CHAPTER IX

GWEN

Naturally, Gilberry & Gilberry were extremely astonished when the heir to Cookley Grange refused to enter into his kingdom immediately. Such a wonderful reluctance to enjoy a large income and a splendid position had never before come under their notice. Fortunately, however, Mr. Samuel Gilberry, the senior partner, who attended particularly to the business of the estate, was of a romantic turn of mind, unusual in a lawyer, and Owain's suggestion of acting the part of a disguised prince rather appealed to him. Adopting Vane's suggestion, Hench--as he persisted in calling himself for the time being--artfully pointed out that it would be just as well to make the acquaintance of his cousin as a stranger before revealing himself. He did not wish her, as he put it, to be biassed by the fact that he was the son of his father. "For you see, sir," he said to the old gentleman, who was a white-bearded benevolent person, somewhat like the traditional Father Christmas, "so far as I can gather from the papers which my father left behind him, these brothers, who are the parents of Gwen and myself, were not friends."

"They hated one another fervently, if you don't mind my saying so," was the emphatic response of the old lawyer, as he took a pinch of snuff.

"I don't mind your stating the truth, Mr. Gilberry, which is what I want to get at," replied Hench readily. "Well then, admitting that the two hated one another, it is more than likely that Uncle Madoc had no great love for me."

"He had not, my young friend. I pointed out to him frequently that as he had never set eyes on you, he could scarcely form any judgment, good, bad or indifferent. But he declared that you were the son of your father and that no good could come out of Nazareth."

"Quite so. And doubtless he passed on his opinion to his daughter."

"I think it is extremely likely, although I cannot speak positively, Mr. Owain," said the solicitor. "By the way, I may as well call you by that name, since you refuse to take your proper appellation, and I don't like to call you Mr. Hench."

"I don't mind what you call me," Owain assured him, "so long as you don't let the cat out of the bag. My cousin is sure to have a bad opinion of me, since her father was so bitter. This being the case, I shall have no chance of becoming friendly with her if I present myself as her cousin. I do not wish to carry on the feud, so it is necessary for me to gain Gwen's good opinion. Therefore, under the name my father adopted, I shall make her acquaintance as a stranger, and win her friendship entirely on my own merits."

"It is rather a fantastical way of acting, and is scarcely business-like," was Gilberry's reply. "All the same the idea is not without merit. I am quite ready to help you, and can do so, by saying that you are abroad."

"I don't think it is even necessary to say as much. Let Gwen know that I have communicated with you, and have decided to wait for a time before taking over the estate. She can put it down to eccentricity, or to my late father's influence, if she likes. Anyhow, I don't suppose she will trouble to search very deeply into the matter, and will probably be pleased that I don't take possession of Cookley Grange immediately. She can continue to live there until I give her notice to quit."

Gilberry laughed and shook his head. "Miss Evans is a very decided young lady, Mr. Owain," he remarked in a judicial manner, "and having her own income of five hundred a year, she has already quitted the Grange."

"Because she expected me to take possession?"

"Yes."

"There!" cried Hench triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you that she was biassed by her father. Has she left Cookley?"

"No. She has gone to stay with a very charming old lady in the neighbourhood, called Mrs. Perage."

"Better and better. That will enable me to make her acquaintance without unduly forcing myself upon her. My friend, Mr. Vane, who is a barrister----"

"Yes! Yes! I know the name. I have heard that he is clever. Well?"

"Well, he has given me a letter of introduction to Mrs. Perage, who is his aunt."

Mr. Samuel Gilberry rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Very good--very good indeed, my young friend. It is quite a romance. Now, to carry the same to a proper conclusion, may I suggest that you should fall in love with Miss Evans?"

Hench shook his head doubtfully. "Private feelings can't be ordered about like private soldiers," he remarked dryly. "I am not the kind of man to fall in love, Mr. Gilberry."

"Pooh! Pooh! A handsome young fellow like you is sure to experience the grand passion. And let me tell you that Miss Evans is a beautiful girl, both clever and sensible. If you could manage to marry her," went on the lawyer coaxingly, "think how delightfully you would end the family feud. And after all, poor girl, it is rather hard for her to be reduced to five hundred a year after enjoying, through her father, ten thousand per annum."

