CHAPTER XXI

FOUND AT LAST

On seeing the pseudonymous gardener speeding down the avenue, Gebb lost no time, but, leaving Mrs. Grix to her rage and lamentation, vaulted over the terrace in his turn, and raced at top speed after the fugitive. The detective was lean and young, and an excellent runner, whereas Dean, _alias_ Martin, was old and scant of breath; so the only thing which equalized the contest was the despair which winged the feet of the wretched quarry. If Dean were caught by the bloodhound of the law, he would be shortly relegated to the prison whence he had escaped; so he flew wildly over the ground, running he knew not whither to escape the fate which awaited him. And Gebb, who personified Nemesis, followed hot-footed in his track.

The road to Norminster ran straight through the fields like a white ribbon laid upon green velvet, and the town itself was distant a mile from Kirkstone Hall. Down this, amid a cloud of white dust, Gebb saw Dean running some way ahead, and setting his elbows to his sides he followed steadily and surely, reserving his wind for the termination of the race, the result of which could only be the capture of the ragged figure now flying for dear life. Carters, and pedestrians, and labourers in the fields stared in amazement at the chase, and some, with that love of sport inherent in every breast, joined Gebb in his man-hunt. After Dean had covered a quarter of a mile he began to fail, and to zigzag in his course, bounding wildly from one side to the other, and wasting his strength in useless ways. Gebb with his shouting train drew steadily nearer, and the miserable, hunted wretch could hear their cries, and the beating of their feet on the hard white road. Still he endeavoured to shake off his pursuers and escape, for by a powerful effort he managed to run another quarter of a mile. Then age and fear and exhaustion told on his failing limbs, and with a wild cry Dean flung up his hands despairingly and fell amid puffs of dust. When Gebb arrived he was lying senseless in the middle of the highroad.

"So!" said the detective to himself, as he knelt beside the ragged creature. "I've found you at last, Mr. Dean. You know the truth of all these matters, at any rate; and in some way or another I'll force you into confessing it."

But at the present moment it seemed as though Dean would never speak again in this world, for he lay as still as any corpse, his white head and whiter face resting on Gebb's knee. The frowning mark between the eyes, by which the detective had known him, was smoothed away, and there was no expression on the blank countenance, no movement in the slack limbs. Gebb, however, knew that this apparent death was only a temporary faintness, and whipping out his brandy-flask, forced some drops of the fiery liquid between the white lips of his prisoner. While engaged in this kindly office, the labourers who had joined in the pursuit came up with much amazement expressed on their honest, sunburnt faces.

"What's the matter with Mad Martin, mister?" asked one, looking at the unconscious Dean.

"He's madder than usual, that's all," said Gebb, "and has nearly killed Mrs. Grix at the Hall yonder. I must take him to Norminster and get a doctor to look after him: he'll die here."

The detective made this artful speech with the intention of enlisting the sympathy of the bystanders, both for himself and Martin, _alias_ Dean, as popular feeling generally inclines towards defiance of law and order. Moreover, a detective is not an admired character with the common people, and Gebb had no desire to render his task of capturing Dean more difficult than was necessary by stating his vocation; so for diplomatic reasons he spoke as above. The result justified his precaution, for the labourers were most anxious that the mad gardener--as they knew him to be--should be taken at once to Norminster and placed in charge of a medical man. A cart was coming along the road, and into this Dean was hoisted by friendly hands. Gebb having taken his seat beside him, the vehicle rolled slowly towards Norminster, while the labourers returned to their work, quite vivacious after the exciting episode which had broken the monotony of the day. Gebb, knowing what was at stake, felt thankful to get rid of them so easily.

As it was but half a mile to Norminster from the spot where Dean had fallen, the cart soon arrived there. The man himself had revived, thanks to Gebb's brandy, and sat staring straight before him in a kind of sullen stupor. He made one effort to escape when he was set down at the door of the gaol; but Gebb, with the assistance of a near policeman, soon overpowered him, and carried him within, while the carter drove off, wondering, in his slow-thinking mind, that a man brought to see a doctor should be taken to the county gaol for care. However, he had received five shillings from Gebb, so did not trouble his head about the matter, and spent most of it at the next public-house, where he narrated the episode with such additions as his drunken humour suggested.

To the governor of the gaol Gebb explained that Dean was an escaped prisoner, for whom the police had long been looking, and mentioned his own name and occupation. The result of this was that Dean was confined in a cell with a warder to watch him lest he should in his despair attempt suicide. Then Gebb repaired to an hotel and wrote to the governor of the gaol whence Dean had escaped, asking him to come down himself or send some responsible person in order to identify the prisoner. The detective also sent an urgent wire to Ferris, requesting him to visit Norminster at once on business connected with Martin; for he shrewdly suspected that the artist knew of the man's identity with Dean, and that the mention of the name would bring both Arthur and Edith immediately to Kirkstone Hall. It was shortly after midday when Gebb sent this telegram, so he quite expected that if matters stood as he imagined Ferris would come down, and not alone; for if Ferris knew that Martin was his father, Edith also must be in the secret, and, no doubt, she would accompany him. Then Gebb, who was really angry with the young couple for their many concealments, determined to have a thorough explanation of their strange behaviour. These important matters having been attended to, Gebb returned to the gaol and saw Dean; but the interview proved to be anything but a success. Whether the man was mad or not Gebb could not decide without evidence; but certainly his present sullen silence formed a strange contrast to his former excitement. He neither talked recklessly nor sang his wild songs. His limbs were at rest, and his eyes looked dull, although formerly they had been bright and glittering. With vacant gaze and a sullen expression, he sat huddled up in a corner of his cell and absolutely refused to speak or even notice his questioner. The man was thoroughly exhausted and worn out; but Gebb left the cell with the firm conviction that Dean was perfectly sane, and that his madness had been feigned to more effectually baffle dangerous inquiries. But, like the fox in the fable, for all his tricks the man had been caught at last, and Gebb wondered if, after all, he had murdered Miss Gilmar.

