CHAPTER XX

REAPING THE WHIRLWIND

The weather was uncommonly hot. For weeks the sun had been blazing in a cloudless sky, as it did in the tropics, and the earth was parched for want of rain. Everywhere it was seamed and cracked; everywhere the grass was brown and the trees were wilted, while the air was like the thrice-heated breath of a furnace. Animals and human beings went languidly about their business and longed all day for the cool night hours. Not that it was particularly cool even when the twilight came, but it was something to escape the pitiless blue sky and the burning sun. And on this particular evening a hot wind rose with unexpected suddenness to make matters worse. It raised clouds of dust, it rattled the dry foliage in Parley Wood, and brought no sense of relief to the worn and weary. As people are never really prepared for an unusually hot season in England, the Cookley villagers found this equatorial summer excessively trying and disagreeable.

Spruce enjoyed the sultry weather personally, as he loved warmth with all the affection of a cat, and the worst heat never caused him any discomfort. After dining excellently at seven o'clock, he now sat by the open window of his sitting-room at the Bull Inn, enjoying a cup of fragrant coffee and as many cigarettes as he could get through. Of course, he was in accurate evening dress, as he always loved to be clothed appropriately according to the hour of the day. No one was more of a slave to social observances than the Nut, for he had the petty soul of a Beau Brummel. A small table stood before him, and he passed the time in trying new card-tricks, which might be useful some day, should he again become hard up. Not that Spruce always played false to make money, since he was a cheat by instinct. To get the better of any one by trickery was pleasant, as it involved danger, which was exciting, and gave him an agreeable feeling of superiority because of his wonderful dexterity. So he shuffled and cut and dealt; slipped cards up his sleeve and out again; diddled an imaginary opponent by sleight of hand, and in every way trained himself to cheating as though it were a fine art. Most card-lovers when alone play Patience. Spruce preferred to prepare himself for future campaigns.

Every now and then he cast a disdainful look round the shabby old room, which was by no means to his taste. Undoubtedly the apartment was ancient and time-worn, containing too much furniture, and giving little gratification to the eye. But Time had mellowed the whole into pleasing, sober colours, and less fastidious people would have been delighted with the reposeful look of things. The atmosphere was quite monastic. But Spruce admired spacious chambers filled with gilded furniture and blazing with lights. He had the tastes of Louis XIV., and Versailles was his idea of a dwelling house. When he was in possession of the two thousand a year, he intended to live in great luxury, but meanwhile contented himself with this dingy habitation. The window at which he was seated looked out on to a small garden surrounded by a low wall beyond which stretched fields right up to the grey churchyard. The sill of the window was so low that the Nut could easily have vaulted over it into the pleasant garden. But not having any love for Nature, he preferred to stay where he was playing cards, and dreaming of luxurious years, which were as he thought--truly coming to him.

While Spruce was thus occupied, the landlady of the inn knocked at the door to announce that Mr. Hench and Mr. Vane wished to see him. The Nut at once ordered them to be admitted, never doubting but what they were coming to conclude the matter of his blackmail. He rose to greet them pleasantly, as if he was the most honest person in the world, and when the door was closed signed that they should be seated. He resumed his post near the window, and in that way obtained a good view of their faces, while his own was in the shadow. As it was only half-past eight o'clock, the twilight was yet luminous enough to see very plainly, and although Spruce offered to ring for lights, Hench signified that it was not necessary. Then the host offered cigarettes and drinks, both of which were curtly refused.

"You are uncommonly rude," said the Nut, much nettled. "When you look up a man you might be civil."

"That depends very much on the man," said Vane coolly. "Neither Hench nor myself were ever friends of yours, Spruce."

"Oh, I don't want your friendship. After all, you are a dull couple."

"But honest," said Hench with emphasis.

"Honesty implies dullness. It takes a clever man to sin."

"What a brilliant person you must be, then."

"That's sarcastic, I suppose." Spruce was not at all offended, but accepted the observation as a tribute to his powers. "But I don't mind. On the whole, I am clever enough to get two thousand a year."

"You haven't earned it yet," snapped Vane with a look of dislike.

Spruce started. "Ah, play fair, whatever you do," he protested. "Hench promised me two thousand a year if I told him about that old woman. You heard him, Vane."

"I heard Hench promise to give you that income if the crime was brought home to Madame Alpenny, and his character cleared," said Vane dryly. "There is a difference between telling a thing and proving a thing."

