The Blue Diamond (25 page)

“Ay!” said Grimes slowly, mopping his head with his red handkerchief, and moving his feet about uneasily. “It—it wasn't its being hollow as startled us, Sir Arthur, but—but there was something inside.”

“What sort of something?” asked Sir Arthur, his tone catching some of the awe in the butcher's. “What on earth do you mean, Grimes?”

“There was something inside, Sir Arthur,” the man repeated slowly and ponderously. “Something—somebody, I ought to say, poor thing! Somebody as must ha' been made away with and put down there to be out of the way. They are saying down in the village—they are saying as it's that poor young woman that's been missing from the Manor since last June—Mrs. Marston's daughter, down at Lockford!”

“What?” Arthur's quick, horrified exclamation went unheeded as a hoarse, strangled shriek rang out behind him, and he turned to see Hilda with ashen face and straining eyeballs falling back apparently in violent hysterics.

With some curiosity as to Grimes's errand, and not conceiving it possible that it required anything in the nature of secrecy, Lady Laura had opened the drawing-room door just in time to hear the last speech.

“What did you say, Grimes? What is that you have found?” Lady Laura cried as Mavis caught Hilda and Arthur ran to help her.

“My lady, I can't say nothing of myself,'' Mr. Grimes said huskily, “save as it is some poor creature as some brute has rammed down there to be out of the way—leastways all that remains of her. There's them down there as are saying as it is Nurse Marston. I thought as it was nothing but right, seeing as she went away from the Manor, as I should drive up and tell Sir Arthur. Superintendent Stokes, he was coming up as I left, so he will tell us the rights of it all,'' with unintentional sarcasm. “Tom Greyson, he went off for Dr. Grieve, not as he would be any good, unless it was to speak as to who she was.''

“It—it can't be true!” Lady Laura cried piteously. “Who would hurt her? Garth, tell them it is a mistake! Indeed, it is not, it cannot be Nurse Marston!”

Garth's dark face seemed to have caught Grimes's pallor as, in response to this appeal, he came forward.

“This is a terrible thing, Grimes,'' he began, smoothing back the hair from his brow.

“Terrible it is, you are right, sir,'' the man returned stolidly.

“Have you any reason for thinking that it is—that the body is that of Nurse Marston, except that she is missing?”

Grimes hesitated and turned his hat about.

“Well, naturally, Mr. Davenant, sir, it were that as made us think of her,” he acknowledged frankly. “But though we couldn't recognize her face, poor thing—it were too late for that, and we didn't go for to move her, not till the police and the doctor came—it looked, as far as we could tell, as if she—it had on a nurse's dress.”

“Ah!” Half convulsively Lady Laura's hand clenched itself among the foamy chiffon at her breast.

Garth drew forward a heavy oaken chair.

“This has been a great shock for you, Lady Laura, you must rest. Ah, that is right!” as she sank into it. “Now this matter must be seen to without delay. Will you take me back with you, Grimes? The Marstons have been faithful friends of ours. If this should indeed be poor Mary, though I cannot accept that yet, I should like to feel assured that everything possible is done. But perhaps you are on your way somewhere else?” as the man did not reply.

“Well, no, sir; I am going straight back,” Grimes said after an appreciable pause. “And I can give you a seat if you want one.”

“On second thoughts,” Garth said quickly, a shade of hauteur in his tone, “I will drive myself, thanks! We will soon be back with the latest news for you, Lady Laura. Arthur, are you coming with me?” glancing with some distaste at the settle upon which Hilda had been laid and over which Sir Arthur was bending.

“In a minute,” he said, looking up. “You are better, are you not, dearest?”

Hilda only moaned feebly by way of reply, but Mavis answered for her.

“Yes, indeed she is. Do go, Arthur; she will be much better alone with me. It was the shock of this horrible thing!” She shuddered violently.

“You see, I feel that I must go,” Arthur said reluctantly.

“I think, Sir Arthur, perhaps if you would allow me to attend to the young ladies'—” Mrs. Parkyns' voice said behind him at this juncture.

“Come along, Hargreave!” Garth said impatiently.

But as he paused Hilda raised herself.

