CHAPTER VI

SEEKING TROUBLE

It was for two reasons that Hench left The Home of the Muses and vanished--so far as the paying guests were concerned--into the unknown. In the first place, he wished to render Zara's position more easy; in the second he desired to have nothing more to do with Madame Alpenny; and also there was a third and less important reason, which had to do with Cuthbert Spruce. While Owain drove westward in the taxi, he amused himself by surveying his position.

With regard to the girl, Hench was beginning to grasp the fact that he really did not love her, or he would have been more moved by her frank confession of love for Bracken. What she had said was quite true, as he now acknowledged. He admired her, and being lonely, wished for a companion, so as to make a centre in life round which he could revolve. It was an odd comparison but a very true one. Any other woman, handsome, kind-hearted and affectionate, would have done as well as Zara to bring about the desired end, and Owain confessed to himself that to propose such a business-like scheme to a girl was rather a cold-blooded way of looking at love. She was--he confessed this also--quite right to refuse him, and to accept the offer of a man who adored her. This being the case, Hench decided that it only remained for him to go away, since his presence would more or less embarrass her, in spite of the brother-and-sister compact. Finally, being very human, Owain felt that it was impossible to stay, and witnessing Bracken triumphing where he had failed. On the whole, therefore, he was well pleased to escape from Bethnal Green, and his feelings suffered very little from the exile.

The second reason, which had Madame Alpenny for its excuse, was also connected more or less indirectly with Zara's refusal. Since the idea of money coming to him had occurred to the Hungarian lady, she had been more amiably disposed towards Hench with regard to his half-hearted wooing of her daughter. Yet, as she was still uncertain that Owain would be rich, she had not--according to the slang phrase--forced the pace. But if fancy became fact and the mysterious papers really did place him in possession of a fortune, Hench felt tolerably convinced that Madame Alpenny would worry him and worry Zara until she brought about the marriage. Under the circumstances this was not to be thought of, as apart from the fact of his readjusted relations with the girl, Madame Alpenny was by no means desirable as a mother-in-law. She was poor, inquisitive, scheming and decidedly dangerous; always on the alert to make what she could out of others, and--as Hench believed--unscrupulous in her methods of gaining what she desired. Already he had told her more about his private affairs than was altogether wise, more or less against his will, as it would seem, since she had wormed her way into his confidence with remarkable dexterity. It struck him forcibly that he was wise to avoid her by leaving the boarding-house, and he congratulated himself on his promptitude in dealing with the situation. And as he had done so judiciously, it was unlikely that Madame Alpenny would ever trouble him again.

It was when the taxi was sweeping down a quiet street near the British Museum that Owain came to the third and minor reason, which concerned Spruce. The Nut, also, was much too curious about affairs which nothing to do with him in any way, and seemed to take a pleasure in meddling. He was just the kind of person to read other people's letters, give unasked advice and take a thousand liberties out of pretended good-nature. All the same, Hench firmly believed that all this interference was intended, in the end, to benefit Spruce himself. But Owain could not see how his old school-friend could in any way make capital out of him. Nevertheless, instinct warned him to avoid the man as something dangerous. By leaving Mrs. Tesk's establishment he had avoided him, and he was as unlikely to meet him again as he was to meet with Madame Alpenny. Taking everything into consideration, Hench alighted at his new abode with the conviction that he had escaped from some danger--he could not put a name to it--just in time.

Owing to some unexpected good fortune in connection with gold-mining shares, Hench possessed quite one hundred pounds, which was sufficient to keep him in comfort and even in luxury until he could call on Gilberry & Gilberry. That visit he expected would result in throwing light on his somewhat dark path, and perhaps would bring him wealth. Yet, being cautious, he husbanded his resources lest his expectations should be disappointed. Therefore the hotel he came to was a quiet and cheap hostel in Burney Street, Bloomsbury, chiefly patronized by country people. It was a much better class establishment than that of Mrs. Tesk, and Hench found it very comfortable. He had been there on a former occasion when in England, and found very little change. The manageress was the same, the staff had not been altered, and on the whole Owain felt that the place was more home-like than any he had been in. Also, having risen out of the submerged tenth, the young man brushed up his apparel, had his hair cut and his beard trimmed, and got out his scarcely-worn suit of dress clothes. For the next week he amused himself in a quiet way, generally sauntering in the Park, exploring the Museum, enjoying the theatres and music-halls, and taking what quiet inexpensive pleasures came in his way. All he wished to do was to pass the time pleasantly until his twenty-fifth birthday, when he intended to call on Gilberry & Gilberry. Then he would learn his fate, and his future career would be ordained by the contents of the papers.