"Oh, as to that," said Owain promptly, "you can allow her two or three thousand out of my income."

"She wouldn't take it, seeing that your consent is necessary."

"Yet you talk about my marrying her," was Hench's retort. "I have about as much chance of doing that as the man in the moon. However, I shall make her acquaintance as Hench, and see what comes of it. By the way, doesn't she know the name my father took in place of Evans?"

"No. Your late uncle never mentioned it. As Owain Hench you are quite safe in making her acquaintance. She will never think that you are her cousin, unless you let her see how you spell your Christian name. The Welsh spelling may give her a hint, and she is very sharp, remember."

"If I have occasion to write it, I shall spell the name in the English way. I don't suppose that will be necessary, anyhow. Well, that's all right. Act as we have decided and I shall go down to Cookley to carry out my romance, as you call it, Mr. Gilberry. One question I should like to ask you, however, before leaving."

"And that is, Mr. Owain---?"

"Who murdered my uncle?" Mr. Gilberry took a pinch of snuff and shook his venerable head. "Really, it is hard to say, unless it was that tramp who asked the way to the Gipsy Stile, Mr. Owain. I suppose you saw all about that in the papers?"

Hench winced, but recovered himself immediately. "Yes, I did, Mr. Gilberry. But what reason could that tramp have had to murder my uncle. Not robbery, if the report of the inquest is to be believed, for then it was said that neither the money, nor the watch, nor the jewellery had been taken."

"Exactly. So far as I can see, there was no reason why this man should have murdered Mr. Evans." Mr. Gilberry knitted his brows and looked perplexed. "Maybe it was revenge," he concluded doubtfully.

"Revenge. Then my uncle had enemies?"

"Dozens, I should think," said the lawyer coolly. "Mr. Madoc Evans was a very cantankerous person. I may say that much ill of the dead. He quarrelled with many people, and, moreover, was very severe on poaching both as a magistrate and as a landowner. This tramp, for all I know, may have been a poacher who had a grudge against him."

"Do the police think so?"

"The police say nothing, because they have no evidence to go upon," said the lawyer sharply. "The sole person they suspect is the tramp who came to the Bull Inn. But he has disappeared, and they can't find him. However, in the village it is said that the tramp was a poacher, who murdered the Squire out of revenge. You can take or leave that opinion, as you like. The whole thing is a mystery to me, Mr. Owain."

"And to me," said Hench, in all good faith. "I shall never be satisfied until I learn who murdered my uncle."

"That wish does you credit, Mr. Owain," said Mr. Gilberry approvingly, and again the young man winced. "Considering how unfriendly the late Squire was towards your father."

"Well, my father was just as unfriendly towards him," returned Hench with a shrug. "And, as I say, I don't wish to carry on the feud. Good-bye, Mr. Gilberry. When I am settled in Cookley I shall let you know my address and will write you if necessary. You are sure that no one knows my name of Hench as having anything to do with the family at the Grange?"

"I am quite sure, although I don't call one solitary girl a family," chuckled the old man, walking with his client towards the door. "Good-bye, good-bye. I hope--I sincerely hope--that the feud will be ended by your marriage to my late friend's daughter."

"You might as well expect water to run up hill," retorted Hench sceptically, and went on his way, certain that he was not likely to lose his heart.

Consequent on the necessity of preserving the secret of his identity carefully, Hench requested Vane to introduce him by letter to Mrs. Perage as Mr. Hench, suppressing the Christian name, which might have given Gwen a clue, if only from the oddness of the spelling. Vane, on learning that the girl had gone to stay with his aunt, quite approved of this, and both in his letter of introduction and his private epistle to the old lady made all things safe. As Mr. Hench, the young man went down to Cookley, and if he was forced to state what his Christian name was, he resolved to spell it in the English way. That would provoke no remark from Gwen, as "Owen" was not a particularly unusual designation. All the same, Hench felt that he was treading on thin ice. He determined to stay at Cookley as short a time as possible, and to see no more of his cousin than he could help. After all he was going down not to meet her, as Mr. Gilberry believed, but to learn if possible who had murdered the unfortunate Squire.

