CHAPTER XVII
A CLERICAL DETECTIVE
All this time Mr Michael Cargrim had not been idle. On hearing of themurder, his thoughts had immediately centred themselves on the bishop.To say that the chaplain was shocked is to express his feelings much toomildly; he was horrified! thunderstruck! terrified! in fact, there wasno word in the English tongue strong enough to explain his superlativestate of mind. It was characteristic of the man's malignant nature thathe was fully prepared to believe in Dr Pendle's guilt without hearingany evidence for or against this opinion. He was aware that Jentham hadbeen cognisant of some weighty secret concerning the bishop's past, forthe concealing of which he was to have been bribed, and when the reportof the murder reached the chaplain's ears, he quite believed that inplace of paying the sum agreed upon, Dr Pendle had settled accounts withthe blackmailer by shooting him. Cargrim took this extreme view of thematter for two reasons; firstly, because he had gathered from thebishop's movements, and Jentham's talk of Tom Tiddler's ground, that ameeting on Southberry Heath had been arranged between the pair;secondly, because no money was found on the dead body, which would havebeen the case had the bribe been paid. To the circumstantial evidencethat the turned-out pockets pointed to robbery, Mr Cargrim, at themoment, strangely enough, paid no attention.
In considering the case, Cargrim's wish was very much the father to thethought, for he desired to believe in the bishop's guilt, as theknowledge of it would give him a great deal of power over hisecclesiastical superior. If he could only collect sufficient evidence toconvict Dr Pendle of murdering Jentham, and could show him the links inthe chain of circumstances by which he arrived at such a conclusion, hehad little doubt but that the bishop, to induce him to hide the crime,would become his abject slave. To gain such an immense power, and use itfor the furtherance of his own interests, Cargrim was quite prepared tocompound a possible felony; so the last case of the bishop would beworse than the first. Instead of being in Jentham's power he would be inCargrim's; and in place of taking the form of money, the blackmail wouldassume that of influence. So Mr Cargrim argued the case out; and so hedetermined to shape his plans: yet he had a certain hesitancy in takingthe first step. He had, as he firmly believed, a knowledge that DrPendle was a murderer; yet although the possession of such a secret gavehim unlimited power, he was afraid to use it, for its mere exercise inthe present lack of material evidence to prove its truth was a ticklishjob. Cargrim felt like a man gripping a comet by its tail, and doubtfulwhether to hold on or let go. However, this uncertain state of thingscould be remedied by a strict examination into the circumstances of thecase; therefore Cargrim set his mind to searching them out. He had beenpresent at the inquest, but none of the witnesses brought forward by thebungling Tinkler had made any statement likely to implicate the bishop.Evidently no suspicion connecting Dr Pendle with Jentham existed in theminds of police or public. Cargrim could have set such a rumour afloatby a mere hint that the dead man and the bishop's strange visitor on thenight of the reception had been one and the same; but he did not thinkit judicious to do this. He wanted the bishop's secret to be his alone,and the more spotless was Dr Pendle's public character, the more anxioushe would be to retain it by becoming Cargrim's slave in order that thechaplain might be silent regarding his guilt. But to obtain such anadvantage it was necessary for Cargrim to acquaint himself with the wayin which Dr Pendle had committed the crime. And this, as he was obligedto work by stealth, was no easy task.
