CHAPTER XI

THE MAD GARDENER

Gebb was not easily surprised, being used by reason of his profession to traffic in mysteries; but the unexpected fainting of Edith at his apparently innocent question perplexed him beyond measure. Of course, the girl had not told him the whole of her history, so no doubt in the portions thus kept back lay the explanation of her violent emotion. Gebb, being ignorant of the cause, was amazed at the result.

"Hullo!" said he, throwing open the window to admit fresh air, "there is something queer about this. Prain hinted that if I asked about her lover I might hear something strange, and her actions speak quite as loud as words. This fainting has some meaning in it. Well, well! I must revive her first and question her afterwards."

This was easier said than done, as there was no restorative of any sort at hand. Miss Wedderburn lay back on the couch motionless and white, the image of death; even the breeze from the open window could not restore her senses. Gebb was about to throw wide open the door, and shout for assistance, when through the window he caught sight of a man crossing the lawn, and immediately hailed him loudly. The man jumped round suddenly as though startled by the call, and after some hesitation moved forward slowly and unwillingly to crane his head into the room. He was a queer old creature, with shaggy white hair and untrimmed beard, and two glittering eyes set so closely together as to give him an uncanny look. He was dressed in a suit of old clothes discoloured and rusty; and, with his elbows on the window-sill, moped and mowed in a smiling vacant way at the detective. At the first near glance Gebb saw that the newcomer was not in his right mind.

"Here, my man," he said, making the best of this doubtful assistant, "bring some water; the lady has fainted."

The man grinned, and turned his eyes towards the white face of Edith. Over his own a shade passed, with the result of altering it from gay to grave. He even looked terrified, and with a kind of hoarse cry, pointed one lean finger at the unconscious girl.

"Is she dead? Did you kill her?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

"No! No!!" replied the detective, soothingly, as he would speak to a child, "she has fainted. Bring some water."

"Kill her!" whispered the man, nodding; "it's a good room to kill people in; we use it for that here. I won't tell. I'd rather see her dead than alive; it's better for her. The grave's the bed for a weary head."

"Hush! Bring the water," cried Gebb, shrinking back from the horrible creature. "Be off with you!"

The madman shrank back in his turn at the peremptory tone of the detective, and vanished with a nod, just as a sigh sounded through the room. The cool draught playing on the forehead of Edith had at length produced its effect, and with a second sigh longer than the first, she opened her eyes, and looked vacantly at Gebb. The detective caught her hand, and slapped it vigorously, whereat the girl sat up with an effort, and her faintness passed away. Still her brain was not quite clear, and she looked languidly at Gebb, as though she were in a dream.

"What did you say?" she asked in a low voice. "Am I--have I--what is it?" and she passed a slow hand across her forehead.

"You fainted, Miss Wedderburn," replied Gebb, softly.

"Yes! I remember! I fainted! You asked about---- Oh, God! I know;" and she covered her eyes with one hand.

Before she could speak again, a harsh, cracked voice was heard singing in the distance:--

"The raven is the fowl for me, He sits upon the gallows tree, And bravely, bravely doth he sing, In a voice so low and rich: While flaunting in a garb of pitch The murderer's corpse does gaily swing. Ho! Ho! Ha! Ha! He! He! He! The raven and the gallows tree."

"Ah!" Miss Wedderburn shivered nervously as this gruesome ditty sounded nearer, and put her fingers in her ears to shut out the singing. "It is Martin with his fearful songs!" said she, softly.

"Martin! And who is Martin?" asked Gebb, amazed at these extraordinary proceedings.

"Martin! Martin! Mad Martin!" croaked the harsh voice; and there at the window stood the crazy man, leering in a fawning manner, and holding a tin basin half full of water. Dipping his hand into this, he sprinkled a few drops towards Edith, singing tunelessly the while:--

"Weep till tears roll as a flood, I baptise thee now with blood."

With an exclamation of annoyance Edith rose, and, snatching the basin out of the man's hand, shut the window hurriedly. Martin gave a frightened whimper and slunk away; while his mistress, soaking a handkerchief in the water, bathed her pale face. Gebb, judiciously waiting the development of events, stood quietly by, wondering, but silent.

"Is this a lunatic asylum, Miss Wedderburn?" he asked when she was more composed, and he judged it judicious to recommence the conversation.

"No, of course not!" she replied irritably; "the man is mad, but quite harmless. Martin!--Martin!--I do not know his other name. He is an excellent gardener, and usually quiet enough, although he will sing those gruesome songs all about gallows and murders. To-day--for some reason--he is worse than usual."

"He ought to be placed under restraint," said Gebb, carelessly, for he was too bent on questioning his companion to be distracted by a lunatic. "But this is not to the point. May I ask what caused you to faint, Miss Wedderburn?"

The girl raised her head and directed a steady stare at Gebb. "In my turn, may I ask why you come here to question me?" she said defiantly.

"I thought I explained my errand before," replied the detective, mildly. "I am here to learn--if possible--who killed Miss Gilmar."

"I cannot tell you: I know nothing about it. Until you gave me the news I was not aware even that she was dead."

"Yet you were not so surprised by the information as I expected."