While reading a newspaper entitled _The Setting Sun_ in the train, Hench received a distinct shock, although by this time he was growing accustomed to being startled. Some amateur detective had written a letter to the editor of this halfpenny evening journal, drawing attention to the advertisement in _The Express_ with reference to the meeting at the Gipsy Stile. Of the name "Rhaiadr" nothing was said, as such was Greek to the writer of the letter. But the fact that some one was invited to meet Squire Evans at the very place and on the very evening when he was murdered was largely commented upon. The very officious person who wrote suggested that the police should try and learn to whom the advertisement was addressed, "when without doubt"--the letter went on to say--"the assassin will be captured."

Although it was rather like asking the authorities to look for a needle in a bottle of hay, seeing that there were eight million people in London to any one of whom the advertisement might have been addressed, Owain felt cold water running down his spine. Not on account of the Hungarian lady, because he agreed with Vane that she would not give information to the police until she learned if he was prepared to marry her daughter. It was Spruce he feared--the little rat who was meddlesome and secretive, and unscrupulous, and who could do much mischief once he got on the trail. From what Vane had said, it was plain that the Nut had rendered his position in the West End untenable owing to his cheating, and the sole chance he had of becoming even tolerable to his former associates--and perhaps not even then--was to return with his pockets full of money. Then, for the sake of winning the same, they might overlook his fault. Probably they would not, but Hench was quite sure that Spruce believed that money would do anything. Naturally, he would do much to get money, being anything but an honourable man as had been ample proved. In Bethnal Green there were few opportunities of making a fortune, and Spruce was not sufficiently clever to take advantage even of what chances there were. Consequently, he would be quite prepared--Hench was certain of this--to get what he could by blackmail. Already he believed that there was some mystery about Hench, and if he saw the advertisement, or the letter which had drawn attention to the same, he would be certain to get at the truth. Having been present at the conversation between Hench and Madame Alpenny when the woman's meeting with his father--Hench's father that is--had been discussed, the word "Rhaiadr" would certainly come again into his mind. Connecting the same with Hench, the young man was convinced that Spruce would venture to accuse him of keeping the appointment and murdering the advertiser. Then if it came out that the dead man was Hench's uncle, so strong a motive was provided that arrest would certainly follow.

It was a very uncomfortable journey for Owain, and he alighted at Cookley Station with the firm idea that he was about to have a trying time. Madame Alpenny was dangerous and so was Spruce, as both wanted cash and both were wholly unscrupulous. However, if either went to the police they were not likely to get what they wanted, so Hench comforted himself with the idea that before taking any action they would find him out and offer to treat. On what he discovered at Cookley would depend his attitude, as if he could only get at the truth he could place the matter in the hands of the police without danger to himself. On the other hand, if he made no discovery likely to prove who was the assassin, it would be necessary to come to some arrangement or risk the consequence. And Hench could not disguise from himself that on the face of it his defence was weak, since the strongest point--that of being a stranger to the dead man--was removed. Certainly, as he had never met Squire Evans, the deceased _was_ a stranger to him, but the fact that the dead man was his uncle, whose demise would give him ten thousand five hundred a year, assuredly provided a strong motive for the commission of the crime. It was all puzzling and difficult, and dangerous and highly unpleasant. All that Hench could do was to wait and see what Madame Alpenny, and possibly Spruce, would do. Any one who has experienced suspense will understand what agonies this unfortunate young man underwent. It required all his courage and all his nerve to endure the anxiety of the next few days. And to make matters worse, Vane was not at hand to relieve the tension by listening to Owain's fears.

