Part 17 (1/2)
”I didn't come as far as this. We'd better turn back.”
This we did, slowly retracing our way in the sunset, the doctor now and then expressing disgust at his own failure to recognise the path.
Presently we encountered an old labourer plodding home from work with bag and scythe across his shoulder, and pulling up, the doctor asked, pointing over the hill--
”Which is the way to the farm across there?”
”What farm?” asked the man blankly, in his broad Northamptons.h.i.+re dialect.
”I don't know the name, but there's a road goes in across one of these fields.”
”Oh! you mean Hayes's, sir! Why, there's a way across that there next field. 'Bout 'arf a mile oop.”
”Who lives there?” I asked.
”Why, ole Tom Hayes an' his missus.”
”Anybody else?”
”Not as I knows of. Bill used to live with the ole man, but 'e's gone away this twelvemonth. Ole Tom don't make much of a thing out o' the farm nowadays, for 'e's nearly blind.”
We thanked him, and rode eagerly onward, Pink opening the gate with his hunting-crop. Up the hill we cantered, skirting a broad stretch of pasture land and presently coming into sight of a small old redbrick house with tall square chimneys and quaint gable ends, while at a little distance were several barns and cow-houses.
Pink recognised the place in an instant, and we resolved that while I dismounted, tied my horse to a tree and walked on to the house, he should approach boldly and inquire after his patient of the previous night.
I had found a convenient tree and was walking in the direction of the farm when I saw a decrepit blear-eyed old man leaning on a stick, emerge from the door and hold a conversation with Pink, who had not dismounted.
A moment later my friend beckoned to me, and as I hurried forward he cried dismayed--”They've gone. We're too late.”
”Gone!” I cried in disappointment, turning to the old farmer for explanation.
”Yes, sir,” the old fellow answered. ”I've just been telling this 'ere gentleman. They were a funny lot, an' I was glad to get rid of 'em out o' my house.”
”Tell us all about them,” exclaimed Pink dismounting, tying his horse to a ring in the wall, and entering the house with us. It was a poor, neglected, old-fas.h.i.+oned place, not over-clean, for it appeared that both Hayes and his wife were very infirm and kept no woman-servant.
”Well, gentlemen, it happened just like this,” explained the decrepit old fellow, when we were in his stone-floored living room, with its great open hearth and big chimney corner. ”One evening, back in last month, a gentleman called here. He'd walked a long way, and was very tired, so the missus, she gives 'im a mug o' milk. He would insist on me 'avin a s.h.i.+llin' for it, and then 'e sat here smoking 'is cigar--an'
a good un it wor. After we'd been talking some time and he got to know we were livin' alone 'e asked whether we wouldn't care to let four of our rooms to some friends of 'is up in London, who wanted to come and stay in a farm-'ouse for a month. What people wanted to come and stay in this 'ere place in preference to their own 'omes I couldn't quite understand. Still, as 'e offered us five poun' a week, I an' the missus agreed. 'E stayed with us that night, 'ad a bit o' supper, and went to bed. Next morning 'e went away, and in the afternoon 'e came back with one of his friends, a young man who was called Ben, while the older man they called d.i.c.k.”
”d.i.c.k what?” I inquired breathlessly.
”I don't know. I never 'eered his other name.” Was it possible that the stranger who had walked so far was none other than Richard Keene? I inquired what day of August he had arrived.
”It wor the night of the sixteenth,” was old Hayes's reply.
The very night of the tragedy in Sibberton Park! I asked him to describe the man known as d.i.c.k, but his description was somewhat hazy on account of his defective sight. Having, however, no doubt that the man who had arranged for apartments for the others was really the mysterious wayfarer, I allowed him to proceed with his highly-interesting narrative:
”The two stayed 'ere about a week, but 'ardly went out. I'd got some old fis.h.i.+n' tackle, so they spent their time mostly down at the river yonder. They were very pleasant gentlemen, both on 'em, and at the end o' the week they gave me a five-poun' note. Then they went away sayin'
that their friends were comin' soon to occupy the rooms. At the end o'
the next week there arrived, without any notice, a young lady--the one you saw last night, Doctor--the big man with a beard, named Logan, two other younger men, and an old woman-servant. The two men were foreigners, as well as the woman-servant, but Logan seemed to be head of the household, and the young lady was 'is daughter. At least 'e said so, but I don't think they were related at all. Well, from the very first 'our they were in the 'ouse they puzzled me: Logan took me aside, and explained that he and his friends wanted perfect quiet, and they didn't want a lot o' gossipin' about what they did, and where they went.
He told me to open my mouth to n.o.body, and if he found I kept my own counsel he'd make me a present o' an extra five poun'. They seemed to 'ave plenty o' money,” remarked old Hayes in parenthesis: