CHAPTER XXXVI.
A STRANGE THING HAPPENS.
THE next morning Claude received a second letter from Hilliston, statingthat as his wife was ill he would be unable to come over to Thorston,but directing the young man to go to Rose Cottage at noon, when Mr.Paynton would be ready to receive him. Tait regretted that he had notbeen included in the invitation, and carefully instructed Claude how toact during the interview.
"I believe Paynton can settle the matter," were his parting words, "soput love out of your head for the time being, and do your best toextract the truth."
Anxious to oblige one who took so much interest in his private affairs,Larcher promised to do what he could, and shortly after eleven startedfor Rose Cottage. As a matter of fact, he need not have gone so soon,but he did so in the hope of meeting with Jenny. Well acquainted as hewas with her movements, his surmise proved correct, for he met the younglady at the end of Nightingale Lane. She blushed, and expressed surpriseat the meeting. But such feigning is part of love's comedy.
"I did not expect to see you here, Mr. Larcher," she said, after thefirst greetings had passed between them. "Where are you going?"
"I am about to call on your father."
"Really!" said Jenny, with some perplexity and more doubt. "I am afraidyou go on a useless errand. My father sees no one."
"He will see me," replied Claude quietly. "I come by appointment. Mr.Hilliston spoke to your father, with the result that he has agreed tosee me."
"Has your visit anything to do with--with that novel?"
"It has everything to do with it. I wish to ask Mr. Paynton somequestions in connection with my father's death."
"But he knows nothing--nothing!" cried Jenny vehemently; "he can tellyou nothing! It is worse than useless for you to speak to him on thesubject. You will only make him ill."
"But I have to speak to him on another subject," said Claude artfully.
Jenny looked up inquiringly, remarked the passion in his gaze, andturned away her face with a blush. Much as she would have liked to, shefound it impossible to appear ignorant of his meaning.
"It seems to me that I am the person to be first consulted," she said,with a pout.
"Jenny, I----"
"Hush! Here is Kerry. See my father first, and then see me. Till thengood-by."
She flitted rapidly away, and turned the corner of the lane as Kerry,more crabbed-looking than ever, came up to where Claude was standing. Itwas then that Larcher saw that the old servant was suffering under somestrong emotion. His eyes were brighter than usual, his lips quivered,and he was so nervous that he could keep neither limbs nor body at rest.Rightly connecting this agitation with his visit, Claude wisely held hispeace, and waited to hear what Kerry had to say.
"You'll be after seeing the master, sir," said Kerry, in breathlessanxiety. "He is waiting for you, sir, in the garden."
"I was just on my way there, Kerry, and stopped to speak for a fewminutes to Miss Jenny. I am very glad that Mr. Paynton has consented tosee me."
"And you may well be glad, Master Claude."
"Master Claude!" echoed the young man, stopping short.
"Oh, blazes! 'twas a slip of the tongue, sir," cried Kerry anxiously."Don't notice it, sir. Sure, it's old I am, and my mind wanders."
"Then you deny that you are Denis Bantry?"
"Say nothing of that, sir. Let the master speak his own mind to you.You'll know soon enough who I am, and that's a fact, anyhow."
"I am convinced in my own mind that you are my father's old servant,"said Larcher, as he resumed his walk, "but who your master is I am notso clear."
Kerry shook his head, and pursed up his lips, as though determined tolet no information escape him. They walked along in silence, and it wasonly when he unlocked the gate in the red brick wall that Kerry againopened his mouth.
"Keep silent, sir, if you love me," he said, in a low tone. "Don'tagitate the master. He'll do the speaking, and tell ye all ye wish toknow. Begad, and more too."
Larcher nodded, and passed into the garden. The morning was warm andsunny, and the colors of the flowers were dazzling in the warm glow,against the white walls of the cottage. With his hands clasped behindhis back, Paynton paced meditatively up and down the path before thehouse, but stopped as he caught sight of his visitor. Taking off his hatin tribute to the venerable looks of the old gentleman, Claude bowed,and waited to be addressed. For some moments Paynton looked at him insilence, with much emotion, then controlling himself with somedifficulty held out his hand.
"I am glad to see you, Mr.--Mr.----"
"Larcher," suggested Claude, seeing his host at a loss for the name.
"Larcher!" gasped Paynton, with an effort, "yes--yes! My friend, Mr.Hilliston, advised me of your coming. Let us enter the house. We willhave more privacy there."
