CHAPTER FOUR
_A LADY INTERRUPTS_
Anthony Trent told the obliging manager of the Maids' Head Hotel that hewas interested mainly in the study of cathedral churches and since hehad now studied the magnificent Norwich cathedral would push on to Ely.
He found England an exceedingly easy place to shake off pursuers despiteits small size. There were always junctions where he could change fromone line to another without incurring suspicion. He started for Ely butwas soon lost among the summer crowds which thronged the university cityof Cambridge. The convenient system of merely claiming one's baggage andordering a porter to take it to car or taxi rendered the tracking of itby baggage checks almost impossible.
While it was true he was not pursued, so far as he knew, he wanted to becareful. It was not likely Langley would charge him with the theft ofthe Ladigny confession but it was quite probable that the Colonel mightsuspect the writer of the confession. He might think that Smith hadhired a clever American safe breaker to win for him what was verynecessary for his freedom of action. And Smith, if he did not alreadyknow it, would find the man over whom he held many years in Americanprisons almost within his clutches.
It was necessary that Anthony Trent should see Smith first and make abargain with him. It was imperative that he meet the man alone and wherehe could place the cards on the table and talk freely.
In a room of the quaint half-timbered hostelry in Norwich Trent had comeacross some useful books of reference. There were, for example, suchguides to knowledge as "Crockford's Clerical Directory"; "Hart's ArmyList"; the "Court Directory of London" and "Lodge's Peerage andBaronetage." The name for which Trent sought diligently was that ofArthur Spencer Jerningham Grenvil. By these names Private William Smithhad the legal right to be known. By these names he had signed aconfession.
A. S. J. Grenvil had admitted forging a check for two hundred pounds.The signature he had skilfully imitated was that of Reginald Langley ofDereham Old Hall in the county of Norfolk.
There was a copy of a letter written by Colonel Langley to Grenvil datedsix years before. On the whole it was a letter which impressed Trentfavorably. It was written from rather a lofty altitude by a man to whomfamily honor and the motto _noblesse oblige_ meant a whole code ofchivalry.
"Until you went to Sandhurst you were a credit to your name and thegreat family from which you spring," he read. "Suddenly, without anywarning, your habits altered and you became a gambler. Well, many ofyour race have gambled, but at least they played fair and paid what theyowed. You did not even do that. It was with great difficulty that yourfather was able to get you your commission in my old regiment. We hopedyou would feel that in the presence of so many men of birth and breedingthat you must alter your habits and wear with credit your sovereign'suniform. And now you are a common forger. Of course the signature youforged will be honored. But I require this of you: that you will confessto me your guilt; that you will leave the regiment; that you will dosome honest work and re-establish yourself in my eyes. I will see to itthat work of a not unpleasing kind is found for you in Australia. On mypart I will undertake to keep your secret so long as you keep away fromEngland. Remember, Arthur, there are other discreditable things I couldbring to your notice if I chose. I am anxious that my kinsman, yourfather, should not suffer any more from your escapades. On receipt ofthis letter proceed to my lawyers whose address you know. They haveinstructions what to do."
It was plain that the father of the man he had known as William Smithwas of rank. The fact that he was a kinsman of Colonel Langley might beexplained by reference to the fifth book on the shelf at the Maids'Head--"Debrett's Landed Gentry of Gt. Britain."
He turned to Langley of Dereham Old Hall. Langley's mother, it seemed,was the Lady Dorothea Grenvil daughter of the ninth, and sister of thepresent Earl of Rosecarrel. Grenvil, therefore, was the family name ofthe Earls of Rosecarrel.
In the peerage all the particulars concerning the Grenvils were laidbare. The tenth earl, who had been British Ambassador to Turkey, was aKnight of the Garter, etc., etc., had married Elizabeth only daughter ofAdmiral, Lord Arthur Jerningham and had issue:
First the heir, Viscount St. Just, major in the Royal Horse Guards,V.C.G.C.B. Second and third, two sons killed in the great war. Fourth,Arthur Spencer Jerningham Grenvil of whom no particulars were given.Fifth came the Lady Rhona Elizabeth Onslow married to the Duke ofOntarlier in the peerage of France and last the Lady Daphne VilliersGrenvil, unmarried. Trent reckoned out that she would be a girl oftwenty-one. Private Smith would be twenty-six.