"I suppose that means Madame Alpenny denies her guilt?" said the Nut, turning to the other man. "It is useless for her to do so, as Simon can prove it."

"Oh, I have seen Simon and have brought him down with me," said Hench quietly. "In fact, he is waiting outside to come in when called."

"Then call him at once," said Spruce briskly. "I want to get this business completed and see the last of you. I hate bores."

"Oh, you'll see the last of us sooner than you expect," said Vane grimly.

"Good! You will confer a favour on me when you do cut." Spruce looked round again at Owain. "So you saw Madame Alpenny?"

"Yesterday, at The Home of the Muses. I went up to town especially to see her, as you know."

"And she----"

"She denies that she was in Cookley on the night when my uncle was killed. I was given to understand by her that an anonymous letter summoned her to the Hampstead Ponds to meet some one."

"For what purpose?"

"The letter said that the person who wrote it--there was no name, remember--declared that information would be given to enable her to get the money at once from my uncle."

"What money?"

"My property, I presume, for which she was scheming."

"Well, and did Madame Alpenny see this person?"

"No. She went to Hampstead about six and returned home after ten."

"Quite time enough for her to travel to Cookley and back in order to commit the murder," said Spruce coolly. "Did you see the letter?"

"No. She had torn it up."

"Fudge!" cried the Nut inelegantly. "There never was such a letter. She invented that yarn so as to account for her presence elsewhere on the night of the crime. She did murder Squire Evans. You heard what Peter said?"

"Oh, yes. And I have heard what Simon said. I am bound to say," said Hench with emphasis, "that his story is much the same."

"Well then, with two witnesses, what more proof do you want of the woman's guilt?" demanded Spruce indignantly. "I fancy I have earned my money. What do you say, Vane?"

"I say we had better have Simon in and hear his story," retorted the barrister dryly. "It is just as well to get everything made quite plain."

"So I think," declared the Nut briskly. "Call him in, Hench."

With great calmness the young man did so, not at all disturbed by the imperious tone in which the order was given. This was Spruce's little hour of triumph, so both the visitors allowed him to control the situation while he was able. Bottles made his appearance quickly, and cap in hand stood before the closed door, waiting to be interrogated. With his freckled face and red hair he looked anything but prepossessing. At least he did not in the Nut's eyes, who failed to observe the good-humoured expression and intelligent gaze of the lad, which were worth much more than mere animal comeliness.

Spruce, in the attitude of an examining judge, surveyed the boy superciliously and immediately began to question him. "You are to tell these gentlemen what you told me," he commanded. "Now, on the first of July you followed Madame Alpenny to the Liverpool Street Station?"

"Yes, sir. She caught the five o'clock train to this place."

"And you followed?"

"I did, sir. I wished to see what her game was."

"One moment," interpolated Hench at this remark. "I may mention that I also came to Cookley on that night by that train. I had an idea that Madame Alpenny was at my elbow. In fact, I fancied that I caught a glimpse of her in the crowd at Liverpool Street Station. But I thought that I was mistaken."

"You wasn't mistaken, sir," said Bottles calmly.

"She was in the crowd, sure enough, and went down by that train. So did you, sir, for I saw you, and dodged."

"Good!" said Spruce, rubbing his hands. "This unsolicited testimony of yours, Hench, emphasizes the fact of the woman's guilt. Go on, Simon."

"The train got here at half-past six. I had already sent a telegram to my brother saying that Madame was coming, and telling him to meet the train and watch. He was on the Cookley platform, sure enough, but I hadn't any time to speak to him, having to keep my eye on Madame Alpenny. She didn't go through the village street, but across the fields to the churchyard and then by the path to Parley Wood. I followed, hiding as often as I could."

"She didn't see you, then?" inquired Vane idly.

"No, sir. I was much too fly. Peter, he came also at a distance, and hid in the churchyard, while I follered Madame Alpenny into the wood. She made for the Gipsy Stile."

"How did you know where that was?" inquired Hench.

"Why, sir," said the boy, greatly surprised, "of course I was there before when she and the old cove talked together about the advertisement."

"Yes! Yes! I understand."

"And, of course," said Spruce smoothly, "he was following Madame, who also knew the appointed meeting place. Well, Simon?"

"She didn't stay at the stile, but hid in the wood. I hid near her and kept my eyes on her, as there was plenty of light."

"Of course. It was not late and the Gipsy Stile is in a clearing," explained the Nut, waving his hand. "Go on, boy."