“Arthur, didn't I tell you when—when she appeared to us in the shrubbery that she was pointing straight at me? I am no better than a murderess!” hoarsely. “If she had not come here to nurse me she would have been safe now.'

“Eh, dear, eh, dear, Miss Hilda, and how could you help it, I should like to know, and you lying there ill on your bed?” Mrs. Parkyns asked sensibly.

Sir Arthur turned back, but the housekeeper shook her head at him.

“You only excite her, Sir Arthur, but she will be better with us, and maybe you will be able to come back soon and tell her that this is all a mistake.”

“Ah, why—why should she have been sent to nurse me?” Hilda wept as Mrs. Parkyns raised her and put some pillows under her. “If it had not been for that—”

“It would have been just the same, Miss Hilda, I shouldn't wonder,” Mrs. Parkyns observed. “Miss Mavis, if you could just put your arm under here I could raise her better.”

“I cannot understand it!” Arthur said, as he joined Grimes, who was already outside and getting into his cart.

“No more can't we, Sir Arthur; how anyone could bring himself to harm a pleasant body like her, as had always a good word for every one, I can't think. We shall know the rights of it soon now, I hope.”

“Ready, Arthur?” Garth's tone was crisp as he took the reins from the groom.

The feeling of oppression had gone from the air now, the threatening storm had apparently passed over for the time being, little puffs of wind were stirring the leaves and dashing the raindrops from the branches into Sir Arthur's face as they drove down the avenue.

“This is an awful thing, Garth!” he began. “The very idea of it has upset Hilda terribly. The poor girl is so sensitive that she fancies that because Nurse Marston was summoned to the Manor to attend to her she is in some way responsible for her fate. I have tried to argue it out of her before, but you saw how little use it was to-night.”

“Yes, I saw!” Garth's tone was dry and uninterested apparently. His horse's head absorbed all his attention.

Arthur was silent for a minute.

“I cannot help thinking that we shall find it is all a mistake, and that with their imaginations fired by the story of Nurse Marston's disappearance they have taken some rubbish—there was sure to be lots of it in a hollow tree—for a body, or that it is some other poor thing.”

“Do you think so?” Garth said curtly as they passed the lodge.

“Why, yes,” replied Arthur. “I can't believe a ghastly thing like that could happen to an inmate of our house and that we should know nothing of it all this time. Though if it really should be Nurse Marston she must have gone out to meet some one.”

Garth did not reply, and after waiting a minute or two Arthur proceeded:

“But I don't believe it is; I cannot but think when we get there that we shall find that it is some mistake.”

It was impossible to drive very near the Lovers' Oak; at the entrance to the wood they had to get out and make the rest of their way on foot. They were by no means alone; the news had spread like wildfire through the village of Lockford, and, late though the hour was, most of the inhabitants were evidently making their way to the scene.

Around the Lovers' Oak quite a large crowd had already assembled, but were kept back by the police, who were now in possession, and in the middle of the cleared space of ground, Superintendent Stokes and Dr. Grieve were bending over something that lay on the ground—something over which as the doctor rose the superintendent reverently threw a mackintosh sheet. Garth and Arthur made their way through, the people respectfully parting for them.

Arthur beckoned to the superintendent.

“Who—what is it, Stokes?” he asked.

The officer's quick eyes darted from the young man's agitated face to the grave, impassive one of his companion.

“I am afraid that there can be no doubt that it is the missing woman, Sir Arthur. As clear a case of murder as I have ever had to do with, I should say.”

“I don't believe it can be Nurse Marston—it must be some mistake!” said Sir Arthur, clinging to his cherished shibboleth of comfort.

The superintendent shook his head.

“I don't think there is much doubt, Sir Arthur.”

At this moment Dr. Grieve, who was looking worn and shaken as he helped himself to something from a flask, caught sight of them. He hurried across.

“A terrible thing, this, Sir Arthur—terrible! I—really I don't know what to say about it. Accustomed as I am to seeing a good deal of the seamy side of life, I was not prepared for this; and it has upset me more than I can tell you.”

He was moving away, but Arthur buttonholed him.