But all the time Hench was haunted by an uneasy feeling regarding the advertisement brought to his notice by Madame Alpenny. Had he stayed at the boarding-house, he assuredly would not have obeyed the request for a meeting, as the woman would have become aware that he had done so. This he did not wish her to do, since he regarded her as dangerous, and did not know what the result of his errand to Cookley would be. But now that Madame Alpenny belonged to the past, Owain was inclined out of sheer curiosity to keep the appointment for the 1st of July, and learn why the word "Rhaiadr" had been used. Of course, as he had already recognized, the papers at Gilberry & Gilberry's might place him in possession of details which would enable him to deal more openly with the person who wished to meet him at the Gipsy Stile. But it wanted ten days to his birthday, and by brooding over the advertisement Hench became so curious that he finally decided to take the journey into Essex. There was a spice of adventure about the matter, which appealed to his pioneering spirit, and, moreover, as he had nothing to do, he thought that he might as well employ his mind and time in satisfying his curiosity. According to Dr. Watts, "Satan finds some mischief still, for idle hands to do," and never was the line so exemplified as by Hench's action. Although he did not know it, he was going out to seek trouble, when he left the hotel for Liverpool Street Station.

Besides being haunted by the advertisement, Hench during his week in Bloomsbury had been also haunted by a feeling that Madame Alpenny was somewhere in his vicinity. Twice or thrice he had fancied she was at his elbow, and had as many times made sure that he had caught a glimpse in the distance of her orange-spotted frock, her bead mantle and picture hat. As he walked to the railway station this feeling was insistently strong, and Hench found himself searching the crowds here, there and everywhere for the sinister face and red hair of the old woman. But he saw no one who resembled her, until he was descending the stairs after taking his ticket to Cookley. Then he was positive that in the throng moving below he recognized her shabby garb. Of course, he did not find her when he mingled with the mob, and laughed at the trick which his eyesight had played him. Why he should be so haunted by the woman--in his thoughts that is, as he did not believe that there was any ground for his suspicions--he could not say. But it was not until he was seated in a third-class smoking compartment that he shook off the feeling of her near presence. It was all a case of nerves, he assured himself, and by the time he was well on his journey he thoroughly convinced himself of this fact. At all events, as the train gradually left London behind, Owain quite got rid of his nightmare.

Cookley is slightly over thirty miles from the metropolis, so Hench, having left the latter at five o'clock, arrived at his destination somewhere about half-past six o'clock. The appointment at the Gipsy Stile was precisely at eight, So he had an hour and a half to wait. This time he employed in learning the whereabouts of the rendezvous, as he had not the least idea of the direction in which it lay. As there was no hurry, he took things easy and sauntered leisurely out of the local station and down the long road which led to the village. After a lengthy period spent in a smoky city, the pure air and rural sights of the country were exceedingly pleasant.

The village was not large, but decidedly picturesque, being one of those somnolent old-world hamlets beloved of artists and wondered at by tourists. Formerly no strangers came near it, but since the advent of the ubiquitous motor-car it had become quite a centre of interest. This was mainly owing to its squared-towered Norman church, a venerable and stately structure, which was much too large for so small a place. Also there was a Saxon cross on the village green and sundry Roman remains in an adjacent field. Archæologists and antiquarians, together with tourists, chiefly American, frequently came to inspect these objects of interest, and artists often took up their quarters in the Bull Inn to paint the church, the ancient cottages and the surrounding country. It was quite the nook which a student would have loved, but much too quiet for a restless young man such as Owain Hench assuredly was. The quicksilver in his veins never allowed him to remain long in one place, yet even he confessed to feeling the charm of Cookley.