"After a long time--I couldn't say how long, as I hadn't a watch--the old cove came to the stile. Madame Alpenny came to meet him and talked to him for a time, and----"

"Did she raise her veil?" asked Hench quickly.

"No, sir. She spoke for a few minutes, and I could see as she'd something in her right hand. What it was I don't know. Then she suddenly lifted her arm and stabbed the old gentleman, who fell without a cry. As soon as she made sure he was dead, she cut. My brother saw her go through the churchyard."

Vane nodded. "On her way to the station. I remember. Then you came out of the wood, to meet your brother near the church, and made him swear not to say a single word."

"What else could I do, sir?" protested Bottles, distressed. "I might have got into a row with the police. That is why I said nothing."

"Very wise of you," said Spruce approvingly, then turned to the others. "Well, gentlemen, I think the case is clear. Madame Alpenny murdered Squire Evans, and her guilt is proved by Simon here, who saw the crime committed, and by Peter, who saw her in the vicinity, even though she swears that she was at Hampstead. What more proof do you want?"

"None," said Hench calmly. "Undoubtedly my uncle was murdered by--some one dressed as Madame Alpenny!"

Spruce gave a gasp and rose as if moved by springs.

"What do you mean by saying that, may I ask?" he demanded in a choked voice.

"I mean that you murdered Madoc Evans and that Bottles here can prove it."

"A lie! A wicked, false lie!" gasped the Nut, who became deadly pale.

Vane chuckled; tense as the situation was, he chuckled. "You have been weaving a rope for your own neck all this time, Spruce," he remarked grimly.

"Such an accusation is ridiculous!" said the other, with an attempt at dignity. "Is it likely that I would dress up as a woman to----"

"You were always good in amateur theatricals," said Vane remorselessly. "And you would do anything to get the two thousand a year, which, by the way, you are not likely to enjoy."

"My enemy speaks," said Spruce dramatically. "It's one thing to say a thing and another thing to prove a thing."

"You are quite epigrammatic!" sneered the barrister.

"Hush, Jim, and let the boy speak. He can prove that Spruce is guilty."

"I just can," said Bottles promptly, and greatly enjoying his _rôle_ of detective. "For I've watched you, Mr. Spruce, for ever so long. I watched Madame Alpenny first, thinking she meant harm to Mr. Hench."

"Why should she have meant harm?" asked Vane quickly, for he was not so well acquainted with the story as his friend.

"Oh, she knew something about him, and said that he was a mystery. I heard her talking to Miss Zara, and then I heard something of the talk in the drawingroom, when she said as she knowed Mr. Hench's father. She asked me for an A.B.C., too, she did, and left it open on the table. I looked and saw on the page the timetable for Cookley. I didn't know she was going there, as other time-tables were on the page, but I thought it was queer seeing Cookley, considering that my brother was down here with Mrs. Perage."

"It's all rubbish, of course," said Spruce, with a kind of hysterical cackle. "But what did you do then?"

"I watched. When she went away I got my holiday and follered. She did go to Cookley, and so did you, Mr. Spruce."

"It's a lie, you imp. I didn't!"

"You did!" insisted the lad. "And it was your follering Madame Alpenny as made me watch you. I knowed as you wasn't up to any good. Me and Simon follered you both, and when Madame Alpenny went into the Grange you hung about in the midst of the trees waiting for her. Then you follered her when she went into the wood to see the old cove at that stile, and heard everything."

"Admitting all this," said Spruce, appealing to the two men, "how does it connect me with the murder and this masquerade, which is so ridiculous?"

"Oh, I'll connect you, right enough," said Bottles tartly. "Don't you make any mistake, sir. I ain't read detective stories for nothing. When you came back I watched you and I watched Madame. Then you made friends with the manager of the Bijou Music-hall,"

"I was friends with him long before!" declared Spruce angrily, and hoping against hope that the boy would fail to substantiate his accusation. "Ah, but you became better friends," said Bottles persistently, "and got behind the scenes. Then you were agreeable to mother and asked to look over the theatrical properties. I didn't know what you was after until mother said as you'd asked her for a red wig to play in some theatricals. Then I guessed as you wanted to imitate Madame, who has hair as red as mine. I was sure when you brought mother some orange-spotted black cloth to make a dress and borrowed a bead mantle and a flopping hat off her."

"I did not. You are a brazen liar!"