"That can be easily explained, Mr. Gebb," said Edith, wringing out her wet handkerchief. "As I told you before, I knew of my cousin's fears. She was perhaps pursued by Mr. Dean when he escaped from prison, with the avowed intention--it was reported--of killing her. She left her home--as I know--in order to hide from him; but it is possible--I say," she added with emphasis, "it is possible that Dean tracked her down and revenged himself for her conduct of twenty years ago. You wish to learn who killed Miss Gilmar, sir? I tell you I do not know! Mr. Dean, in my opinion, is innocent; but on the face of it, I admit that appearances are against him. Perhaps if you find the man and question him you may arrive at the truth."

"It is not improbable," replied Gebb, coolly; "but we must catch him first. Still, Miss Wedderburn, your opinion of Dean's guilt or innocence does not explain your recent conduct. To put a plain question, miss, 'What made you faint?'"

"That is my business!" said Edith, haughtily, but with averted eyes.

"And mine too. Why should you faint because I ask if you have another lover besides Mr. Alder?"

"I refuse to answer!"

"In that case," observed Gebb, artfully, "there must be something wrong with Arthur."

"How dare you call him Arthur?" flashed out Miss Wedderburn.

"Call who Arthur?" asked Gebb, laying a trap for her hasty tongue.

"Mr. Fer----" She stopped and bit her lip, hesitating, as it would appear, whether to tell the name or not. After a momentary pause she evidently deemed bold speaking the safest policy, for she continued calmly: "After all, there is no reason why I should not tell you his name."

"None in the world, so far as I can see," answered the detective, with a shrug. "I know that his Christian name is Arthur, but what is the surname of your lover, Miss Wedderburn?"

"How do you know that I have a lover?" retorted Edith, answering one question by asking another.

"How do I know that you have two lovers?" corrected Gebb, coolly. "Because you told me about one named Mr. John Alder, and Mr. Prain spoke to me about the other. I came here with a certain amount of knowledge, miss."

"Mr. Prain? What has he to do with it?"

"I don't know. I'm waiting for you to tell me."

Edith clasped her hands together with a restless movement, and walked up and down the room hastily. Suddenly, as though making up her mind to the inevitable, she stopped before the detective.

"Mr. Gebb," she said, clearly and distinctly, "I have no reason to conceal anything in my life. I am engaged to a gentleman named Arthur Ferris, whose occupation is that of an artist. He has nothing to do with the murder of Miss Gilmar--that I swear."

"There is no need to swear," said Gebb, wondering at her vehemence; "but why did you faint when I asked you about him?"

"I thought--I thought you might suspect him," faltered Miss Wedderburn, in a low tone. "I know how suspicious you detectives are. You seem to think that I know more than I tell you; but you are wrong--I do not."

"I suspect neither you nor Mr. Ferris," said Gebb, quietly; "but it was so strange that you should faint at a simple question, that I naturally wished to find out the reason."

"Well, sir, you know it now."

"I know the reason you choose to give," replied Gebb, significantly, "but you will excuse my saying that it is rather a weak one."

"I can give no other."

"You could if you wished."

"Then I refuse to give any other," rejoined Edith, with a frown.

"Quite so," replied Gebb, rising. "Well, there is nothing for it but for me to take my leave--for the present," he added significantly.

"This sudden cessation of Gebb's questions alarmed Edith more than the questions themselves had done, and she looked uneasy. Once or twice she appeared about to speak, but closed her lips again without a word, and conducted Gebb silently out of the house. The detective was rather annoyed by this self-control, as the sole reason of his man[oe]uvre was to make Miss Wedderburn talk. Nine women out of ten would have done so, and have defended themselves with many words; but this girl was evidently the tenth, and knew the value of silence. However, Gebb was too experienced to show his annoyance, and, mentally resolving to question this Sphinx on a future occasion, when she was not so much on her guard, he took his leave with a last warning.

"You ought to have that mad gardener locked up," he said, looking up to Miss Wedderburn as she stood on the terrace, "else there will be another murder in the Yellow Boudoir."

"Oh, Martin is quite harmless," replied Edith, calmly. "I told you so before."

"So harmless, that had he lived in Grangebury I should have suspected him of killing your cousin," responded Gebb, dryly, and forthwith took his departure, considerably puzzled, as well he might be, by the attitude of the young lady. So far she had baffled him completely.

As he walked down the neglected avenue he heard the harsh, cracked voice of Mad Martin piping a tuneless ditty, and shortly afterwards met with the man himself face to face. With his lean, bent form, picturesque rags, and venerable white beard, the man looked like Lear, insane and wretched. When he saw Gebb, the creature stopped singing, and broke into a cackling laugh, which had little mirth in it Gebb--usually self-controlled and careless of impressions--shuddered at that merriment of hell.

"Are you in love with her too?" he asked the detective.

"No," replied Gebb, humouring the man. "Why do you think so?"

"John Alder came here and loved her," said Martin, reflectively. "Arthur Ferris came and loved her. I thought you might be a third. But you won't win her heart--oh no! Young Arthur has done that. Tall, straight, dark, handsome Arthur, with the mark of Satan on his cheek."

"The mark of Satan!" repeated Gebb, puzzled by this description of Ferris.

"Hist!" cried Martin, with uplifted finger. "He is a wizard and she a witch, and they dance in the Yellow Room when the moon is up. Young Arthur has a red mark on his cheek; Satan baptized him there with blood. Oh, blood! oh, blood!" moaned the wretched creature, "nothing but blood.

"'A knife for you, and a rope for me, And death in the Yellow Room; I am alive, and you are dead, But each hath gotten a tomb.'"

And with a long, dolorous cry Martin ran up the avenue swinging his arms, leaving Gebb to puzzle out his enigmatic verse as best he could.