No one took much notice of him, for which slight he was thankful. In his shabby suit of blue serge, his woollen shirt and ragged Panama hat, he looked like an ordinary tramp, and those gentry of the road were much too common in Cookley to be even glanced at. Also the night was closing in, and in the soft warm twilight the young man passed almost unheeded, a fact upon which he afterwards had reason to congratulate himself. After wandering through several crooked streets, he emerged into the gracious spaces of the village green and made for the Bull Inn--easily recognized by its gigantic sign--where he treated himself to a tankard of beer in the tap-room. Owain really did not require the drink, but ordered it so as to give some excuse for his questions. The ancients of the village were already gathered for their evening symposium, and the room was filled with the blue haze of tobacco-smoke. It was none too well lighted by a solitary oil lamp, and Hench sat down in a secluded corner to enjoy his briar and sip his ale. Also, when occasion served, he asked the buxom wench who attended to thirsty customers where the Gipsy Stile was to be found. She looked at him in surprise.

"Why, every one hereabouts knows where that be."

"I am a stranger here."

"One of them tramps, ain't you?" said the girl, tossing her head. "Well, you can't miss the Gipsy Stile. There's a path leading out of the churchyard, across the meadows, and that takes you into the heart of the wood, where you'll find it right in your way."

"Oh, it's in a wood, is it?" questioned Owain, secretly wondering again, as he had wondered before, why such a rendezvous had been chosen.

"Why, yes. Parley Wood, it is called, and lies long-side Squire Evans' old house. There's only a red brick wall divides the wood from the park."

"Thank you," said Hench politely, and attended to his beer and pipe, while the villagers talked politics and crops and local gossip, and he amused himself by listening to their crude views.

In the old days and before Cookley had been brought into near contact with the outer world, the stranger would have been more closely observed and the conversation would have been listened to. But so many tourists now came to the village that the inhabitants paid little attention to them. In his dark corner Owain sat for close upon an hour, wondering at the narrow limits of the Cookley intellect. Still, he was interested in the old-fashioned views of the labourers, and time passed quicker than he noticed. A glance at his watch showed him to his surprise that it was a few minutes to eight, so he rose hastily to seek his destination. As he had already paid for his beer, there was nothing to detain him, and he was speedily passing through the green on his way to the square tower of the church, which stood up blackly in the luminous twilight. So far as Owain could guess there was no danger of his losing his way.

A narrow lane, sloping slightly upward to the lychgate, conducted him to the churchyard, and he soon found himself surrounded by tombstones old and new, dotted irregularly amongst the long grass of the enclosure. Keeping to the gravelled path, he made a circuit of the vast church, and finally came to a stile set in the stone wall girdling the place. On climbing over this, he found his feet treading a well-defined path, which meandered across a wide meadow to enter into Parley Wood, which was visible some distance away. Owain, with the aid of a match, found that it was eight o'clock, and the chimes of the church again assured him of the fact. Fearing lest he should be late, he hurried quickly, and his long legs soon took him under the shade of ancient trees. Here it was somewhat dark, but Hench had eyes like a cat, and could very easily follow the path, which wound deviously through the woodland. Around him, in the fragrant dark, life was stirring, and he heard the piercing song of the nightingale, the occasional hoot of an owl, and became aware that sundry creatures were moving more or less noiselessly amongst the undergrowth. At times he moved across a dell where the light was stronger, and then again he would plunge into the gloom of the trees. The young man enjoyed the adventure apart from the reason which had led him to undertake it, as he had a great love of Nature, and enjoyed her beauty.

At length he emerged into a wide clearing across which ran a ragged fence of time-stained wood overgrown with woodbine and more or less buried in nettles, darnels, shrubs and young trees. In the centre of this there was an old-fashioned stile, which Owain took to be the place of meeting. Beyond the open ground stretched for some distance, and faintly in the warm twilight he could see a tall wall and beyond it the thick foliage of oaks, beeches and elms. This was undoubtedly the place, as he remembered how the girl at the Bull Inn had assured him that the wood lay long-side the park of the squire, and no great distance from a red brick wall. Therefore Owain walked briskly up to the stile, taking off his straw hat for the sake of coolness, and looked all round the place to see if the person who had advertised was waiting. He saw no one.