"Liar yourself, sir! Mother can prove the truth of everything I say. You paid her well for the things, I don't deny. But mother wouldn't have taken a penny if she knowed what you was after. She never did know, as there was no mention of Madame Alpenny's dress, or of Madame, in the papers reporting the murder. Only when Mr. Hench come yesterday did I take him to mother and tell her all. She was horrified, for mother is a good sort, and told him what I am telling you. I knowed it all before."

"The woman is a liar, as the boy is," said Spruce, licking his lips, which were very white and dry.

"Shut up, Bottles!" said Hench, as the boy was about to make an angry response. "Let me say the rest. Bottles watched you leave the house dressed as Madame Alpenny, Spruce----"

"It was Madame Alpenny!" insisted the Nut, fighting desperately.

"It wasn't!" cried Simon, who could not be suppressed. "She'd gone to Hampstead later, after you went, and I let her out. No, I'm talking wrong. I saw her leave the house after four, and she said as she'd an appointment at Hampstead, and wouldn't be back till late. She come back very late, and so did I, because I was follering you."

"The boy equivocates, you see," mumbled Spruce.

"First one thing, then another."

"I think his evidence is very clear, on the whole," declared Vane calmly.

"So do I," said Hench. "And after Madame Alpenny went, you came out, Spruce, dressed in the same way. Bottles, knowing how you got the clothes from his mother, the wardrobe mistress at the Bijou, and knowing that Madame Alpenny had already left the house, guessed it was you in disguise. He snatched up his cap and followed, catching the five o'clock train, as you did. The rest you know. You are the guilty man."

"He is!" said Bottles with relish. "And he gave back the things to mother saying as the amateur theatricals had been quite a success."

"As he hoped to make two thousand a year, I presume they were!" said Vane in a cruel voice. "Well, Spruce, what have you to say before being arrested?"

"Arrested!" Spruce gave a scream like a woman, and he dropped limply into his chair, white-faced and aghast. "What for?"

"For the murder of Squire Evans."

"No! No!" He thrust out his hands as if warding off a blow. "I did not kill him. You cannot bring the crime home to me."

"The evidence you have heard brings the crime home to you only too positively," said Hench, with a certain pity in his voice, for the sudden collapse of the man was dreadful. "Peter can prove that you were mixed up in the matter, and Mrs. Jedd can prove that you borrowed the clothes, having the orange-spotted dress made after the style of that worn by Madame Alpenny. And Simon can prove the murder. He saw you kill the man."

"No! No! No!"

"May I die if I didn't!" swore Bottles, who was looking nervous, for the scene shook him considerably, since he was only a boy.

"It was a mean, sordid murder, committed for the sake of gain," said Vane.

"Don't kick the man when he is down, Jim," said Hench, pityingly.

"Why not? He was insolent enough while he was up. And to kill an old man of whom he knew nothing! Owain, it was beastly. I hope I'm as decent a chap as any, but my gorge rises at the sight of this creature."

What little pride remained in Spruce rose at these words. He sprang to his feet and shook his fist wildly in the air. "I shall get off!" he screamed. "I can prove my innocence!"

"Do so to the detective," said Hench, wishing to end the scene.

"A detective! a detective!" Spruce clutched his throat as if to tear away the rope he was doomed to. "You won't--you won't----" His voice failed.

"I saw the authorities and procured a warrant before leaving London. Every moment I expect the detective in to execute it."

"No! No! No!" Spruce flung himself on his knees. "Dear Hench, good Hench, you won't allow me to be hanged? I don't want the money; I'll give it up. Let me get away; let me hide."

"Did you murder my uncle?"

"Yes! Yes!" Spruce's cheeks were streaming with tears and his teeth were chattering. "It's all true. I acknowledge that I killed him to get the money. But I am sorry--really and truly I am sorry. Don't give me up--don't----"

"Get up," cried Vane in disgust, "and take your gruel like a man."

"Bottles, see if the policeman is there," ordered Hench, and Bottles, glad to escape from the scene, fled willingly.

"No!" Spruce rose from grovelling on the ground, and from a tearful martyr was suddenly changed into a wild beast. His lips curled, showing his teeth. He drew back towards the window, and his eyes flashed fire. If he had had a weapon in his hand there is no doubt he would have killed both the men. "You shan't catch me, hounds that you are. I shall escape; I shall----"

"Look out, Owain, he's trying for the window!"

