CHAPTER XIV
Barrant found the inn at the dark end of a stone alley, with the sound oftipsy singing and shuffling feet coming through the half-open door. Hemade his way up three granite steps into a side-entrance, catching aglimpse through a glass partition of shaggy red faces and pint potsfloating in a fog of tobacco smoke. A stout landlord leaned behind the barwatching his customers with the tolerant smile of a man who was making aliving out of their merriment. He straightened himself as he caught sightof Barrant, and opened the sliding window. The detective inquired aboutthe wagonette, and learnt that it had not yet arrived.
"The roouds is rough, and old Garge Crows takes his time," said thelandlord, eyeing Barrant with a heavy stare. "'Tain't as thow 'e had apassel of passergers to be teeren rownd after."
"Can you give me some supper while I'm waiting?"
"Sooper?" The innkeeper scratched his chin doubtfully. "'Tis late in theebenin' to be getting sooper. There's nawthing greut in the howse. Youcould 'ave some tay--p'raps an egg."
"That will do."
The innkeeper roared forth a summons, which was answered by a ruggedCornish lass from the kitchen. She cast a doubtful glance on the young manwhen she learnt what was required, and took him into a small sitting-room,where she left him to gaze at his leisure upon a framed portrait of CecilRhodes, a stuffed gannet in a large glass case, and a stuffed badger in acompanion case on the other side of the wall. In about twenty minutes shereturned with a tray, and placed before the detective a couple of eggs,some bread and butter, saffron cake, and a pot of tea. The eggs were ofpeculiar mottled exterior, and when tasted had such a strong fish-likeflavour as to suggest that they might have been laid by the gannet in itslifetime, and stowed away by a careful Cornish housewife until somestranger chanced to visit that remote spot. Barrant was hungry enough togulp them down, though with a wry face. He had just finished a second cupof very strong tea when he heard the clatter of a vehicle outside, and thegirl thrust a tousled dark head through the door to announce the arrivalof Mr. Crows and his wagonette.
Barrant paid for his food and went out. An ancient hooded vehicle filledthe narrow way, drawn by a large shaggy horse which turned a gleaming eyeon the detective as he emerged, and snorted loudly, as though resentingthe prospect of having to drag his additional weight back to the town. Thedriver sat motionless on the box, watching the caperings of the tipsytin-miners through the half-open door: a melancholy death'shead of a man,with a preternaturally long white face, and a figure shrouded in a darkcloak, looking as though he might be Death itself, waiting for thecarousers to drop dead of apoplexy before carrying them off in hisfunereal equipage. In reply to Barrant's question he informed him that thevehicle was destined for Penzance, and immediately the detective enteredthe dark interior he drove off with disconcerting suddenness, as though hehad been waiting for him only, and was determined to make sure of himbefore he had time to escape.
The shaggy horse lumbered forward at an unwilling trot, like an animaldisillusioned with life. Soon they cleared the churchtown and entered thedarkness of the moors. A long and tiring day disposed Barrant to slumber.He had begun to nod sleepily when the wagonette stopped with a jerk whichshook him into wakefulness. He was able to make out that they had reachedthe highest elevation of the moors--the cross-roads from where InspectorDawfield had shown him Flint House in the distance that afternoon. Hecould just discern the outlines of the wayside cross and the old Druidicalmonolith, both pointing to the silent heavens in unwonted religious amity.
"Good ebenen', Garge." A lusty voice hailed out of the darkness, and thenBarrant was aware of somebody entering the wagonette, a large male bodywhich plumped heavily on his knees as it started again.
"Bed pardin, I'm sure. Aw dedn't knaw Crows had another passengerto-night." A husky voice spoke unseen. "'Taint often it 'appens." Therewas the splutter of a match, and as it flared up Barrant saw a pair oftwinkling grey eyes regarding him from a brown and rugged face. "Old Gargenever reckons on haavin' passengers back by th' laast wagonette, so 'enever lights up inside. I'll make a light now, then we'll be morecomfortable." He struck another match and lit the candle in the wagonettelamp, and was revealed to Barrant's eyes as a stout and pleasant-faced manof fifty or so, with something seamanlike, or at least boatmanlike, in hisappearance. He gave the detective a smile and a nod, and added, "Old Crowsis fullish mean about candles."
"It's a wonder he drives the wagonette at all, if there is no demand forit," remarked Barrant.