“You know what they are saying, doctor—that it is Nurse Marston? But—”

“It is Nurse Marston safe enough, Sir Arthur. I attended her for an illness three years ago and I can't be mistaken. She is in her uniform too, and wearing her chatelaine—only the notebook is missing. Yes, it is poor Mary Marston; and if I could get hold of the scoundrel who put her in that tree”—his hands working nervously—“I am an old man, but it would go hard if I couldn't—”

“How could she get there—” Arthur was beginning, and as he spoke four men with a stretcher passed them and made their way to the stricken oak.

Dr. Grieve turned to them, and Sir Arthur watched them with fascinated eyes as they carefully raised the body and laid it on the stretcher. As they moved off on their way to the village mortuary, followed by the police superintendent, Dr. Grieve looked round.

“Who would have thought there was that great hollow in the old Lovers' Oak, Sir Arthur?” he said.

The young man raised himself with a start and glanced across; the proud old tree that had been for years the delight and the trysting-place of Lockford sweethearts presented a sorry spectacle now. One great branch had been torn from the parent tree and lay maimed and broken on the ground, and the big hollow right down the great trunk was plainly visible. Standing there with its gaping, open wound it looked like an accusing witness of the crime and of the secret which the hand of Heaven had brought to light.

“I suppose that if we had ever thought about it at all we might have guessed that it would be hollow.”

“Somebody knew, anyhow,” the doctor said grimly. “Well, well, poor thing, her troubles are over!”

Garth Davenant moved forward to the tree and examined it, the policeman left in charge walking round with him.

“Who could it have been? How was it done? He must have been a pretty strong man to get her up there alone,” Arthur remarked.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

“As to how it was done it is impossible to say at present; there will have to be an autopsy.”

Sir Arthur's bewilderment and horror seemed to increase.

“For a woman to be done to death outside the Manor, with a houseful of people, as you may say, within earshot, seems to be incredible!”

“Yes, it does!” the doctor assented. “I'm not so sure that it was outside the house, either, mind you, Sir Arthur,” he added significantly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, so far as I can see there is nothing to indicate that she had left the house when she came by her death—nothing at this first cursory examination, you understand. She had on her house shoes and her indoor uniform. She could not have gone far out of the house in such a fashion, if indeed she went at all.”

Even by the uncertain light of the lanterns, the old man could see that Sir Arthur's face was white to the lips.

“That could not be, doctor,” he said passionately, answering the meaning underlying the speech. “I tell you that it was absolutely impossible that such a deed could have been done in our house.”

“What about the screams Miss Dorothy heard?” the old man inquired meaningly. “I am afraid that everything points to the poor thing's being made away with inside the Manor House on the night of the 6th of June.”

“I do not believe it,” asserted Sir Arthur emphatically. “I can't imagine that anybody could be killed in a few minutes in the small library. Besides, you see what is implied in your theory, doctor—the murderer must have been in the house.”

“An inmate for the time being, certainly,” the doctor acquiesced. “But do not call it my theory, Sir Arthur. I shall be only too delighted if a different deduction can be drawn from the facts.”

“I will have a different deduction drawn if I have anything to do with it,” Arthur said quickly. “I shall telegraph to town first thing in the morning for the best detective to be had. Garth, I say,” raising his voice, “do stop looking at that tree and come here and see what you think of this idea of Dr. Grieve's. He says he believes that this—this atrocious thing was done in the Manor—in the house itself. What do you say to that?”

“Now, now, my dear sir,” the doctor remonstrated as he struggled into his overcoat, “please do not put words into my mouth. I said that I saw no indications of her having been outside the Manor that night in her dress. Neither did I.”

“Which means exactly what I said,” retorted Sir Arthur hotly. “What do you think, Garth?”

Davenant did not answer for a moment; his face looked haggard and strained.

“I—I hardly know what to think,” he said at last, pausing between each word, while his eyes wandered restlessly back to the Lovers' Oak. “In fact, I fancy I have been far too much shocked by the whole affair to have formed any very definite ideas as yet. Are you waiting longer, doctor? There seems to be nothing to stay for.” The policemen were dispersing the loiterers, who in awestricken groups were wending their way homewards.