The town house of the Earls of Rosecarrel was in Grosvenor Place andtheir country seats were Alderwood Hall in Cambridgeshire and RosecarrelCastle in Cornwall.
Alderwood Hall was six miles from the university city and the housecould be seen on one of the small hills to the west of the town. A guidebook informed Trent that the house was thrown open to visitors onThursdays at a small fee which went to the local hospital. There were tobe seen some notable examples of the "Norwich School" works by Crome,Cotman, Vincent and Stark.
The butler was distressed by the heat of early September and dismissedthe visitors as soon as possible. But he regarded the American touristin a different light for Trent had slipped him a half sovereign.
"I want to take my time," said Trent, "I like pictures and I want toexamine these more closely."
"Certainly, sir," said the butler. "Anything I can do to help you Ishall be proud to do."
Anthony Trent, who had a wide knowledge of paintings of the outdoors andpossessed one of the world's missing masterpieces, none other than _TheVenetian Masque_ of Giorgione which he had taken from a vulgar andunappreciative millionaire, looked at the fresh, simple landscapes withjoy.
"Is the family in residence?" he asked when he had finished.
"The Earl always spends the summer at Rosecarrel," the man answered. "Hekeeps his yacht in Fowey Harbour. I'm afraid his lordship is failing.You see the loss of Master Gervase and Master Bevil was a terribleshock. We lost seven out of our twelve gardeners here and two of themthat came back won't ever be much good."
"What about Mr. Arthur Grenvil?" Trent asked idly. "I used to know him."
"He's back," the butler said. But the look of affection which the oldfamily servant had shown when he spoke of the two who had fallen wasgone. "I'll say this for Master Arthur, he fought too and got wounded.There's none that can say aught against his pluck."
"He is cool enough," Trent said, and thought of the scene in thedug-out when he and Arthur Grenvil waited for death and did not give wayto terror. "He's down in Cornwall with the Earl, I suppose?"
"And Lady Daphne," the butler added. "Since the death of the Countessshe looks after everything."
Trent visualized one of those managing domineering young women who ruletenants relentlessly but after all exercise benevolent despotism inbucolic matters.
"Was he badly hurt?" Trent asked before he left.
"I hardly knew him," the butler said. "I give you my word I was fairshocked at the difference; isn't for the likes of me to question theways of Providence but why Mr. Arthur was left and the others taken Idon't understand."
Anthony Trent wondered, too. It would have saved him a great deal ofworry if things had been reversed. On the whole this _mauvais sujet_, ofan ancient family was a consistent trouble maker.
* * * * *
A Bradshaw's time table showed Trent that as Lord Rosecarrel's yacht wasat Fowey he would be wise to make a trip to the Delectable Duchy, as aFowey author has termed Cornwall, and disguise himself as a tourist andthus pave the way for a meeting with Private William Smith.
He purchased a large scale automobile map of Cornwall and when hereached the quaint seaport had a fair idea of the locality. RosecarrelCastle lay some ten miles away on the moorland. The local guidebooktold him all about it. It was the great house of the neighbourhood, agranite built fastness which had suffered siege many times. The Grenvilswere a Cornish family of di
stinction and happier in their own WestCountree than on the Cambridge estates.
Trent had always found the consultation of local newspapers a great helptoward knowledge of a community and he immediately solaced himself withwhat Fowey had to offer. A perusal of the advertising columns gave him agood idea of what he could do to pass his time in a manner that wouldseem logical to the countryfolk. Since he was not a painter, and Foweyhad no golf links, his occupation in the absence of a sailing or powerboat was merely that of a sightseer and he felt out of his element inthis innocent guise.
The local paper showed him that there were several "rough shootings"that he might rent for the season. These were tracts of farm andmoorland where partridges, hares, woodcock and an occasional pheasantmight be found. One in the parish of St. Breward on the moorsparticularly attracted him. The local agent commended him on his wisdom.He did not know Anthony Trent had selected this desolate tract ofgranite strewn moor because Rosecarrel Castle was but a half dozen milesdistant.