After some cogitation the wily chaplain concluded that it would be bestto hear the general opinion of the Beorminster gossips in order to pickup any stray scraps of information likely to be of use to him.Afterwards he intended to call on Mr Inspector Tinkler and hearofficially the more immediate details of the case. By what he heard fromthe police and the social prattlers, Cargrim hoped to be guided inconstructing his case against Dr Pendle. Then there was the bishop'sLondon journey; the bishop's cheque-book with its missing butt; thebishop's journey to and from Southberry on the day and night when themurder had been committed; all these facts would go far to implicate himin the matter. Also Cargrim desired to find the missing pistol, and thepapers which had evidently been taken from the corpse. This last ideawas purely theoretical, as was Cargrim's fancy that Jentham's power overDr Pendle had to do with certain papers. He argued from the fact thatthe pockets of the dead man's clothes had been turned inside out.Cargrim did not believe that the bishop had paid the blackmail,therefore the pockets could not have been searched for the money; themore so, as no possible robber could have known that Jentham would bepossessed of a sum worth committing murder for on that night. On theother hand, if Jentham had possessed papers which inculpated the bishopin any crime, it was probable that, after shooting him, the assassin hadsearched for, and had obtained, the papers to which he attached so muchvalue. It was the bishop who had turned the pockets inside out, and, asCargrim decided, for the above reason. Certainly, from a commonsensepoint of view, Cargrim's theory, knowing what he did know, was feasibleenough.
Having thus arrived at a point where it was necessary to transmutethought into action, Mr Cargrim assumed his best clerical uniform, histallest and whitest jam-pot collar, and drew on a pair of delicatelavender gloves. Spotless and neat and eminently sanctimonious, thechaplain took his demure way towards Mrs Pansey's residence, as hejudged very rightly that she would be the most likely person to affordhim possible information. The archdeacon's widow lived on the outskirtsof Beorminster, in a gloomy old barrack of a mansion, surrounded by alarge garden, which in its turn was girdled by a high red brick wallwith broken glass bottles on the top, as though Mrs Pansey dwelt in agaol, and was on no account to be allowed out. Had such a thing beenpossible, the whole of Beorminster humanity, rich and poor, wouldwillingly have subscribed large sums to build the wall higher, and toadd spikes to the glass bottles. Anything to keep Mrs Pansey in hergaol, and prevent her issuing forth as a social scourge.
Into the gaol Mr Cargrim was admitted with certain solemnity by asour-faced footman whose milk of human kindness had turned acid in thethunderstorms of Mrs Pansey's spite. This engaging Cerberus conductedthe chaplain into a large and sepulchral drawing-room in which the goodlady and Miss Norsham were partaking of afternoon tea. Mrs Pansey woreher customary skirts of solemn black, and looked more gloomy than ever;but Daisy, the elderly sylph, brightened the room with a dress of whitemuslin adorned with many little bows of white ribbon, sothat--sartorially speaking--she was very young, and very virginal, andquite angelical in looks. Both ladies were pleased to see their visitorand received him warmly in their several ways; that is, Mrs Panseygroaned and Daisy giggled.
'Oh, how very nice of you to call, dear Mr Cargrim,' said the sylph.'Mrs Pansey and I are positively dying to hear all about this verydreadful inquest. Tea?'
'Thank you; no sugar. Ah!' sighed Mr Cargrim, taking his cup, 'it is aterrible thing to think that an inquest should be held in Beorminster onthe slaughtered body of a human being. Bread and butter! thank you!'
'It's a judgment,' declared Mrs Pansey, and devoured a buttery littlesquare of toast with another groan louder than the first.
'Oh, do tell me who killed the poor thing, Mr Cargrim,' gushed Daisy,childishly.
'No one knows, Miss Norsham. The jury brought in a verdict of wilfulmurder against some person or persons unknown. You must excuse me if Ispeak too technically, but those are the precise words of the verdict.'
'And very silly words they are!' pronounced the hostess, _ex cathedra_;'but what can you expect from a parcel of trading fools?'
'But, Mrs Pansey, no one knows who killed this man.'
'They should find out, Mr Cargrim.'
'They have tried to do so and have failed!' 'That shows that what I sayis true. Police and jury are fools,' said Mrs Pansey, with thetriumphant air of one clinching an argument.
'Oh, dear, it is so very strange!' said the fair Daisy. 'I wonder reallywhat could have been the motive for the murder?'
'As the pockets were
turned inside out,' said Mr Cargrim, 'it isbelieved that robbery was the motive.'
'Rubbish!' said Mrs Pansey, shaking her skirts; 'there is a deal more inthis crime than meets the eye.'
