CHAPTER XVI

THE MAN FROM KOIAU

The farmhouse of Mr. Carwell was a substantial brick building, surrounded by barns and yards, and flanked by five or six hayricks, the whole being girdled by elm-trees. Their foliage now was of a mixed yellow and red as the year drew to winter. On all sides stretched the stubble fields, tawny in hue, save those which, having already been ploughed, presented patches of dark red earth. Sleek cows wandered in some meadows, horses grazed in others, pigs and fowl shared the farmyard, rooting and scratching amid the straw, pigeons whirled aloft in the cold blue of the sky, or cooed round the eaves of the thatched stable. The homestead wore an air of comfort and peace, in keeping with the quiet religious spirit of its owner. In recognition of the plenty which filled its walls, Carwell had written over the door the Hebrew word, "Bethdagon," which signifies the "House of corn."

In this Goshen Rachel ruled supreme. Her mother had passed away these many years, and she held the keys of the household. Demure, in a grey gown and close cap, lightfooted and ever watchful, she moved like a Puritan fairy in the home. The girl was a born housekeeper, and in her little kingdom affairs were conducted with a wonderful and rare combination of economy and cheerfulness. Carwell knew that some day she would marry--at present circumstances pointed to Herbert Mayne--and he often wondered how he would be able to manage without his clever, bright-eyed Rachel. Her departure would be a loss not easy to replace. Household blessings like this maiden do not grow on every bush.

But Rachel was not bright-eyed on this particular day. She was sorely afraid lest her cousin Jack should be committed for trial on a charge of murder. She was very fond of Jack, and although she disapproved of his harum-scarum sailorly ways, she could not believe him guilty of so terrible a crime. As she attended to her household duties, her heart was heavy within her, and several times she went to the door in the hope of seeing her father returning with news. But for Carwell's express wish, she would have gone to the court herself.

At last, shortly before the mid-day meal, she caught sight of the old-fashioned trap turning in by the distant gate. She saw that it contained three people, and ran to meet it, in the hope that Jack having been acquitted, her father was bringing him home. As the vehicle came nearer, Rachel made out one of the trio to be a woman. She wondered who this third person could be. She was not left long in doubt.

"Here, Rachel, lass," called out the farmer, jovially, "your cousin is a free man again; and here is a lady to see you."

"Bithiah!" gasped Rachel, turning white. She was too much startled to express her amazement.

"Ioé," said the girl, jumping down and throwing her arms round Rachel's neck; "but not Bithiah any more. I am Tera of Koiau. Call me so."

"You are not dead!"

"Dead!" cried Jack, with a joyful laugh, "not she! Tera's still flesh and blood, and as pretty as ever. Don't look so scared, Cousin Rachel. She's no ghost."

"You mustn't faint, lass," said Carwell, with rough good nature. "Tera is here, to stay until she marries Jack. Take her into the house, and set her at the table. She'll eat well, I warrant," and the farmer led away the horse with a jolly laugh.

"What does it all mean?" asked Rachel, still astonished. She was not a weak girl, else she would have fainted at the sudden re-appearance of Tera.

"It's a long story," cried Finland. "Tera will tell it to you."

Rachel turned and kissed her cousin. "Oh, Jack, I'm so glad you are free. I thought they would---- Oh, never mind; what does it all matter now? But as Tera is alive, who is the dead girl we buried?"

"A gipsy called Zara."

"And who killed her?"

"No one knows. That's a new job for Chard. Come, Rachel, take us inside, I'm as hungry as a beach-comber. And Tera looks as though she could eat a bit, too."

"Come in, dear," said Rachel, drawing Tera towards the house; "I am simply dying to hear what all this means."

Shortly afterwards, in accordance with the manner of the sex, the two girls retired to Rachel's room to exchange confidences. Jack was left alone, and stood on the front door-step, whistling. He was in the highest spirits, and no wonder. Was he not acquitted of a dangerous charge, engaged to marry Tera with the full consent of his uncle, part owner of a ship after his own heart, and shortly sailing for the South Seas, which he loved far more than his native land? The future was bright and assured, and Finland, although not as a rule devotionally inclined, breathed a prayer of thankfulness for his good fortune. There was but one thing doubtful in his mind. Would his uncle give him the money he required? As he debated the question, Farmer Carwell came round the corner of the house, ready for dinner. Jack, who was prompt in all his actions, broached the subject there and then.