Trent had been less than a week in Cornwall when he was installed in afarmhouse, the owner of a spaniel of great local repute, and regardedsimply as one of those sportsmen who took the shooting every year andas such was above suspicion. Mr. Nicholls, the loquacious agent who hadrented him the shooting and had driven him over to view it, talked agreat deal of the great Earl of Rosecarrel. He regretted that since thedeath of the Countess few guests stayed within the castle. There hadbeen brave days a few years back when Lord St. Just the son and heir hadbeen master of the North Cornwall Foxhounds.
"But there's only the Honourable Arthur Grenvil there now," saidNicholls, "and Lady Daphne. Lord St. Just is military attache atWashington."
"Since when?" Trent demanded.
"Within a few weeks," said the agent.
That was the reason why the younger brother had been to see him off atLiverpool. It was quite likely that Private Smith assumed Anthony Trentto be dead. Or he might have thought him boasting of another's deeds.But Trent was going to find out if possible. This time he had materialsfor a compromise. Suddenly Nicholls pointed out a figure on horsebackfully a half mile distant.
"Like enough," said the agent, "that's the Honourable Arthur. He ridesabout on the moors a lot. All this land as far as you can see belongs tothe Earl."
Trent could see that the rider was cantering along narrow pathsinaccessible to vehicles. Well, the meeting would wait. Some morning hewould rein in his horse beside that of Private Smith and see recognitiondawn in the eye of the man when the visitor announced himself asAnthony Trent. Then covetousness would follow and the thought of richreward hearten the ex-private. Trent chuckled to himself as he thoughtof how the man's face would fall when he outlined his past history andshowed him he was in possession of secrets which, once public, mustbring him into the clutches of the inexorable, passionless law of therealm.
"Where can I get a horse?" he asked Nicholls.
"John Treleaven over to St. Kew has a good hunting horse he wants tosell. It will be a bargain at sixty pounds Mr. Trent. I'll tell him toride it over tomorrow if you like."
"All right," Trent said, "and I want saddle and bridle and so on."
So Anthony Trent added Treleaven's stout horse to his possessions andwhen he was not shooting, rode over the moorlands purple with Cornishheather and yellow with gorse.
Nearly always he rode near the castle of Rosecarrel and was oftenannoyed to find his pilgrimage shared by archaeologists and othervisitors. Rosecarrel Castle had begun as a fortress; when cannonrendered masonry useless it had become a castellated mansion and now itshowed the slow changes of the long centuries and was a delightfulresidence. The moat was a flower garden and the keeps were now greenwith grass and bright with roses.
Admission was by presentation of a visiting card on a certain day. Itwas no part of Trent's purpose to send the name in which might remindArthur Grenvil of that memorable talk in the dark. When he disclosedhimself it would be man to man and he was not able yet to satisfy hiscuriosity about the great building.
He was gratified to find that the river Camel running through part ofthe shooting he rented was a notable salmon and trout stream. The troutwere small but the sea-run salmon went as high as thirty pounds. InKennebago where his Maine camp was the land-locked variety seldom wentto more than seven pounds. Directly he had secured his license, and theequipment he wired to London for had arrived, he clambered down thesteep hill side to the river. But he fished very little that afternoonfor as he climbed over one of the granite stiles he came face to facewith two other anglers, a man and girl.
The girl was none other than the mysterious lady in blue for whom he hadopened Colonel Langley's safe. She came forward hand outstretched whenshe saw him.
That she was a little confused he was certain, and perhaps a triflefearful that he might make some allusion to the oddity of thecircumstances under which they had first met. The man was almost ahundred feet from her. He was casting and too interested to look atanything but the deep pool in which salmon were wont to lie.
"I was never able to thank you for that, that night at Dereham," shebegan, "but my father had one of his attacks and I had to leave the verynext day just before luncheon. I hope you had good sport."
