Part 30 (1/2)
CHAPTER XIV
WHAT IS THE TRUTH?
When Cyril arrived in Newhaven that evening, he was unpleasantly surprised to find, as he got out of the train, that Judson had been travelling in the adjoining compartment. Had the man been following him, or was it simply chance that had brought them together, he wondered. Oh!
If he could only get rid of the fellow!
”You have come to see me, I suppose,” he remarked ungraciously.
”Yes, my lord.”
”Very well, then, get into the car.”
Cyril was in no mood to talk, so the first part of the way was accomplished in silence, but at last, thinking that he might as well hear what the man had to say, he turned to him and asked:
”Have you found out anything of any importance?”
”I fancy so, my lord.”
”Really! Well, what is it?”
”If you will excuse me, my lord, I should suggest that we wait till we get to the castle,” replied Judson, casting a meaning look at the chauffeur's back.
”Just as you please.” His contempt for Judson was so great that Cyril was not very curious to hear his revelations.
”Now,” said Cyril, as he flung himself into a low chair before the library fire, ”what have you to tell me?”
Before answering Judson peered cautiously around; then, drawing forward a straight-backed chair, he seated himself close to Cyril and folded his hands in his lap.
”In dealing with my clients,” he began, ”I make it a rule instead of simply stating the results of my work to show them how I arrive at my conclusions. Having submitted to them all the facts I have collected, they are able to judge for themselves as to the value of the evidence on which my deductions are based. And so, my lord, I should like to go over the whole case with you from the very beginning.”
Cyril gave a grunt which Judson evidently construed into an a.s.sent, for he continued even more glibly:
”The first point I considered was, whether her Ladys.h.i.+p had premeditated her escape. But in order to determine this, we must first decide whom she could have got to help her to accomplish such a purpose. The most careful inquiry has failed to reveal any one who would have been both willing and able to do so, except the sempstress, and as both mistress and maid disappeared almost simultaneously, one's first impulse is to take it for granted that Prentice was her Ladys.h.i.+p's accomplice. This is what every one, Scotland Yard included, believes.”
”And you do not?”
”Before either accepting or rejecting this theory, I decided to visit this girl's home. I did not feel clear in my mind about her. All the servants were impressed by her manner and personality, the butler especially so, and he more than hinted that there must be some mystery attached to her. One of the things that stimulated their curiosity was that she kept up a daily correspondence with some one in Plumtree. On reaching the village I called at once on the vicar. He is an elderly man, much respected and beloved by his paris.h.i.+oners. I found him in a state of great excitement, having just read in the paper of Prentice's disappearance. I had no difficulty in inducing him to tell me the main facts of her history; the rest I picked up from the village gossips. The girl is a foundling. And till she came to Geralton she was an inmate of the vicar's household. He told me that he would have adopted her, but knowing that he had not sufficient means to provide for her future, he wisely refrained from educating her above her station. Nevertheless, I gathered that the privilege of his frequent companions.h.i.+p had refined her speech and manners, and I am told that she now could pa.s.s muster in any drawing-room.”
”Did she ever learn French?” interrupted Cyril, eagerly.
”Not that I know of, and I do not believe the vicar would have taught her an accomplishment so useless to one in her position.”
”Did she ever go to France?”
”Never. But, why do you ask?”
”No matter--I--but go on with your story.”
”Owing partly to the mystery which surrounded her birth and gave rise to all sorts of rumours, and partly to her own personality, the gentry of the neighbourhood made quite a pet of her. As a child she was asked occasionally to play with the Squire's crippled daughter and later she used to go to the Hall three times a week to read aloud to her. So, notwithstanding the vicar's good intentions, she grew up to be neither 'fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring.' Now all went well till about a year ago, when the Squire's eldest son returned home and fell in love with her. His people naturally opposed the match and, as he is entirely dependent upon them, there seemed no possibility of his marrying her.