But Vane's warning came too late. With a surprising spring, the miserable little creature flung himself through the window into the garden. Before the two men could recover from their surprise he was over the low garden wall and racing for the churchyard. Terror winged his feet, and he flew onward like an arrow from the bow. Hench leaped after him immediately, and followed close behind him, while Vane rushed out to see if the police had arrived with the warrant. Two men were there in plain clothes, with a village constable, and in a few hurried words the barrister related how the man wanted had escaped. With the rapidity of lightning the news spread, and in a wonderfully short space of time half the village, headed by the police, Vane and Bottles, were making for the churchyard. Far ahead they could see Hench running swiftly through the twilight, but of the fugitive they could see no trace.

It was no wonder that the pursuers could not gain a glimpse of their wretched quarry, for Spruce flew on with amazing speed. Behind him were the dogs of justice, and he knew that once they pulled him down all that remained for him to do was to face the death he had earned by his cowardly crime. But he was not a man, only a creeping crawling thing saturated with evil, a bird of prey, a snarling tiger--and he did not wish to receive the reward of his wickedness. Instinctively he made for the wood wherein his crime had been committed. Once in its dark recesses he hoped to remain hidden until he could escape over seas. Behind him he caught sight of Hench, and longed to have a knife or revolver to shoot or stab the man he hated. Gasping, and streaming with perspiration, he plunged into the wood, broke from the path which led to the Gipsy Stile, and struggled through the dry, rustling undergrowth. They would never catch him, he swore, and even as he did the miserable creature heard the beat of Owain's feet in pursuit.

A thought struck him. The wood was dry, and would burn like tinder. Hench, being in the wood and unprepared, would be probably burnt to death. Without thinking of the danger to himself in his mad fury--only resolved to make an end to Owain and to place a blazing screen between himself and his pursuers---Spruce took out a silver box and struck a match. Then another, and another, until all round him, in the grass and the moss and the undergrowth, were stars of fire. The stars grew into blazing suns, as the flames caught the tall, dry trees and roared upward. With inconceivable rapidity the fire spread, and now it was time for Spruce to fly from the death he had created. As he plunged onward he came suddenly into the open, and fell, catching his foot in a fallen tree-trunk. He tried to rise and could not, as his ankle was twisted. So he lay shrieking on the verge of a fiery furnace, unable to move, and condemned by his own evil act to a far more terrible death than that which he would have suffered at the hands of the law. Shouting for help, and only anxious now to escape the immediate doom, Spruce heard the cries of the villagers, when they saw the tall columns of flame rising from the wood. Hench was lunging here and there amidst the undergrowth seeking for Spruce, and continued to do so until a barrier of flame cut him off from further search. Before that terrible heat he was forced to retreat, and made for the pathway so as to get back into the open. Vane's voice, high, clamorous and clear, could be heard shouting for him, and in the roar of the flames Hench heard the shrieking of the wretched creature who had lighted the funeral pyre of himself. He made for the direction whence the cries came, as they appeared to be near at hand. Fighting the flames, he stumbled into the open space round the Gipsy Stile and saw Spruce writhing on the edge of the clearing under a canopy of fire. It blazed overhead; it ran along the moss and grass, licking up everything with greedy avidity; and all round the wood was like a seven-times heated furnace.

"Save me; save me!" yelled Spruce, seeing his enemy.

Wicked as the creature was, Owain did his best. He ran towards the spot where Spruce lay in agony, and tried to reach him. But the flames came out with a gust of the hot dry wind, which now was blowing furiously, and the young man fell back, shielding his face with his arms. When he removed them he heard a wild cry of agony, and saw a tall bulky tree falling slowly down. Spruce was beneath it, and saw its gradual descent. He cried to Hench for help; he cried to God for pardon; but the tree dropped inch by inch in the midst of that hell until it suddenly crashed down on the doomed man. Then there was silence, save for the roar of the flames rejoicing over their prey.

Hench turned and fled, skirting the flaming trees and getting round to where the police and villagers were by slipping along the park wall. Blackened and burnt, dizzy and faint, he staggered into the open space, where all watched the great bonfire. Vane rushed forward and caught him in his arms.

"Are you hurt--are you hurt?"

"No. I'm all right. But Spruce----!" He gasped at the memory of the horror.

"My man," said the police officer. "What of him?"

"Dead!" breathed Hench faintly, and then fell unconscious to the ground, while Parley Wood, with a noise like the roaring of many waters, vanished for ever in flames and smoke.