A glance at his watch after lighting a match showed him that he had been fifteen minutes walking from the church to the stile, so he wondered if the person had grown tired of waiting. But that was unlikely, since he was not so very much behind his time. The man--he presumed that it was a man--who had advertised would certainly wait longer when he had taken so much trouble to bring about the meeting. Hench therefore believed that something had detained the person in question, and sat down on the stile to wait. Already the moon was well up in the cloudless sky and her silver radiance flooded the whole solemn woodland. Owain admired the mingled beauty of light and shade, listened to the distant nightingale singing triumphantly, and stared every now and then round about to make sure that he would not miss his man, since he did not know from which quarter he would appear. Then came a surprise, and a highly unpleasant one.

In the course of his glancing here, there and everywhere, he became aware that in the long grass some distance beyond the stile, and some distance away from the meandering path, lay a dark object. At first Hench thought it was merely the trunk of a tree, but as the moonlight grew stronger and the outlines of the object more distinct, he began to believe that it was a man. Doubtless, as he concluded hastily, some tramp had thrown himself down to sleep in the safe cover of the wood, where no policeman would rouse him from his slumbers. But Hench knew that it was scarcely wise to sleep in the moonbeams, so clambered over the stile and walked towards the man with the intention of awakening him. Shortly he was bending over the presumably sleeping tramp, and then became aware with a shock of surprise that the man was clothed in evening-dress, over which a dark, loose cloak had been thrown. With a vivid feeling of fear Hench turned the man over--he was lying on his face--and started back with an ejaculation of horror. The stiff white shirt-front was red with blood, and in the man's heart was buried a knife with a horn handle. Owain struck a match to assure himself of the truth, although the moonlight was so strong that he scarcely needed to take such trouble. But while he held the match with shaking hand over the dead face, its wavering light showed him very plainly that he was right. The man was dead--the man had been murdered--and there he lay mysteriously done to death in the heart of a lonely wood.

Of course, Hench's first impulse, which was the impulse of an ordinary human being when brought face to face with crime, was to run back to Cookley village and give the alarm. But even as he turned to fly, he halted, struck with a sudden thought which made the blood freeze in his young veins. He had been lured to this place by means of the advertisement, and here he found the dead body of a man not long stabbed to the heart. Was it a trap? Had he been brought to this solitary spot to be entangled in a crime? It seemed very like it, and swiftly thinking over the matter, Hench did not see how he could exonerate himself should he give the alarm. With a feeling of absolute terror, he bent over the dead so as to make himself acquainted with the appearance of the poor creature. There was no doubt that the man was a gentleman, since he was in evening-dress and was wearing studs and sleeve-links of gold, together with a silk-lined overcoat, or rather cloak. His face was clean-shaven, with an aquiline nose and thin compressed lips, decidedly that of a handsome man. From his lined countenance and white hair, Owain took him to be about sixty years of age, although being dead there was an astonishing look of youth about him. Even as Hench stared, the lines on the old face seemed to fade away and leave it young and smooth. Yes, he was a gentleman, as was apparent from the well-bred, disdainful face. It did not need the evening-dress, the silk-lined cloak, the silk socks or the patent-leather shoes to show the man's station in the world. Here, as it occurred to Owain, was a gentleman, who had strolled into the wood after dinner, there to meet with a terrible death at the hands of some unknown person.