"Unusually good," he said. It was a great piece of luck that she stillassumed him to be of the house party. But what was she doing here? Whenhe asked she said, "We live near here." She looked around to see hercompanion coming toward her and the stranger.
"This is my brother," she said, "Arthur Grenvil. Arthur this gentlemanwas staying at Dereham Old Hall when I was there. Mr.?" She looked athim pleadingly, "I'm so stupid about names."
The stranger seemed to be looking at her when he answered, but his eyeswere upon Arthur Grenvil.
"Anthony Trent," he said urbanely.
"How do you do," Grenvil said without betraying any emotion. "Had anyluck?"
"Not yet," Anthony Trent said still looking hard at him. Things werehappening rather more quickly than he liked. Too many discoveries weredisconcerting. First this girl was of course Lady Daphne Grenvil. Andshe had not any other motive in view in abstracting the confession thanof helping her renegade brother. Anthony Trent felt himself absurdlypleased to know that. He had thought of her constantly and pitied herbecause he assumed her to be under the domination of a handsomeheartless scamp like the Honourable Arthur.
It was Grenvil's attitude which puzzled the American. The name hadapparently aroused no suspicion. It proved the man was more dangerousthan he supposed if he were able to master his emotions with such ease.As they stood there chatting about flies and the size of the salmonAnthony Trent had time to study Grenvil's appearance. Assuredly hediffered from the mental picture he had formed of him.
To begin with there seemed nothing vicious about him. He was a veryhandsome man with small regular features, finely formed nose andengaging blue eyes. Anthony Trent thought of the confession he had seenand remembered the talk in the dug-out. He called to mind the hints thatthe Alderbrook butler had let drop and the lack of enthusiasm the agentNicholls had shown in speaking of him. From all accounts Arthur SpencerJerningham Grenvil should be a very highly polished scoundrel butcoarsened somewhat from his experiences in the ranks for so many years.
And here he was with a sister he plainly adored, looking with a sort ofshy good nature at the stranger.
"It's so jolly to meet another keen fisherman," he said amiably, "I knowthe Camel so well that I can show you the best pools if you'd care aboutit."
"That would be very kind of you," Anthony Trent returned. He did notknow what to make of the man he had first known as Private Smith. Theremight be a mistake and yet, if there had been, why should Lady Daphnehave risked disgrace in breaking open a safe for his sake. And thevoice, the unmistakable voice, was that of the man to whom he hadconfided all his dangerous, deadly secrets. "I haven't fished the riverfor almost seven years," the younger man went on.
"My brother has been in the army for more than five years," the girlsaid, "
and he hadn't much chance then. He was badly wounded and we aremaking him well again."
"I'm being horribly spoiled, Mr. Trent," Grenvil smiled, "and I ratherlike it. Did you get in the big show by any chance?"
"As long as I could be after my country declared war," Trent saidlooking at him hard. "We must exchange experiences."
"Please don't," the girl begged, "Arthur's nerves can't stand it. Thedoctors say he must live outdoors and forget everything."
"And are you able to forget--everything?" Trent asked him.
Arthur Grenvil frowned a little. It was as though the memory ofsomething unpleasing had lingered for a moment.
"Most things," said the other.
"Is it wise?" Trent demanded. This refusing even by a look or a smile toacknowledge that he remembered the memorable talk was disturbing.
"Perhaps not," Grenvil admitted, "but wisdom and I never got on verywell together."
The sound of a motor horn broke the silence.
"The car," said Arthur Grenvil to his sister. "We have to run awaybecause people are coming over from the barracks to lunch. I hope Ishall meet you again Mr. Trent." He nodded pleasantly. "Come onDaphne."
"Goodbye, Mr. Trent," she said brightly. "I hope you'll land a monsterfish."
Anthony Trent flung himself on the grass at the edge of the pool andlighted his pipe. Lordly salmon were no temptation to him at the moment.Private William Smith had beaten him so far. Private Smith had looked asinnocent as a babe. He had been polite and gracious but had refused toacknowledge any former acquaintance. Again and again in the few minutesTrent had telegraphed to him plainly, "Well, here I am, the mastercriminal you were proud to know, what are you going to do?" And everytime Private Smith had said, "I do not know you. I never saw youbefore." It was well enough to postpone the conversation until they werealone, but Trent resented the utter indifference of the younger man tohis appeal. A man dare only do that who had no fear. That must be thereason. Grenvil had made only general statements in his half confession,statements which could not convict him. He felt he held the whip handover the master. There would be a different expression on his face whenTrent dropped a hint as to the dangers of forging.