'I believe general opinion is agreed upon that point,' said thechaplain, dryly.
'What is Miss Whichello's opinion?' demanded the archdeacon's widow.Cargrim could not suppress a start. It was strange that Mrs Panseyshould allude to Miss Whichello, when he also had his suspicionsregarding her knowledge of the dead man.
'I don't see what she has to do with it,' he said quietly, with theintention of arriving at Mrs Pansey's meaning.
'Ah! no more can anyone else, Mr Cargrim. But I know! I know!'
'Know what? dear Mrs Pansey. Oh, really! you are not going to say thatpoor Miss Whichello fired that horrid pistol.'
'I don't say anything, Daisy, as I don't want to figure in a libelaction; but I should like to know why Miss Whichello went to thedead-house to see the body.'
'Did she go there? are you sure?' exclaimed the chaplain, muchsurprised.
'I can believe my own eyes, can't I!' snapped Mrs Pansey. 'I saw hermyself, for I was down near the police-station the other evening on oneof my visits to the poor. There, while returning home by the dead-house,I saw that hussy of a Bell Mosk making eyes at a policeman, and Irecognised Miss Whichello for all her veil.'
'Did she wear a veil?'
'I should think so; and a very thick one. But if she wants to dounderhand things she should change her bonnet and cloak. I knew them!don't tell me!'
Certainly, Miss Whichello's actions seemed suspicious; and, anxious tolearn their meaning from the lady herself, Cargrim mentally determinedto visit the Jenny Wren house after leaving Mrs Pansey, instead ofcalling on Miss Tancred, as he had intended. However, he was in nohurry; and, asking Daisy for a second cup of tea to prolong his stay,went on drawing out his hostess.
'How very strange!' said he, in allusion to Miss Whichello. 'I wonderwhy she went to view so terrible a sight as that man's body.'
'Ah!' replied Mrs Pansey, with a shake of her turban, 'we all want toknow that. But I'll find her out; that I will.'
'But, dear Mrs Pansey, you don't think sweet Miss Whichello has anythingto do with this very dreadful murder?'
'I accuse no one, Daisy. I simply think!'
'What do you think?' questioned Cargrim, rather sharply.
'I think--what I think,' was Mrs Pansey's enigmatic response; and sheshut her mouth hard. Honestly speaking, the artful old lady was aspuzzled by Miss Whichello's visit to the dead-house as her hearers, andshe could bring no very tangible accusation against her, but Mrs Panseywell knew the art of spreading scandal, and was quite satisfied that hersignificant silence--about nothing--would end in creating somethingagainst Miss Whichello. When she saw Cargrim look at Daisy, and Daisylook back to Cargrim, and remembered that their tongues were only adegree less venomous than her own, she was quite satisfied that a seedhad been sown likely to produce a very fertile crop of baseless talk.The prospect cheered her greatly, for Mrs Pansey hated Miss Whichello asmuch as a certain personage she quoted on occasions is said to hate holywater.
'You are quite an Ear of Dionysius,' said the chaplain, with acomplimentary smirk; 'everything seems to come to you.'
'I make it my business to know what is going on, Mr Cargrim,' repliedthe lady, much gratified, 'in order to stem the torrent of infidelity,debauchery, lying and flattery which rolls through this city.'
'Oh, dear me! how strange it is that the dear bishop saw nothing ofthis frightful murder,' exclaimed Daisy, who had been reflecting. 'Herode back from Southberry late on Sunday night, I hear.'
'His lordship saw nothing, I am sure,' said Cargrim, hastily, for it wasnot his design to incriminate Dr Pendle; 'if he had, he would havementioned it to me. And you know, Miss Norsham, there was quite atempest on that night, so even if his lordship had passed near the sceneof the murder, he could not have heard the shot of the assassin or thecry of the victim. The rain and thunder would in all human probabilityhave drowned both.'
