CHAPTER XXV.

AT MERE HALL, HANTS.

Fanks was rather astonished when he learned that Mrs. Boazoph had contrived the lure which had drawn Fellenger to his death. He had given the landlady credit for more cleverly concealing her scheme, and that she should have carried out a plan so compromising, in so open a manner, seemed to him to be the height of folly. Nevertheless, he was pleased that he had discovered who had directed the fatal envelope; and he was still more pleased that Mrs. Boazoph had sent for Hersham. If possible he intended to learn her reason for seeking an interview, and to ascertain why she had fainted at the intelligence that Hersham was likely to be arrested for committing the crime. A true report of that conversation--and Fanks had no doubt that Hersham would repeat it faithfully to him--might afford the clue to the mystery. At the present moment Fanks was convinced that the landlady of the Red Star could unravel the riddle if she chose, and he was resolved to force her to do so. But here an element on which Fanks had not calculated came into play.

As instructed by the detective, Hersham duly called at the Red Star only to be informed that Mrs. Boazoph was dangerously ill, and could not see him. This he reported to Fanks, and at first the detective deemed the illness an excuse to postpone the interview, the more especially as Dr. Turnor was the medical man in attendance. He mistrusted Turnor as much as he did Binjoy, and thought that the former had persuaded Mrs. Boazoph to relinquish the idea of seeing and confiding in Hersham. Such confidence might prove as fatal to Turnor as to Binjoy; and if so there was no doubt that Turnor had compelled Mrs. Boazoph to hold her tongue lest she should compromise him. Thus Fanks argued out the situation; and he sought Tooley's Alley to ascertain if Mrs. Boazoph was really ill, or merely feigning at the order of Turnor.

A view of the sick woman showed him plainly that he was wrong. Mrs. Boazoph was laid on a bed of sickness, incapable almost of speech, and Fanks concluded promptly that there was no chance of learning anything until she recovered. The result of the last interview had shaken her terribly, and she was thoroughly worn out with nervous prostration. Turnor, more like a ferret than ever, eyed Fanks complacently, and seemed relieved that things were going so badly for the case. Fanks questioned him, but could learn nothing definite, for, if the detective was clever, the doctor was cleverer, and defeated Fanks on every point. Indeed, he carried the war into the camp of the enemy.

"I suppose I am right in ascribing this illness to you, sir," he said, with a sly smile. "It seems that my patient fainted at her last interview she had with you."

"She did. I said something which startled her."

"That was very wrong of you, Mr. Fanks. Mrs. Boazoph is a woman of delicate organisation, and a sudden shock might bring about her death. She has a weak heart."

"I am sorry to hear so, sir," retorted Fanks, gloomily. "I counted on gaining some information from her. Do you think she will soon recover?"

"Not for some time," said Turnor, in a satisfied tone. "I presume you wish to learn something from her, relative to the case you have in hand?"

"You are quite right. I do wish to learn something relative to the murder which took place in this hotel. But if Mrs. Boazoph cannot tell me what I wish to know, you may be able to do so."

Dr. Turnor spread out his hands in a deprecating manner. "I, my dear friend," he said, "what can I know about the case?"

"As much as Dr. Renshaw could tell you," retorted Fanks, fixing Turnor with his keen eye.

"Dr. Renshaw told me nothing, because he knew nothing."

"I have my own opinion about that, Dr. Turnor."

"Really; I thought you were satisfied that my friend had nothing to do with the matter. He went to India, you know."

"Are you sure he went to India, Dr. Turnor?"

"Oh, yes; he will be soon be at Bombay. I got a letter from him at Aden, where he changed into the 'Clyde.'"

"No doubt," said Fanks, affably, "I expect you will hear from him when he is settled in Bombay."

"Certainly; Renshaw and I are great friends."

"I am sure of that. You confide your secrets to one another, and work in unison."

"What do you mean by working in unison, Mr. Fanks?" said Turnor, drawing himself up.

"I don't think I need afford you any explanation, Dr. Turnor. You are playing a dangerous game, sir."

"You insult me, sir."