"Aw, there's a'plenty demand for it--always lots of passergers except bythis one," rejoined the man in the blue suit. "You'd be surprised howpeople gets about in these paarts." He was studying the detective's facewith interest. "You be a Londoner," he said quickly. "What braught youdown here?"
"How do you know that I'm a Londoner?" said Barrant, parrying the latterpart of the question.
"I can tell a Londoner at once," returned the other.
"'Twould be straange if I couldn't. I'm Peter Portgartha. P'raps youhaven't heard of me, but I'm well known hereabouts, and if you want to seeany of the sights, you'd best coome to me, and I'll show you round."
"A guide, eh?"
"There be guides and guides. I'll say nathin' about th' others, butthere's nobody knaws this part of Cornwall like me. I was born and bredand knaw every inch of it. Before the waar I've had London ladies say tome: ''Ave you ever seen the Bay of Naples, or the Canaries? Oh, you shouldsee them, Mr. Portgartha, they're ever so much more grand than Cornwall.'Well, while the war was on I did see the Canaries and Bay of Naples atGovernment's expense on a minesweeper, and they're not a patch on theCornwall coast. There's nathin' to beat it in the world."
"It's good, is it?" said Barrant, with his accustomed affability tostrangers. "If I want to see any of it I'll get you to show me round."
"Just came along to th' Mousehole and ask for Peter Portgartha. There's agreat cave at the Mouse's Hole--that's what we call it hereabouts, thatain't to be beaten in the whole world. If your good lady's here, bring herwith you to see it. There ain't nobody else can show it to her like I can.The London ladies don't like goin' down the Mousehole cave as a rule,because it's a stiffish bit of a climb, and in the holiday season there'salways a lot of raffish young fellows hangin' round to see the ladies godown--to see what they can see, you knaw. But I never 'ave no accidentslike that. No bold-eyed young chap ever saw the leg of any lady in mycharge--not so much as the top of a boot, because I knaw how to taake themdown. I'm well known to some of the 'ighest ladies in the land because I'ev been aable to take care of their legs when they were goin' down. I'vehad letters from them thaankin' me. You've no idea how grateful they be."
This startling instance of the stern morality of aristocratic womanhoodwas unfortunately wasted on Barrant, whose thoughts had reverted to theprincipal preoccupation of his mind. Mr. Portgartha rambled on.
"Aw, but it's strange to be meetin' you like this, in old Garge'swagonette. For twelve months I've been goin' acrass the moors to see asister of mine, who's lonely, poor saul, havin' lost her man in thewar--drawned in a drifter 'e was--and catchin' this wagonette back everynight, with never a saul to speak to, until last night. Last night therewas a passerger, and to-night there's you. Tes strange, come to think ofit." He looked hard at Barrant as if for some confirmatory expression ofsurprise at this remarkable accession to the wagonette's fares. He waitedso long that Barrant felt called upon to say something.
"Who was your fellow passenger last night?"
"Now you're asking me a question which takes a bit of answerin'," repliedMr. Portgartha. "'Twas like this. I was waitin' at the crass-roads for oldGarge to come along, when a young womon came up out of th' darkness andstood not far from me--just by the ol' crass. I tried to maake out who shewas, but it was too daark. So I just says to her, 'Good ebenin', miss, areyou waitin' for the wagonette too?' She never answered a word, and beforeI could think of anything else to say old Garge came along, and we bothgot in. She sat in a corner, silent as a ghooste
. Well, then, I went tolight th' lamp, same as I have to-night, but as luck would 'ave it, Ihadn't a match. I knaw it was no use askin' old Garge, 'cos he'd pretendnot to hear, so I turned to the young womon sittin' opposite, and askedher if she had a match in her pocket. And do you knaw, I declare togudeness she never said nawthen, not so much as a word!"
"Perhaps she was dumb?" Barrant suggested.
"Aw, iss, doomb enough then," retorted Mr. Portgartha. "I tried her two orthree times more, but couldn't get a word out of her. Well, at last Ibegan to get narvous, thinkin' she might be a sperit. So I leant across toher an' says, 'Caan't you say a word, miss? It's only Peter Portgarthaspeaking, he's well known for his respect for your sect. No young womonneed be frightened of speakin' to Peter Portgartha.' And with that shespaaks at last, with a quick little gasp like a sob--I'm thinking I canhear it at this minute--'Aw,' she says, 'why caan't you leave me alone?''Never be afraaid,' I says, for I have my pride like other folk, 'I'll sayno more. Peter Portgartha has no need to foorce his conversation where itain't welcome.'"