Starting to his feet, the young man remembered how the girl at the inn had talked of Squire Evans' estate lying long-side the wood and divided therefrom by a brick wall. Here was the wood, yonder the wall in question; so it came strongly into Hench's mind that the dead man was Squire Evans. But who had killed him and why had he been killed? Hench looked round searchingly into the shadow of the trees, but could see no lurking form. Whosoever had struck the blow had done so shortly before Hench arrived, as the body was still warm and still supple. After all, the man was dead, sure enough, and it would be useless to run to the village for succour. In fact it would be dangerous, as Owain thought with fear knocking at his heart, for how could he prove his innocence of the crime. There was no motive for him to kill this unknown man, certainly; not even the motive of robbery, as the studs and sleeve-links had not been taken by the assassin. Hench wavered between a desire to consult his own safety by flight and a wish to rouse the village and hunt hot-footed for the murderer. For two long, long minutes he pondered over the horrible situation, then, without a backward glance, raced at top speed along the unknown path leading into the further recesses of the wood. And while he ran his heart beat tumultuously, the perspiration beaded his forehead, and his body shivered with cold, in spite of the warm night. Safety was what he made for, and he tore onward as if the officers of justice were already on his track. An innocent man--yes, he was an innocent man--yet the circumstantial evidence might hang him in spite of that same innocence.

Instinct led Hench to avoid returning to London by passing through the village and boarding the train at Cookley Station. Already--and he thought of the possibility with terror--his face and figure might be remembered by some keen-sighted yokel. There was the conversation with the girl in the tap-room. He had talked long enough with her to be remembered, even though the atmosphere, hazy with smoke, had only been illuminated by one dingy lamp. Then, again, he had spoken about the Gipsy Stile; he had asked where it was, and at the Gipsy Stile the murder had taken place. Then there was the advertisement; the police would be sure to find that out, and if there was any reward offered, Madame Alpenny might speak to the authorities about the same. Then he would be linked with the crime, and run the risk of arrest. When confronted with the girl at the inn, she would probably recognize him. Then what possible defence could he make to an accusation of murder?

These and many other thoughts buzzed like distracting bees through Owain's brain as he fled from that awful place. All his idea was to get away, to reach some other railway station, to hide in London, and remain quiet until he saw what the police would do. But on the face of it, he would be safe nowhere; yet with the instinct of self-preservation he plunged onward through the wood in the hope of escape. Hench was a brave man, and had faced many dangers, but to be hanged for a crime which he had not committed, to be entangled in circumstances over which he had no control, made him choose the least of two evils. Once or twice he halted in his headlong flight wondering if it would not be best to return and give himself up to the village policeman, as, after all, he had no motive to kill the man and moreover could produce the advertisement. But the resolution was momentary. He simply could not face the trouble, even though he did his best to screw up his courage to the sticking point. Wiping his forehead, he drew a long breath and strode onward. It was too late now to think of returning, as the body might already have been found. All he could do was to walk on and on and on, in the hope of leaving terror behind.

After leaving the wood, Hench found himself traversing other meadows similar to that near Cookley church, These bordered a narrow lane, into which a stile afforded him access. From this lane he gained the high-road, and from a sign-post learned that it would conduct him to London. At first Owain intended to walk on until he arrived at the nearest railway station, for there was yet time to catch a late train to town. But on reflection he decided to use his legs, as there would be less danger in solitary pedestrianism than in venturing to ask for a ticket at a local station, where his appearance might be observed. Also the night was warm, the moon gave her full light, and the journey to London would be more pleasurable on foot than it would be were he cooped up in a train. Besides, he was much too agitated by what he had gone through to sit quiet under the gaze of fellow-travellers. Innocent though he was, conscience made a coward of him, and he knew that every careless eye cast upon him would make him wince. He was safer to walk, so walk he did.

Owain never forgot that thirty odd miles tramp through the lovely summer night, when--as the saying goes--he saw a bird in every bush. Certainly he was guiltless of any crime, yet fate had connected him with one, and he felt like Cain, so strong was the power of his imagination. Again and again he asked himself if it would not have been wiser to dare the worst, trusting in God's justice and his own innocence. But again and again came the reply that innocent men have been hanged ere now on purely circumstantial evidence, and that he had done right to fly the danger of a judicial death. Hench cursed himself for not having waited until his twenty-fifth birthday. Had he taken no notice of the advertisement, as he originally intended to do, he would not now be in this plight. But it was too late to blame himself now. He had come to the rendezvous, he had found a dead body, he had fled like a true criminal from the spot, so it was no use crying over spilt milk. Whatever was in store for him he would have to face it. As he had sown, so would he have to reap.