Part 36 (1/2)

”Perhaps,” the Professor a.s.sented. ”They seem, at least, to have arrested the man. Even now I can scarcely believe that it is Craig--my servant Craig--who is lying in an English prison. Do you know that his people have been servants in the Ashleigh family for some hundreds of years?”

Quest was clearly interested. ”Say, I'd like to hear about that!” he exclaimed. ”You know, I'm rather great on heredity, Professor. What cla.s.s did he come from then? Were his people just domestic servants always?”

The Professor's face was for a moment troubled. He moved to his desk, rummaged about for a time, and finally produced an ancient volume.

”This really belongs to my brother, Lord Ashleigh,” he explained. ”He brought it over with him to show me some entries concerning which I was interested. It contains a history of the Hamblin estate since the days of Cromwell, and here in the back, you see, is a list of our farmers, bailiffs and domestic servants. There was a Craig who was a tenant of the first Lord Ashleigh and fought with him in the Cromwellian Wars as a trooper and since those days, so far as I can see, there has never been a time when there hasn't been a Craig in the service of our family. A fine race they seem to have been, until--”

”Until when?” Quest demanded.

The look of trouble had once more clouded the Professor's face. He shrugged his shoulders slightly.

”Until Craig's father,” he admitted. ”I am afraid I must admit that we come upon a bad piece of family history here. Silas Craig entered the service of my father in 1858, as under game-keeper. Here we come upon the first black mark against the name. He appears to have lived reputably for some years, and then, after a quarrel with a neighbour about some trivial matter, he deliberately murdered him, a crime for which he was tried and executed in 1867. John Craig, his only son, entered our service in 1880, and, when I left England, accompanied me as my valet.”

There was a moment's silence. Quest shook his head a little reproachfully.

”Professor,” he said, ”you are a scientific man, you appreciate the significance of heredity, yet during all this time, when you must have seen for yourself the evidence culminating against Craig, you never mentioned this--this--d.a.m.ning piece of evidence.”

The Professor closed the book with a sigh.

”I did not mention it, Mr. Quest,” he acknowledged, ”because I did not believe in Craig's guilt and I did not wish to further prejudice you against him. That is the whole and simple truth. Now tell me what you are going to do about his arrest?”

”Lenora and I are sailing to-morrow,” Quest replied. ”We are taking over the necessary warrants and shall bring Craig back here for trial.”

The Professor smoked thoughtfully for some moments. Then he rose deliberately to his feet. He had come to a decision. He announced it calmly but irrevocably.

”I shall come with you,” he announced. ”I shall be glad of a visit to England, but apart from that I feel it to be my duty. I owe it to Craig to see that he has a fair chance, and I owe it to the law to see that he pays the penalty, if indeed he is guilty of these crimes. Is Miss Laura accompanying you, too?”

Quest shook his head.

”From what the surgeons tell us,” he said, ”it will be some weeks before she is able to travel. At the same time, I must tell you that I am glad of your decision, Professor.”

”It is my duty,” the latter declared. ”I cannot rest in this state of uncertainty. If Craig is lost to me, the sooner I face the fact the better. At the same time I will be frank with you. Notwithstanding all this acc.u.mulated pile of evidence I feel in my heart the urgent necessity of seeing him face to face, of holding him by the shoulders and asking him whether these things are true. We have faced death together, Craig and I.

We have done more than that--we have courted it. There is nothing about him I can accept from hearsay. I shall go with you to England, Mr. Quest.”

2.

The Professor rose from his seat in some excitement as the carriage pa.s.sed through the great gates of Hamblin Park. He acknowledged with a smile the respectful curtsey of the woman who held it open.

”You have now an opportunity, my dear Mr. Quest,” he said, ”of appreciating one feature of English life not entirely reproducible in your own wonderful country. I mean the home life and surroundings of our aristocracy. You see these oak trees?” he went on, with a little wave of his hand. ”They were planted by my ancestors in the days of Henry the Eighth. I have been a student of tree life in South America and in the dense forests of Central Africa, but for real character, for splendour of growth and hardiness, there is nothing in the world to touch the Ashleigh oaks.”

”They're some trees,” the criminologist admitted.

”You notice, perhaps, the smaller ones, which seem dwarfed. Their tops were cut off by the Lord of Ashleigh on the day that Lady Jane Grey was beheaded. Queen Elizabeth heard of it and threatened to confiscate the estate. Look at the turf, my friend. Ages have gone to the making of that mossy, velvet carpet.”

”Where's the house?” Quest enquired.

”A mile farther on yet. The woods part and make a natural avenue past the bend of the river there,” the Professor pointed out. ”Full of trout, that river, Quest. How I used to whip that stream when I was a boy!”

They swept presently round a bend in the avenue. Before them on the hill-side, surrounded by trees and with a great walled garden behind, was Hamblin House. Quest gave vent to a little exclamation of wonder as he looked at it. The older part and the whole of the west front was Elizabethan, but the Georgian architect entrusted with the task of building a great extension had carried out his work in a manner almost inspired. Lines and curves, sweeping everywhere towards the same constructive purpose, had been harmonised by the hand of time into a most surprising and effectual unity. The criminologist, notwithstanding his unemotional temperament, repeated his exclamation as he resumed his place in the carriage.