arraigned for this crime--if she has ever to stand in the dock to answer to the charge of fratricide, or even manslaughter, I shall feel all the rest of my life though as if I were stained, shamed, degraded from my rightful post of helper to the oppressed. I feel as though I could cut through armies single-handed sooner than see Frederick Orton"s wife triumph over the youth and helplessness of Miss Brabourne."
He hesitated over the name, breathing it softly, as a devotee might name a patron saint.
"You know something of the Ortons?" asked Claud.
"By reputation--yes," returned Percivale, with the air of one who does not intend to say more.
Had he chosen, he could have edified his companion with an account of how, last summer, at Oban, Mrs. Orton had determined, by hook or by crook, to become acquainted with the mysterious owner of the _Swan_, of whom no one knew more than his name, his unsociable habits, and his somewhat remarkable appearance; and how she prosecuted this design with so much vigor that he was obliged to intimate to her, as unequivocably as is possible from a gentleman to a lady, that he declined the honor of her acquaintance.
He said nothing of this, however; evidently, whatever his merits or his failings, he was a very uncommunicative person.
As if by mutual consent, they moved slowly along together, their faces turned back towards Edge Valley. Suddenly it occurred to Claud that he was due at Ardnacruan in six hours" time. There was nothing for it but to drive into Stanton and telegraph; no consideration should induce him to leave the scene of action in the present unforeseen and agitated aspect of affairs. He must implore Fowler to keep him a few days longer--which request that good fellow would grant, he knew how willingly.
As these thoughts crossed his mind, Henry approached them, his kind face furrowed and drawn with pain in a manner piteous to behold. Laying a hand on Mr. Cranmer"s arm, he said, brokenly,
"Claud, my lad, you"re not thinking of leaving me to-day?"
A rush of sympathy filled the young man"s heart. Never before had Mr.
Fowler made use of his Christian name.
"No, my dear fellow, of course I shall stay," he said, at once. "If only I thought I could be of any comfort to you----"
"You can--you are. But I am selfish--your friends will be expecting you----"
"I will drive into Stanton and send a telegram, if I may have the trap.
Perhaps there might be some business I could do for you?"
"One or two things, lad, if you would. I feel mazed. I can"t think clearly. Let me see----"
"I"ll think for you," said Claud, slipping his arm into his; "and, first, I am going to take you straight home to have a gla.s.s of wine and some food. You are positively faint from exhaustion."
"You must come too," said Mr. Fowler, to Percivale.
"Thanks."
The young man turned slowly round towards them.
During the few foregoing sentences he had been gazing out seawards, with folded arms.
"On second thoughts," he said to Claud, "I think that, before making the inquiries I speak of, I will see Miss Brabourne--if I can."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
She stood on the floor, Fair and still as the moonlight that came there before, And a smile just beginning: It touches her lips, but it dare not arise To the height of the mystical sphere of her eyes, And the large, musing eyes, neither joyous nor sorry, Sing on like the angels in separate glory Between clouds of amber.
_Lay of the Brown Rosary._
The desolation and abandonment which had fallen upon Edge Willoughby cannot be described.