At the farm house where he was living Trent had little difficulty ingetting side lights on the Grenvil family. He had never heard suchdisapprobation showered on a single member of any family as was the casewith the farmer and his wife when they spoke of Arthur Grenvil.
They said his scandalous life had killed his mother. It was all badcompanionship and drink, Mrs. Bassett the farmer's wife contended. Hewas all right till he left school to go into the army. He was cruel toanimals and false to his friends.
"He doesn't look it," Trent said slowly.
"The devil gives his own a mask to fool the righteous," Mrs. Bassettcontended. She was a pious soul. "I ought to know. I was a nursemaid atthe castle before I married John Bassett."
Never in all his career as a breaker of laws and an abstractor of thevaluable property of others had Trent been so apprehensive as he was inquiet, beautiful Cornwall far from cities. In New York he had schooledhimself to look unconcerned at the police he met on every corner. Herethere seemed to be no police and yet he looked anxiously at everystranger who passed by the moorland farm. He told himself it was theeffect of his war hardships, his wounds and shell shock. But he knew hisnerves were steady, his muscles strong as ever and his healthmagnificent. He was forced to admit that he was on edge because of thismeeting with Arthur Grenvil.
"This has got to end," he said after breakfast next morning, "I've hadenough uncertainty."
A few minutes later he was on horseback and on his way to RosecarrelCastle. It might not be easy to see Grenvil in his home surrounded byservants but he would make the attempt. He had no reasonable excuse forinfringing the etiquette of the occasion. He had not been invited tocall and he knew no common friends of the family. It would be a businesscall. He would send in his card and say he desired to see Mr. ArthurGrenvil on a matter of importance.
He was within two miles of the castle when he saw the man he had come tosee mounted on a chestnut polo pony cantering along and driving a whitepolo ball over the stretch of firm turf.
Grenvil pulled up as he saw the American.
"Trying to get my eye back," he said smiling. "Corking game, polo, everplay it, Mr. Trent?"
"I've had to work too hard," Trent snapped.
"Much better for you I've no doubt," said Grenvil idly, "If one may askit, what sort of work did you do?"
"You've no idea I suppose?"
Grenvil looked at him mildly.
"How can I have any idea?" he asked.
Anthony Trent from his bigger horse looked down at the man on the polopony sourly. There was that bland look of irritating innocence thatwould have convinced any judge and jury. But it did not sway him.
In just such a pleasantly modulated voice, and with no doubt just suchan ingratiating smile Private Smith had feared Anthony Trent was dyingin very bad company.
"You said you were not able to forget everything. I supposed that mywork might be one of the things you still remembered."
At length Trent was able to observe that Arthur Grenvil looked lessconfident.
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you mean, Mr. Trent."
"The name Anthony Trent calls nothing to mind?"
"Sorry," Grenvil retorted, "I suppose I ought to know all about you."
"That's what you said before!" Trent exclaimed.
"Before?" There was no doubt now as to Grenvil's perturbation.
"Cut that out," Trent commanded angrily. "You did it very well, but I'msick and tired of fencing. What are you going to do about it?"
He was sure now that the other was frightened. That the emotion of feardid not bring anger in its train amazed Trent.
"Leave you to realize your mistake," Grenvil said after a pause. Thenwith a sharp stroke he sent the willow root ball spinning in thedirection of the castle, and followed it on his swift mount.
The horse that Trent had bought from John Treleaven the farmer was ahalf bred, a good, weight-carrying nag, a fine jumper, but not equal tothe task of overtaking the chestnut thoroughbred. There was nothing todo but pursue Grenvil into the castle grounds or give up the chase.Angry because he could not judge in what degree of peril if any, hestood, Anthony Trent rode back to the farm.