It was with an odd feeling, and not one of safety, that Hench again set foot in Cookley. As he walked down the crooked street he noted how many eyes of both men and women followed his movements, and for the moment believed that he was recognized. But that was impossible, considering the contrast between the rough-bearded tramp who had visited the Bull Inn and the smart, fashionable, clean-shaven young gentleman now strolling complacently through the little town. What the people looked at, especially the women, were his handsome face and distinguished appearance. From a muttered remark or so which his ear caught, Owain understood that they took him for a tourist, who had come to see the lions of the place. Therefore, in this character the young man asked one or two where he could find lodgings. Of course he was at once directed to the inn, but here, for obvious reasons, he did not wish to go. With the idea of finding quiet rooms he had left his portmanteau at the railway station, so as to seek the same unhampered by luggage. For some time he was unsuccessful in his search, until on the outskirts of the village and no great distance from the church he saw a notice in a cottage window of "Apartments to Let." At once he knocked at the door, since the place seemed clean and quiet. A delicate, slender little woman answered his inquiries by stating that she was called Mrs. Bell and had rooms to let. An inspection of these satisfied the young man, although they were rather poorly furnished and decidedly small. At once he took them at the very moderate sum demanded, and Mrs. Bell at his request sent her nephew to the station to get her new lodger's portmanteau. The little woman, who was meek and fragile, at once took a great interest in Hench, as he had kind eyes and a gentle manner. In a short time the two were good friends, and Mrs. Bell congratulated herself that for one month she had such a pleasant-spoken gentleman under her homely roof. She said as much to her big burly nephew when he returned with the portmanteau on his shoulder, and her nephew thoroughly agreed with her, which was natural, seeing that the new lodger had given him half a crown for his trouble. So Hench was made very comfortable by the two, who approved of him more and more every day. Mrs. Bell was a busy bee in the way of looking after household affairs, and Giles her nephew, who was a labourer, brushed Owain's boots and clothes for him. Also--and this was a great point--Mrs. Bell was no gossip and kept very much to herself, so the neighbours heard little about Hench from her. On the whole, the young man decided that he was very well placed.

Hench did not present his letter of introduction to Mrs. Perage straight away, but busied himself in learning what he could of the geography of Cookley. He examined the church, explored the village,--never going into the Bull Inn, by the way,--and even ventured to look at the Gipsy Stile. It gave him a qualm when he found himself on the well-remembered spot, and saw beyond the old brick wall the picturesque Grange, which was now his property. Mrs. Bell, who knew everything about the place and talked freely enough when asked, although she was no scandal-monger, told him how Miss Evans had gone to stay with Mrs. Perage since the death of her father.

"And they do say," said Mrs. Bell, who always prefaced her remarks with this phrase, "that she ain't going to rest until she finds out who killed him."

"Is there any clue?" asked Owain, keeping his face turned away.

"No, there ain't, sir, unless you can call that tramp a clue. He did ask Betsy Jane at the Bull where the Gipsy Stile was, and the old Squire was found there some hours later as dead as mutton. But since then no one's clapped eyes on him, and I don't suppose, sir, as any one ever will."

"Do you think the tramp murdered the Squire?"

"Lord, sir, how do I know!" cried Mrs. Bell in a panic. "I hev enough to do in the house without thinking of murders. But they do say as Squire Evans was a hard man on poachers, as Giles knows, he having got into trouble over a pheasant. It might be, sir, as that tramp was one of them poachers, and done for the Squire. Though to be sure," added the woman, rubbing her nose in a perplexed way, "if he was a poacher hereabouts some one would hev knowed him, and he wouldn't hev had to ask Betsy Jane of the Bull where the stile was. It's my opinion, that for all Miss Gwen's trying she'll never find out who killed her father. And they do say as if the murderer ain't found it won't be any great grief to them as knowed old Mr. Evans."

"What kind of a girl is Miss Evans?" asked Hench irrelevantly.

"Ah!" cried Mrs. Bell, nursing her hands under her apron. "Now they do say, sir, as I knows myself, as she's as nice a young lady as you ever set eyes on. Lovely I call her, and small like me, though quite a lady, which I ain't. She's as loved as her father was hated, and they do say as that's saying a great deal. I do assure you, sir, as we'd rather hev Miss Gwen for the head of the place than this new young Squire, as comes from no one knows where!"

