Part 7 (1/2)
”I only want to help him,” she answered. ”Therefore I say that, given sufficient provocation, I can imagine Bob's temper flaring out, and I can see that it would have been possible to him, in a moment of pa.s.sion, to strike down a man. He had seen much death and was himself absolutely indifferent to danger. Yes, I can imagine him doing an enemy, or fancied enemy, a hurt; but what I cannot imagine him doing is what he is supposed to have done afterwards--evade the consequence of a mistaken act.”
”And yet we have the strongest testimony that he has tried to conceal a murder--whether committed by himself, or somebody else, we cannot yet say.”
”I only hope and pray, for all our sakes, that you will find him,”
she replied, ”but if, indeed, he has been betrayed into such an awful crime, I do not think you will find him.”
”Why not, Miss Reed? But I think I know. What is in your mind has already pa.s.sed through my own. The thought of suicide.”
She nodded and put her handkerchief to her eyes.
”Yes; if poor Bob lost himself and then found himself and discovered that he had killed an innocent man in a moment of pa.s.sion, he would, if I know him, do one of two things--either give himself up instantly and explain all that had happened, or else destroy himself as quickly as he could.”
”Motive is not always adequate,” Brendon told them. ”A swift, pa.s.sing storm of temper has often destroyed a life with no more evil intent than a flash of lightning. In this case, only such a storm seems to be the explanation. But how a man of the Pendean type could have provoked such a storm I have yet to learn. So far the testimony of Mrs. Pendean and the a.s.surances of Inspector Halfyard at Princetown indicate an amiable and quiet person, slow to anger.
Inspector Halfyard knew him quite well at the Moss Depot, where he worked through two years of the war. He was apparently not a man to have infuriated Captain Redmayne or anybody else.”
Mark then related his own brief personal experience of Redmayne on the occasion of their meeting by the quarry pools. For some reason this personal anecdote touched Flora Reed and the detective observed that she was genuinely moved by it.
Indeed she began to weep and presently rose and left them. Her parents were able to speak more freely upon her departure.
Mr. Reed indeed, from being somewhat silent and indifferent, grew voluble.
”I think it right to tell you,” he said, ”that my wife and I never cared much for this engagement. Redmayne meant well and had a good heart I believe. He was free-handed and exceedingly enamoured of Flora. He made violent love from the first and his affection was returned. But I never could see him a steady, married man. He was a rover and the war had made him--not exactly inhuman, but apparently unconscious of his own obligations to society and his own duty, as a reasonable being, to help build up the broken organization of social life. He only lived for pleasure and sport or spending money; and though I do not suggest he would have been a bad husband, I did not see the makings of a stable home in his ideas of the future. He had inherited some forty thousand pounds, but he was very ignorant of the value of money and he showed no particular good sense on the subject of his coming responsibilities.”
Mark Brendon thanked them for their information and repeated his growing conviction that the subject of their speech had probably committed suicide.
”Every hour which fails to account for him increases my fear,” he said. ”Indeed it may be a good thing to happen; for the alternative can at best be Broadmoor; and it is a hateful thought that a man who has fought for his country, and fought well, should end his days in a criminal lunatic asylum.”
For two days the detective remained at Paignton and devoted all his energy, invention, and experience to the task of discovering the vanished men. But, neither alive nor dead, did either appear, and not a particle of information came from Princetown or elsewhere.
Portraits of Robert Redmayne were printed and soon hung on the notice board of every police station in the west and south; but one or two mistaken arrests alone resulted from this publicity. A tramp with a big red mustache was detained in North Devon and a recruit arrested at Devonport. This man resembled the photograph and had joined a line regiment twenty-four hours after the disappearance of Redmayne. Both, however, could give a full account of themselves.
Then Brendon prepared to return to Princetown. He wrote his intention to Mrs. Pendean and informed her that he would visit Station Cottages on the following evening. It happened, however, that his letter crossed another and his plans were altered, for Jenny Pendean had already left Princetown and joined Mr. Bendigo Redmayne at his house, ”Crow's Nest,” beyond Dartmouth. She wrote:
”My uncle has begged me to come and I was thankful to do so. I have to tell you that Uncle Bendigo received a letter yesterday from his brother, Robert. I begged him to let me send it to you instantly, but he declines. Uncle Bendigo is on Captain Redmayne's side I can see. He would not, I am sure, do anything to interfere with the law, but he is convinced that we do not know all there is to be told about this terrible thing. The motor boat from 'Crow's Nest' will be at Kingswear Ferry to meet the train reaching there at two o'clock to-morrow and I hope you may still be at Paignton and able to come here for a few hours.”
She added a word of thanks to him and a regret that his holiday was being spoiled by her tragedy.
Whereupon the man's thoughts turned to her entirely and he forgot for a while the significance of her letter. He had expected to see her that night at Princetown. Instead he would find her far nearer, in the house on the cliffs beyond Dartmouth.
He telegraphed presently that he would meet the launch. Then he had leisure to be annoyed that the letter from Robert Redmayne was thus delayed. He speculated on Bendigo Redmayne.
”A brother is a brother,” he thought, ”and no doubt this old sailor's home would offer a very efficient hiding-place for any vanished man.”
CHAPTER IV
A CLUE
A motor boat lay off Kingswear Ferry when Mark Brendon arrived. The famous harbour was new to him and though his mind found itself sufficiently occupied, he still had perception disengaged and could admire the graceful river, the hills towering above the estuary, and the ancient town lying within their infolding and tree-clad slopes.