As Claude knew no one was about in that walled place but Kerry and thedeaf old housekeeper, he wondered what further privacy was necessary;but considering that Paynton had doubtless good reason for his action,he bowed silently and followed him within, as requested.
In a few minutes they were in the bookroom. Paynton seated himself insuch a position as to place his back to the strong light shining throughthe window, and asked Claude to be seated in a chair which lacked thisadvantage. In this way Paynton could observe every change in the face ofhis visitor, while his own, being in the shadow, was more difficult toread. Larcher saw the maneuver, but did not think it necessary to makeany objection. In his place Tait would have acted differently.
"I am greatly obliged that you have consented to see me," said Claude,breaking the silence, "for I am informed that you live a very secludedlife."
"That is true. I accord you this interview at the request of my friend,Mr. Hilliston, but at the same time I may tell you that I have my ownreasons for granting it."
"I think I can guess your reasons, Mr. Paynton."
"No doubt," replied Paynton, touching a book on the table; "they are notunconnected with this novel. You know, of course, that my daughter--thatJenny supplied young Linton with the material for his plot."
"I do. She found the report of my father's murder in some old newspapersin this house."
"Did you not think it strange that I should be in possession of such areport?"
"Naturally I did," answered Claude, replying to this direct questionwith marked embarrassment, "and it is on that account that I ask you tohelp me."
"Do you think I can do so?"
"I am sure of it."
"Why?" asked Paynton, in an unsteady voice.
"Because you know about the matter. You retained the report of thetrial. Denis Bantry is in your service under the name of Kerry, and----"
"How do you know that?"
"Why, in the third volume of that book there is an episode of a scarfpinwhich is not mentioned in the report of the trial, but which was told toMiss Paynton by the man you call Kerry. Now, only two persons knew thata scarfpin was picked up in the grounds of The Laurels after the murder.One was Hilliston, the other Denis Bantry. You must see, Mr. Paynton,that I can only come to one conclusion."
"I presume you got this information from Hilliston," said Paynton, in analtered voice.
"Mr. Hilliston spoke of it," replied Claude cautiously.
He did not intend to reveal that he had heard it from his mother, orindeed to reveal the existence of Mrs. Larcher until he was sure of hisground, and positive of Paynton's identity. Accepting his diplomaticanswer in the affirmative, Paynton nodded, and went on with hisquestioning.
"You spoke to Kerry on the subject?"
"I did. But, as you may guess, I failed."
"Naturally. Kerry is a faithful servant. I owe more to him than I canever repay. But here we are talking about the murder," added Payntonirrelevantly, "when you wish to speak about Jenny, at least so Hillistoninformed me."
"I do wish to speak of your daughter later on," said Claude, with aflushed cheek; "but in the meanti
me I am anxious to come to anunderstanding about this crime."
"Why?" said Paynton, rather disconcerted at his failure to turn theconversation.
"Because I have sworn to avenge the death of my father."
"That is what a good son should do," said Paynton thoughtfully. "Butafter twenty-five years the chances are small. You wish to find themurderer--so do I."
"You!"
"Yes. I am more deeply interested in this matter than you suppose. Whodo you think I am?" he asked.
"I cannot say, unless you are Jeringham."
"Jeringham?" said Paynton in a faltering tone. "No, I am not Jeringham,poor soul! Do you think him guilty of the crime?"
"I do and I don't. Sometimes it seems so, at others I fancy Hilliston tobe guilty."
"Hilliston guilty!" said Paynton, rising. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, it is only a theory," said Claude hastily. "But my friend Tait, whowas at Horriston a few days ago, found out all kinds of things whichimplicated one person and another. He found----"
"Don't tell me--don't tell me," said Paynton hastily. "I cannot talk toyou longer or else I shall be ill. This interview has already tried metoo much. Here," he added, unlocking a drawer in his desk, "take thesepapers. You will find in them a full account of all I know of thematter."
"You were, then, an eye-witness?" said Claude, joyfully slipping theroll of manuscript into his pocket. He had been more successful than hehad hoped to be.
Paynton pressed his hands together, and looked eagerly at Claude. "I canbear it no longer," he said impatiently, laying his hands on theshoulders of the astonished young man. "Boy--boy, can you not guess whoI am?"
"No," replied Larcher, rising to his feet in some wonder, "I do not knowwho you can be, unless you are Jeringham."
"I am not Jeringham. He is dead."
"Dead!"
"Aye, murdered. Can you not see--can you not guess? Claude, the man whowas killed at Horriston was not George Larcher, it was Mark Jeringham!"
"But you--you----"
"I am your father!"