Hench had many conversations about these matters with Mrs. Bell, and gradually came to know a great deal during the next few days. His uncle, it appeared, had been very unpopular, while Gwen was the reverse. Generally, it was quite believed amongst the ancients of the village that the Squire had been murdered by the unknown tramp, who was a poacher, and the verdict was that it served the dead man right, because he was always so hard on the poor. Owain was tolerably sure that the Cookley people would have been quite sorry had the presumed criminal been arrested. But as he was the person in question, he was glad that they had not been troubled to mourn in this way. All the same, in spite of all his questioning, he was unable to learn anything likely to show who had met Squire Evans in Parley Wood. So far his mission to Cookley had proved a complete failure.

Then Destiny intervened to conduct him a step further on the dark path, which was leading him he knew not where. Towards the end of the week, and when he was beginning to feel safer and more at home in the village, he had an adventure, the consequences of which were far-reaching. Owain had gone for a long walk into the surrounding country, and was returning leisurely under the many-coloured glories of the sunset. The weather was warm, the road was dusty, and he paused by a stile to remove his straw hat and allow the breeze to cool his heated brow. Before him was the church, round the square ivy-clothed tower of which the jackdaws were flying; to the right was the road, melting almost imperceptibly into the narrow village street, while to the left ran the same road curving abruptly round a corner into the agricultural lands. So dangerous was this bend in the highway that it was marked with one of those red triangles elevated on a post to warn motorists and cyclists not to move at too great a pace. The injunction was very much needed, and never more so than in the present instance.

Hench leaned idling against the stile enjoying the beauty of the evening and the picturesque character of the landscape. He could not see very far, as the place was muffled with hawthorn hedges and tall trees, but there was a quiet domestic loveliness about the prospect which soothed his tormented soul. Suddenly his eye was caught by a moving figure in the porch of the church, which was under the west window. It was that of a slender girl, not very tall, but singularly graceful. As she came down the path towards the lychgate, he saw that she had a beautiful face, aristocratic in its looks and rather pensive in its expression. Arrayed in white, and with a white sunshade, she stepped daintily through the gate and out on to the dusty road, turning her face towards the village, whither she was evidently going. But scarcely had she taken three steps when a motor-car, without warning, swept swiftly round the dangerous corner. The girl was directly in his path, and although Hench shouted at once, she did not step aside. In fact she seemed to be puzzled by his cry, until the noise of the approaching machine struck her ear. Then she wheeled suddenly and stood where she was, paralysed with fright. Hench saw that in a second she would be cut down and be crushed under those cruel wheels, so plunged suddenly forward and dashed across the roadway to thrust her out of the way. So impetuous was his onset that she was tumbled back into the hedge girdling the churchyard, and Hench himself fell sprawling in the dust. With a whirr, the motor passed and he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. The next moment the car was buzzing at top-speed through the village, its driver evidently afraid of prosecution for neglecting to sound his horn. Meanwhile the girl gathered herself up out of the hedge, and Owain lay still on the highway. The whole event lasted less than a minute--the girl being saved, the man being hurt in the twinkling of an eye. And in the same twinkling of an eye the car had vanished into the unknown.

"Oh!" The young lady hurried towards her preserver. "Are you hurt?"

"My ankle," gasped Hench, sitting up with an effort; "it's giving me a warm time--a wheel went over it, I think--probably it is broken!" and he winced with the pain.

"You have saved my life!"

"Oh, that's all right," replied the young man, speaking with difficulty, for the suffering was great. "You can repay me by helping me home, or by getting assistance. I can't walk by myself."

"Give me your hand," said the girl quickly, quite cool and mistress of herself. "There! Can you get on to your feet?"

"On to one foot, anyhow," gasped Hench, smiling to reassure her, and managed to stand upright. "But my ankle is not so very bad. I don't think it is broken--only crushed."

"That's bad enough. Lean on me. Where do you live?"

"At Mrs. Bell's."

"That's not far away. Come. What a hero you are to save me. My name is Evans."

"Evans!" repeated Owain, and then knew that he had at last met his cousin.