"Did that return third-class ticket dropped in the room at Paradise Row belong to Dean?" the detective asked himself. "I should not be surprised if it did. As Miss Wedderburn denies that it is hers, Dean, under the name of Martin, is the only person who could have used it. In that case he must have remained in London all night; for, as the crime was committed at ten o'clock, he could not have caught a return train so late to Norminster. Now, Mrs. Grix lives in the Hall, so she is the most likely person to let me know if Dean was absent on the twenty-fourth of July. I'll see her at once and get to know all I can, pending the arrival of Ferris and Miss Wedderburn. They may deny Dean's complicity in the crime, so I must be prepared to baffle them."

Having made up his mind to question Mrs. Grix, the detective, making a hurried meal, walked out to Kirkstone Hall, and arrived to find the old woman solacing herself with gin-and-water after the fatigues of the morning. She was excessively nervous when Gebb reappeared, as she was conscious she had said too much in her rage with Martin, and now guessed that she was about to be thoroughly examined touching all she knew concerning him. Mrs. Grix, to save her own skin, was quite prepared to equivocate, and Gebb guessed as much, for he went to work with her in a severe official way which frightened her considerably.

"Now, Mrs. Grix," said he, when they were comfortably established in the kitchen, "I've come to ask you a few questions."

"I don't know nothin', I don't," protested Mrs. Grix, beginning her tactics.

"You know a great deal," replied Gebb, sharply. "And if you don't answer me truthfully, I'll arrest you on suspicion and put you in gaol 'longside of Dean; so now you know."

"Lawk-a-mussy!" squealed Mrs. Grix, "have you put him in prison?"

"Yes, I have; so you tell me the truth, or I'll put you in also!"

"I'll speak out, sir," cried the old wretch, much terrified. "I don't want to go to prison. I've done nothing."

"You have spied and listened and searched," retorted Gebb, "all for the sake of gaining possession of other people's secrets and extracting blackmail when possible. Now you answer my questions, or it will be the worse for you."

"I'm willing, sir," said Mrs. Grix, meekly; "but I don't know as much as you think. I only suspects like."

"Can you tell me who killed Kirkstone?" asked the detective.

"That's one thing I don't know for certain," replied the dame; "but if you arsk me, sir, I bel've as Miss Gilmar did."

"On what grounds do you suspect her?"

"Becose she wrote out summat telling the truth and hid it; and she wouldn't have done that, unless she were guilty. Then she were in love with Mr. Dean, and Mr. Kirkstone wanted him to marry Miss Laura; so I thinks as Miss Ellen got 'em both out of the way. She was a clever one, was Miss Ellen."

"Do you know where the confession is?"

"No, I don't. Martin was always hunting for it to clear himself, but if he found it he didn't tell me."

"And Martin is Dean?"

"Yes, he is. It ain't no good tellin' lies, lovey! He is Dean!"

"I thought there was a gardener here at the time of the murder called Martin?"

"There was," replied Mrs. Grix, coolly. "And he was queer, too, I tell you; but not as queer as this Martin. I knowed he was Dean as soon as I clapped eyes on him, though he was sorely altered from the 'andsome man he was."

"Then he impersonated Martin to save himself from the police?"

"He did; he's no more mad than I am; but he thought it was safer to pretend being crazy. His songs was awful," said Mrs. Grix, shuddering.

"Did Miss Wedderburn know the truth?"

"Of course, sir! And when she knowed as I knowed, she tole me to 'old my tongue, and paid me for doing it; but she didn't give much, lovey!"

"Did Mr. Ferris know?"

"Seeing as Mr. Dean's his own born father--which I knowed fro' listening to 'm talking--he did."

"Did Dean kill Miss Gilmar?"

Mrs. Grix did not reply to this question with her former glibness. "I don't rightly know of that," she said slowly. "If he did, it wasn't here, for Miss Ellen was in London this long time."

"Was Dean ever in London while he stayed here under the name of Martin?"

"Yes, he was. And just about the time of the murder. It was in July Miss Ellen died, wasn't it?"

"It was," replied Gebb, eagerly, "on the twenty-fourth of July."

"Ah, well, I shouldn't be surprised if Dean did kill her. He was always talking of punishing her," continued Mrs. Grix, with relish; "but I didn't think he'd go so far as murder."

"What makes you think that he did?" asked Gebb.

"Why," said Mrs. Grix, nodding, "he was up in London in July, and he stayed there all night."

"On the twenty-fourth?"

"I can't be sure, sir, but it was at the end of the month. And when he came back he was queerer than ever. Oh, I dessay he went up to kill Miss Ellen," said Mrs. Grix, with conviction. "I can't swear to it, but I'm sure he did; and serve her right, too."