Part 18 (2/2)

”Now, that Kelpies' Glen,” continued Triffitt, ”was a sort of ravine which lay between the town of Jedburgh and the school. It was traversed by a rough path which lay along the top of one side of it, amongst trees and crags. At one point, this path was on the very edge of a precipitous cliff; from that edge there was a sheer drop of some seventy or eighty feet to a bed of rocks down below, on the edge of a brawling stream. It was on these rocks that Mrs. Bentham's body was found. She was dead enough when she was discovered, and the theory was that she had come along the path above in a drunken condition, had fallen over the low railings which fenced it in, and so had come to her death.”

”Precisely,” a.s.sented Carver, nodding his head with wise appreciation.

”Her alcoholic tendencies were certainly useful factors in the case.”

”Just so--you take my meaning,” agreed Triffitt. ”Well, at first n.o.body saw any reason to doubt this theory, for the lady had been seen staggering along that path more than once. But she had a brother, a canny Scot who was not over well pleased when he found that his sister--who had come into everything that old Ferguson left, which was a comfortable bit--had made a will not very long before her death in which she left absolutely everything to her new husband, Francis Bentham. The brother began to inquire and to investigate--and to cut the story short, within a fortnight of his wife's death, Bentham was arrested and charged with her murder.”

”On what evidence?” asked Carver.

”Precious little!” answered Triffitt. ”Indeed next to none. Still, there was some. It was proved that he was absent from the house for half an hour or so about the time that she would be coming along that path; it was also proved that certain footprints in the clay of the path were his. He contended that he had been to look for her; he proved that he had often been to look for her in that way; moreover, as to the footprints, he, like everybody in the house, constantly used that path in going to the town.”

”Aye, to be sure;” said Carver. ”He'd a good case, I'm thinking.”

”He had--and so I thought at the time,” continued Triffitt. ”And so a good many folks thought--and they, and I, also thought something else, I can tell you. I know what the verdict of the crowded court would have been!”

”What?” asked Carver.

”Guilty!” exclaimed Triffitt. ”And so far as I'm concerned, I haven't a doubt that the fellow pushed her over the cliff. But opinion's neither here nor there. The only thing that mattered, my son, was the jury's verdict!”

”And the jury's verdict was--what?” demanded Carver.

Triffitt winked into his empty tankard and set it down with a bang.

”The jury's verdict, my boy,” he answered, ”was one that you can only get across the Border. It was '_Not Proven_'!”

CHAPTER XV

YOUNG BRAINS

Carver, who had been listening intently to the memory of a bygone event, pushed away the remains of his frugal lunch, and shook his head as he drew out a cigarette-case.

”By gad, Triff, old man!” he said. ”If I'd been that chap I'd rather have been hanged, I think. Not proven, eh?--whew! That meant----”

”Pretty much what the folk in court and the mob outside thought,”

a.s.serted Triffitt. ”That scene outside, after the trial, is one of my liveliest recollections. There was a big crowd there--chiefly women.

When they heard the verdict there was such yelling and hooting as you never heard in your life! You see, they were all certain about the fellow's guilt, and they wanted him to swing. If they could have got at him, they'd have lynched him. And do you know, he actually had the cheek to leave the court by the front entrance, and show himself to that crowd! Then there was a lively scene--stones and brickbats and the mud of the street began flying. Then the police waded in--and they gave Mr.

Francis Bentham pretty clearly to understand that there must be no going home for him, or the folks would pull his roof over his head. And they forced him back into the court, and got him away out of the town on the quiet--and I reckon he's never shown his face in that quarter of the globe since.”

”That will?” asked Carver. ”Did it stand good--did he get the woman's money?”

”He did. My aunt told me afterwards that he employed some local solicitor chap--writers, as they call 'em there--to wind everything up, convert everything into cash, for him. Oh, yes!” concluded Triffitt. ”He got the estate, right enough. Not an awful lot, you know--a thousand or two--perhaps three--but enough to go adventuring with elsewhere.”

”You're sure this is the man?” asked Carver.

”As certain as that I'm myself!” answered Triffitt. ”Couldn't mistake him--even if it is nine years ago. It's true I was only a nipper then--sixteen or so--but I'd all my wits about me, and I was so taken with him in the dock, and with his theatrical bearing there--he's a fine hand at posing--that I couldn't forget or mistake him. Oh, he's the man!

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