'Besides which his lordship is neither sharp-eared nor observant,' saidMrs Pansey, spitefully; 'a man less fitted to be a bishop doesn't live.'
'Oh, dear Mrs Pansey! you are too hard on him.'
'Rubbish! don't tell me! What about his sons, Mr Cargrim? Did they hearanything?'
'I don't quite follow you, Mrs Pansey.'
'Bless the man, I'm talking English, I hope. Both George and GabrielPendle were on Southberry Heath on Sunday night.'
'Are you sure!' cried the chaplain, doubtful if he heard aright.
'Of course I am sure,' snorted the lady. 'Would I speak so positively ifI wasn't? No, indeed. I got the news from my page-boy.'
'Really! from that sweet little Cyril!'
'Yes, from that worthless scamp Cyril! Cyril,' repeated Mrs Pansey, witha snort, 'the idea of a pauper like Mrs Jennings giving her brat such afine name. Well, it was Cyril's night out on Sunday, and he did not comehome till late, and then made his appearance very wet and dirty. He toldme that he had been on Southberry Heath and had been almost knocked intoa ditch by Mr Pendle galloping past. I asked him which Mr Pendle hadbeen out riding on Sunday, and he declared that he had seen themboth--George about eight o'clock when he was on the Heath, and Gabrielshortly after nine, as he was coming home. I gave the wretched boy agood scolding, no supper, and a psalm to commit to memory!'
'George and Gabriel Pendle riding on Southberry Heath on that night,'said the chaplain, thoughtfully; 'it is very strange.'
'Strange!' almost shouted Mrs Pansey, 'it's worse than strange--it'sSabbath-breaking--and their father riding also. No wonder the mystery ofiniquity doth work, when those high in the land break the fourthcommandment; are you going, Mr Cargrim?'
'Yes! I am sorry to leave such charming company, but I have anengagement. Good-bye, Miss Norsham; your tea was worthy of the fairhands which made it. Good-bye, Mrs Pansey. Let us hope that theauthorities will discover and punish this unknown Cain.'
'Cain or Jezebel,' said Mrs Pansey, darkly, 'it's one or the other ofthem.'
Whether the good lady meant to indicate Miss Whichello by the secondname, Mr Cargrim did not stay to inquire, as he was in a hurry to seeher himself and find out why she had visited the dead-house. Hetherefore bowed and smiled himself out of Mrs Pansey's gaol, and walkedas rapidly as he was able to the little house in the shadow of thecathedral towers. Here he found Miss Whichello all alone, as Mab hadgone out to tea with some friends. The little lady welcomed him warmly,quite ignorant of what a viper she was inviting to warm itself on herhearth, and visitor and hostess were soon chattering amicably on themost friendly of terms.
Gradually Cargrim brought round the conversation to Mrs Pansey andmentioned that he had been paying her a visit.
'I hope you enjoyed yourself, I'm sure, Mr Cargrim,' said MissWhichello, good-humouredly, 'but it gives me no pleasure to visit MrsPansey.'
'Well, do you know, Miss Whichello, I find her rather amusing. She is avery observant lady, and converses wittily about what she observes.'
'She talks scandal, if that is what you mean.'
'I am afraid that word is rather harsh, Miss Whichello.'
'It may be, sir, but it is rather appropriate--to Mrs Pansey! Well! andwho was she talking about to-day?'
'About several people, my dear lady; yourself amongst the number.'
'Indeed!' Miss Whichello drew her little body up stiffly. 'And had sheanything unpleasant to say about me?'
'Oh, not at all. She only remarked that she saw you visiting thedead-house last week.'
Miss Whichello let fall her cup with a crash, and turned pale. 'How doesshe know that?' was her sharp question.
'She saw you,' repeated the chaplain; 'and in spite of your veil sherecognised you by your cloak and bonnet.'
'I am greatly obliged to Mrs Pansey for the interest she takes in mybusiness,' said Miss Whichello, in her most stately manner. 'I did visitthe Beorminster dead-house. Th
ere!'