"A strange girl!" said Barrant, beginning to feel an interest in thestory. "Have you no idea who she was?"
"Wait a bit," continued Mr. Portgartha, evidently objecting to anyintrusion on his right, as narrator, to a delayed climax. "Well, there wesat, like two ghoostes, till we got to Penzance, but all the time I wasthinkin' to mysel' that I'd find out who she was. I sed to myself I'd rideon to the station, instid of gettin' out a piece this side of it so as tomake a short cut across to the Mouse's Hole, as I usually do. But thatstupid old fule Garge pulled up as usual and bawls through the window,'Are you going to keep me here all night, Peter?' Before I could say aword the young womon says: 'I'll get out here.' With that she puts thefare into his hand through the open window, and slips out afore I knewwhat she was going to do. If it hadn't been for my rhoomatics, which I gotin the war, I'd 'a followed her. As it was, I couldn't."
"So you didn't see her face, after all?" asked Barrant quickly.
"I didn't, in a manner of speakin'. But I did get a glimpse of her as shepassed near the lamp-post--just a half-sight of two big dark eyes in awhite face as she went past. I wouldn't 'a thought no more of it," addedMr. Portgartha, laying an impressive hand on his companion's knee, "butfor what happened at Flint House last night."
"What's that got to do with it?" In his quickened interest Barrant vainlystrove to make his voice appear calm.
"Because the young womon must have coome from Flint House."
Barrant scrutinized his companion sharply in the dim light. "Why do youthink so?" he asked.
"For'n thing, the wayside crass where she picked up the wagonette is notfar from Flint House by acrass the moors--closer'n goin' from the house onthe cliffs t' the churchtown, which is a good slant to the north of it.From Flint House to the crass-roads it's straight as a dart, if you knowyer way, with only one house twixt it till you come arver to it--oldFarmer Bardsley, who ain't got no wemmenfolk, so it's sartin she didn'tcome from theer. She wasn't a maa'iden from any of the farms of the moors,for I know them all. But it weren't till this marning that I got a kind ofnotion who she was. I dropped into the _Tolpen Arms_ to have a dropof something for a cawld I've got, and some of the fishermen were talkin'about th' old gentleman of Flint House blowing his head off last nightwith a gun. It made me feel queery-like when I heerd aboot it. 'Why,' Isays, 'that'll be about the time I saw the strange young womon in ol'Crows' wagonette. She must 'ave come from Flint House, now I coome tothink of it.' 'What young woman was that?' asked 'Enery Waitts. So I toldthem what had happened to me, just like I've told it to you. Mrs. Keegan,the land-lady, who was list'ning, says, 'I shouldn't be surprised if itwas Mr. Turold's daughter that you saw. I heard yesterday that his sisterwas staying at Penzance, so p'raps she was going to her, after ithappened. So if it was her it's not surprisin' she didn't want to speak toyou in her grief.'"
"Did you ever see Miss Turold?"
"I've never see any one of the Flint House folk, though I've heerd ofthem, often enough."
"Did you notice in which direction this girl went?"
"No. She passed the lamp-post as if she were maakin' up Market Jew Street,but I suppose she ced 'ave turned off anywhere to the right or left."
"What time was it when the wagonette reached the cross-roads on the moor,where she got in?"
"About the same time as to-night, getting on for ten, mebbe."
"She was quite alone?"
"As lonely as any she ghooste, standin' theer by the old crass. 'Twaasbecause I thought she'd feel feersome that I spoke to her."
Barrant relapsed into a thoughtful silence which lasted until thewagonette pulled up and his fellow-traveller prepared to alight. Then heturned to him and said--
"Good-night. I may see you again."
He fumbled at the interior window as he spoke, opened it, and touched thedriver on the shoulder. "Drive me to the Central Hotel," he said. "Go asfast as you can, and I'll give you ten shillings!"
Mr. Crows nodded a cold acquiescence, and they rattled off down the silentstreet, leaving on Barrant's mind a receding impression of a startled redface staring after them from the footpath. The wagonette jolted round acorner, and ten minutes later stopped at the entrance of the hotel whereMrs. Pendleton was staying.