"Uncle," he said, as the old man took a seat in his armchair, "about this five hundred--can you let me have it?"

Carwell was not a mean man, but he was accustomed always to approach with due caution anything in the nature of a financial transaction; therefore he did not open his heart and hand so readily as Jack had expected.

"That requires some consideration, my lad," he said after a pause; "money is harder to get than to give."

"You have surely had plenty of time to consider the matter, uncle?--because, I do not ask you to give me the money, but to lend it to me. I'll pay it back with interest--the loan will be as good a thing for you as for me."

"H'm. You see, you offer no security."

"Isn't my word enough security?" cried Jack, flushing. "I am your own sister's son; it is not likely I would swindle you."

"Softly, my lad. I'm not accusing you of dishonesty; but I never stretch out my hand farther than I can draw it back. You want five hundred pounds; for use in connection with your ship, isn't it?"

"Yes; the purchase of her has taken all the money I got for the pearls, and all the skipper's savings to boot. We want more men; we can easily get them at Grimleigh. She must be provisioned, too, and that takes a lot of cash. Then a hundred or so in hand for trading purposes when we reach the South Seas. I can't make bricks without straw."

"What sort of trading will you do?"

"Oh, copra, and blackbirding," replied Finland, carelessly.

"I'm a plain country farmer," said Carwell, smiling, "and I don't understand these terms you bring from your new world. What is copra?"

"The dried kernel of the cocoa-nut. It is used for oil-making, and fetches a good price, especially if the Kanakas don't water it."

"And blackbirding, what is that?"

Jack laughed and looked queerly at the old man. It was not easy for him to answer this question without offending his uncle's prejudices. However, he skirted round it, and got out of danger as best he could.

"Blackbirding," he said cautiously--"well, you see, we sail for the Solomons or the New Hebrides, and pick up natives to work on the plantations on the more civilized islands. They are well looked after and get good pay; so after a few years they go back to their own land set up for life."

"Do the missionaries approve of this system?"

"Oh yes. It brings savages from out-of-the-way islands into the circle of Christianity, and then they can spread the Gospel on their own account."

"They are not slaves, these natives?--they are paid?"

"Paid in what we call trade," replied Jack. "They hire themselves out for three years as a rule, and when their service is ended we take them back again, with the value of what they have earned in goods. Oh, it's square enough. The Australian Government appoints agents to see that all is above board."

"Does it pay?"

"You bet, uncle--pays well. Let me have that five hundred, and I'll soon give it to you again."

"I must take a week to think over it," said Carwell, still unconvinced.

Finland bit his lip, and very nearly committed the indiscretion of rapping out a nautical oath. But as, in that religious household, such language would at once have put an end to all chances of his getting the money, he was wise enough to restrain himself.

Shortly after this, Rachel arrived with Tera, in full possession of the whole story. The recital of it had excited her not a little, and during dinner she talked of nothing else.

"I suppose you will go back with Jack to your own island," she said.

"Yes," replied Tera, "as soon as we are married by Mr. Johnson."

"Johnson? Oh! he won't marry us," said Jack, laughing. "I don't see how you can expect him to, Tera."

"He is a minister."

"He is also a man, my dear," observed Rachel; "and he is in love with you."

"Let us trust that our pastor will be sensible," said Carwell, seriously; "now that his ward has reappeared, he is relieved from a grave danger."

"Oh, Miss Arnott relieved him of that before," said Rachel, with a trifle of feminine spite; "indeed, he ought to marry her for all she has done for him."

"It would be a good thing for Bethgamul," replied her father, reflectively, "for Miss Arnott is wealthy. If she became the wife of our pastor she could do much good with her money."

"She is too old to marry my guardian," said Tera, doubtfully.

"What does her age matter, child? She has a beautiful soul. A minister should not dwell unduly on the outward graces of womanhood."

Jack looked at Tera's pretty face and laughed. Undeniably it was her comeliness that had attracted the minister, not her soul. He was about to make a remark to this effect, when the sound of wheels was heard, and the excited accents of a man with a lisp. Carwell went to the door, and found Inspector Chard and Mr. Moss descending from a trap.

"My dear thir," cried the little Hebrew, running up with outstretched hands, "ith Mithter Finland here? Ith that girl with him? I've come about them pearlth."

"Mr. Moss wants to know if the sale was quite regular," explained Mr. Chard, as the boy came up to take his horse; "so I brought him here to set his mind at rest."