"Is it possible to insult you, Dr. Turnor?" sneered Fanks.

"I'll make you prove your words," said Turnor, with rather a pale face.

"There will not be much difficulty in doing that--at the proper time."

The ferret of a man eyed Fanks nervously and savagely. "Do you think I have anything to do with the matter of Sir Gregory's death?" he burst out.

"I'll tell you that when I return from Mere Hall," was Fank's reply.

"Mere Hall?" repeated Turnor, betraying himself, which was the reason Fanks had mentioned the name; "what do you know of Mere Hall?"

"That is just what I wish to ask you. What do _you_ know of Mere Hall, sir?"

"Nothing, nothing. I merely repeated your words."

"In a very singular fashion, doctor."

The little man turned away with a scowl. "I shall defend myself from your insinuations," he said, in a stifled voice, "if you suspect me, say so."

"Suspect you of what?" asked Fanks, innocently; "you speak in riddles."

Turnor pointed to the woman lying on the bed. "Perhaps Mrs. Boazoph can solve them," he said.

"Perhaps she can," retorted Fanks, with equal coolness; "and I trust it will not be to your disadvantage when the answers come."

"I can look after myself, Mr. Fanks," said Turnor, and left the room without the detective making any effort to detain him.

Fanks was suspicious of Turnor, from his connection with the so-called Renshaw; and this conversation went a long way towards confirming these suspicions. However, as he wished to go to Mere Hall and follow up the Binjoy clue, he had no time to attend to the Turnor matter. Nevertheless, on leaving Tooley's Alley he sought out Crate, and instructed him to look after the doctor.

"Find out his financial position," said Fanks; "what kind of practice he has, how he lives, what kind of character he bears, and all about him."

"Very well, Mr. Fanks," said Crate, noting the instructions down, "and what about Mrs. Boazoph?"

"Keep an eye on her, and should she recover so far as to see Mr. Hersham or to journey to Taxton-on-Thames, let me know. You can write or wire me at the Pretty Maid Inn, Damington."

"That's near Mere Hall, ain't it, sir?"

"A quarter of a mile away. I shall stay there some time to watch Binjoy and Sir Louis Fellenger."

"Do you suspect him, Mr. Fanks?"

"If you remember the name I mentioned, you would not ask me that, Crate."

The underling was abashed and said no more, but turned the conversation to the subject of Garth. "What am I to do about him, sir?"

"Oh," said Fanks, dryly, "you think he is guilty, so I will leave him to you. But do not neglect my interests to look after that business. I tell you, Crate, the man is innocent."

"I have my own opinion about that."

"Then keep to your opinion, but mind my instructions."

"Well, I will tell you one thing, sir," said Crate. "Mr. Garth has left town."

"You don't say so," said Fanks, frowning, "he did not say that he was going away. Where has he gone to?"

"I can't tell you that, sir, I lost him. But I'll tell you where he hasn't gone--and that is to Taxton-on-Thames."

"I didn't expect he would go there, but it does not matter. I have my hands full without thinking of Garth. I leave him to you. In the meantime, goodbye; I am off to Hampshire."

Fanks arrived at Damington about five o'clock, and put up at The Pretty Maid Inn as he had done before when following Binjoy in the disguise of a parson. But thanks to his cleverness in "making up," no one at the inn suspected that he was the same man. The landlady--a genial soul with a plump person and a kindly face, quite an ideal landlady of the Dickens type--welcomed him without suspicion, as a gentleman come down for the fishing, and detailed all the gossip of the neighbourhood. She was especially conversant with the affairs of Sir Louis Fellenger.

"Such a nice gentleman," said Mrs. Prisom, "rather melancholy and given to hard study, which ain't good for a young man. But he comes here and takes a glass with a kind word and a smile always."

"Does Dr. Binjoy come over with him?" said Fanks.

"Oh yes, sir; I am sorry to see that the doctor ain't well lately, he looks pale and mopey-like. Seems as if he had something on his mind."

"And what do you think he has on his mind, Mrs. Prisom?"