"Come in, come in," said Carwell, hospitably. "Tera and Jack can answer for themselves. Have you had dinner?"

"No; I shall be glad of some."

"I can't eat a mouthful until I know about the pearlth," said Moss, fussing into the house. "Oh, Mr. Finland, here you are. What about the pearlth?"

"Well, what about them?" asked Jack, calmly.

"Ith all right, the thale, ithn't it? You had a right to thell them?"

"This lady will tell you that I had. The pearls were her property."

"Mith! mith!" said the Jew, fluttering up to Tera, "did you give the pearlth to Mithter Finland?"

"Yes. I asked him to sell them."

"They were your own pearlth?"

"My own pearls. I received them from my father, Buli, the High-Chief." Moss leered and rubbed one fat hand against the other.

"I should like to do bithness with your father, mith. So that thale ith all right?"

"It is all right," agreed Tera, gravely; "you gave two thousand pounds for the pearls, and they belong to you."

"Ah!" said the Hebrew, with relief, "that ith tho. Well, mith and mithter Finland, I give you one pieth of advith. Don't you thell such beautiful pearlth tho cheap again. And now," he added, trotting towards the dinner-table, "I can eat a morthel."

While this matter was being settled. Chard was talking to Rachel about the cypher letter, and the cunning way in which Jacob Shackel had bamboozled him.

"The old rascal wanted to make a fine effect in court, of course," said he, laughing, "for he might as well have told me at the time that the young lady was alive. I wish I had known the cypher myself. I must get Finland to show it to me."

"I can do that," answered Rachel, fishing in her pocket for a pencil, "for it was I who taught Jack the cypher. He finds it useful in many ways in business. But as he is going to the South Seas, I can tell it to you. Do you know the game of noughts and crosses and criss-cross, Mr. Chard?"

"What do you mean?" asked the inspector.

"I'll show you. Here is a piece of paper. Observe now." And Rachel drew two diagrams, which she proceeded to fill up with letters.

"There is the key to the thing," she said. "You simply put an angle for each letter, with a dot for the right-hand one. Have you the letter?"

"Here it is. I would not give it to Shackel."

Rachel read it. "It means, 'Tell Tera to show up; arrested for her murder--Jack.' Now, the first word is 'tell,' and you write it this way;" and she proceeded to explain. "You see the _T_ is in the top angle of the criss-cross; and as it is the right-hand letter, you must place a dot so." She placed a dot in the top angle of the diagonal figure. "The _e_ is formed in the right-hand top angle of the noughts. Lastly, the two _l_'s are in the place under it on the right-hand side. Now look at the whole word, and write the rest of the message yourself."

Chard took the word "Jack," and, gradually grasping the idea, wrote it down in the characters.

"By Jove, it's very neat!" he said admiringly.

"And quite simple," said Rachel, rising. "Now you'd really better have some dinner, Mr. Chard."

"Thank you, I will. But this cypher reminds me of the arrow-headed Assyrian letters."

"Rather more like Hebrew characters," said Carwell, joining them. "I wonder you did not know of it. Inspector. It is in common use."

"It hasn't come my way, then," laughed Chard, drawing his chair to the table, where already Moss was making up for lost time.

During the meal Zara's murder was the sole topic. It would seem that the whole case would have to be re-sifted. The old trial had ended in the discovery that Tera had not been murdered at all. The new one would have to start on fresh premises altogether; a fresh motive would, of course, have to be sought.

"She said nothing to you likely to lead to the identification of the assassin?" said the inspector, addressing Tera.

"I don't know, Mr. Chard. She said her errand was to meet her husband in the neighbourhood; but from the way in which she spoke, I don't think she expected him to be very well pleased to see her."

"Did she mention his name?"

"No, she did not."

"I knew the girl Zara," said Jack unexpectedly; "she was always about with Slade."

"Slade?" repeated Chard, drawing his brows together; "indeed, is----"

Before he could finish his speech, Tera, who had been looking idly at the door, started to her feet with an exclamation. With one accord they all followed her gaze, for the expression on her face was one of amazement.

In the doorway stood a tall, dark-skinned man, dressed in a badly fitting suit of clothes. He was staring hard at Tera. She ran forward and seized his hand.

"Tolai!" she cried, and then uttered something in her native tongue. The man smiled, nodded, and bowed himself to the ground. In slavish submission he kissed her feet. He was a Polynesian.