"Well, it ain't for me to say, sir; but I should think as he was sorry he and Sir Louis did not get on so well as they might."

"What makes you think they do not get on well?" said Fanks, pricking up his ears.

"It is the way they look at one another," said Mrs. Prisom, reflectively. "And they say Dr. Binjoy is going away; though what Sir Louis will do without him, I don't know."

"Dr. Binjoy going away," murmured Fanks, rather startled, "now what is that for?"

Mrs. Prisom could not tell him; she could only say that the doctor was departing from Mere Hall that day week; and that it was reported in the village that he had quarrelled seriously with Sir Louis. "Though of course," added Mrs. Prisom, "it may not be true."

"I must see to this," thought Fanks. "I wonder if this sudden departure has anything to do with the murder. Is it a case of thieves falling out; I must keep my eyes open." After which resolution, he asked the landlady if she was well acquainted with the Fellenger family.

"I should think so," said Mrs. Prisom, with pride, "I knew that poor, young man who was murdered in that wicked London, as well as I know myself. A noble gentleman, but wild; ah me!" sighed Mrs. Prisom, "just like his father."

"Did you know Sir Gregory's father?"

"Did I know Sir Gregory's father," echoed Mrs. Prisom, contemptuously, "do I know the nose on my face, sir? The late Sir Francis and myself were playmates. Yes, you may well look astonished, sir, but it is the truth. I was the daughter of the steward at Mere Hall, and I was brought up with the late Sir Francis almost like brother and sister. I could tell you many a good story of him," finished Mrs. Prisom, with a nod and a smile.

"You must do so," said Fanks, returning the smile, "I am fond of stories."

The fact is, he was wondering if he could find the motive for the murder in the family history of the Fellengers. Many great families had secrets, which, if divulged, might lead to trouble; and it might be that the Mere Hall folk's secret had to do with the tattooed cross. If it proved to be so, then Fanks thought there might be a chance of penetrating the mystery of Sir Gregory's death. The family secret and the death in Tooley's Alley were widely apart; but there might be a connecting link between them, at present hidden from his gaze. At all events, it was worth while examining Mrs. Prisom, and hearing her story.

This Fanks resolved to do that evening; but in the meantime he left the garrulous landlady, and went out for a stroll in the direction of Mere Hall. It was not his intention to see Sir Louis on that evening but rather to wait till the morning. Nevertheless, he had a desire to look again at the splendid mansion of the Fellengers, more to pass away the time than with any ulterior motive. In the calm twilight he strolled along, and soon left the village behind him. His way lay through flowery hedges, bright with the blossoms of summer; and, under the influence of the hour and the beauty of the landscape, Fanks quite forgot that he was at Damington for the purpose of unmasking a murderer. From his dreams he was rudely awakened, and brought back to real life.

As he sauntered along, swinging his stick, he saw a man ahead, whose figure and gait seemed to be familiar. In the clear, brown twilight he could see fairly well; and so it appeared could the man he was looking at; for the figure made a pause and jumped over the hedge. Fanks wondered at this, for he had noted that the figure was that of a gentleman, or, at all events, someone other than a labourer. With his usual suspicion, and as much out of curiosity as anything else, Fanks jumped over the hedge also; whereupon the stranger began to run across the fields. By this time, Fanks was thoroughly convinced that something was wrong; so he gave chase at once, with a chuckle of delight at the excitement of the adventure.

Across the green meadow they raced, and Fanks saw the man fading into the dim twilight. He redoubled his sped; so did the fellow, but in the next field Fanks found that he was gaining. The fugitive sprang over another hedge; with Fanks close on his heels. But when the detective landed he could see nothing of the stranger. A backward glance showed him that the man had doubled, and was running along beside the hedge. The next instant, Fanks was following on his trail; and, although the mysterious figure made the greatest efforts to escape, Fanks drew closer. Then an accident brought the race to an end, for the man stumbled over a clod, and rolled on the grass. The next moment Fanks, panting for breath, stood over him.

The detective peered down, to see who it was he had caught, and, to his surprise, he recognised Garth.