Part 26 (2/2)

AT REST IN THE LORD. A.D., 1816.”

From the church they went about their proper business, to interview a Mr. Pogram, of the firm of Pogram & Collet, solicitors, in whose hands the interests of many citizens of Transham and the country round were almost securely deposited. He occupied, curiously enough, the house where Edmund Morton himself had lived, conducting his works on the one hand and the squirearchy of the parish on the other. Incorporated now into the line of a long, loose street, it still stood rather apart from its neighbors, behind some large shrubs and trees of the holmoak variety.

Mr. Pogram, who was finis.h.i.+ng his Sunday after-lunch cigar, was a short, clean-shaved man with strong cheeks and those rather l.u.s.tful gray-blue eyes which accompany a st.u.r.dy figure. He rose when they were introduced, and, uncrossing his fat little thighs, asked what he could do for them.

Felix propounded the story of the arrest, so far as might be, in words of one syllable, avoiding the sentimental aspect of the question, and finding it hard to be on the side of disorder, as any modern writer might. There was something, however, about Mr. Pogram that rea.s.sured him. The small fellow looked a fighter--looked as if he would sympathize with Tryst's want of a woman about him. The tusky but soft-hearted little brute kept nodding his round, spa.r.s.ely covered head while he listened, exuding a smell of lavender-water, cigars, and gutta-percha.

When Felix ceased he said, rather dryly:

”Sir Gerald Malloring? Yes. Sir Gerald's country agents, I rather think, are Messrs. Porter of Worcester. Quite so.”

And a conviction that Mr. Pogram thought they should have been Messrs.

Pogram & Collet of Transham confirmed in Felix the feeling that they had come to the right man.

”I gather,” Mr. Pogram said, and he looked at Nedda with a glance from which he obviously tried to remove all earthly desires, ”that you, sir, and your nephew wish to go and see the man. Mrs. Pogram will be delighted to show Miss Freeland our garden. Your great-grandfather, sir, on the mother's side, lived in this house. Delighted to meet you; often heard of your books; Mrs. Pogram has read one--let me see--'The Bannister,' was it?”

”'The Bal.u.s.trade,'” Felix answered gently.

Mr. Pogram rang the bell. ”Quite so,” he said. ”a.s.sizes are just over so that he can't come up for trial till August or September; pity--great pity! Bail in cases of arson--for a laborer, very doubtful! Ask your mistress to come, please.”

There entered a faded rose of a woman on whom Mr. Pogram in his time had evidently made a great impression. A vista of two or three little Pograms behind her was hastily removed by the maid. And they all went into the garden.

”Through here,” said Mr. Pogram, coming to a side door in the garden wall, ”we can make a short cut to the police station. As we go along I shall ask you one or two blunt questions.” And he thrust out his under lip:

”For instance, what's your interest in this matter?”

Before Felix could answer, Derek had broken in:

”My uncle has come out of kindness. It's my affair, sir. The man has been tyrannously treated.”

Mr. Pogram c.o.c.ked his eye. ”Yes, yes; no doubt, no doubt! He's not confessed, I understand?”

”No; but--”

Mr. Pogram laid a finger on his lips.

”Never say die; that's what we're here for. So,” he went on, ”you're a rebel; Socialist, perhaps. Dear me! Well, we're all of us something, nowadays--I'm a humanitarian myself. Often say to Mrs.

Pogram--humanity's the thing in this age--and so it is! Well, now, what line shall we take?” And he rubbed his hands. ”Shall we have a try at once to upset what evidence they've got? We should want a strong alibi. Our friends here will commit if they can--n.o.body likes arson. I understand he was sleeping in your cottage. His room, now? Was it on the ground floor?”

”Yes; but--”

Mr. Pogram frowned, as who should say: Ah! Be careful! ”He had better reserve his defence and give us time to turn round,” he said rather shortly.

They had arrived at the police station and after a little parley were ushered into the presence of Tryst.

The big laborer was sitting on the stool in his cell, leaning back against the wall, his hands loose and open at his sides. His gaze pa.s.sed at once from Felix and Mr. Pogram, who were in advance, to Derek; and the dumb soul seemed suddenly to look through, as one may see all there is of spirit in a dog reach out to its master. This was the first time Felix had seen him who had caused already so much anxiety, and that broad, almost brutal face, with the yearning fidelity in its tragic eyes, made a powerful impression on him. It was the sort of face one did not forget and might be glad of not remembering in dreams. What had put this yearning spirit into so gross a frame, destroying its solid coherence? Why could not Tryst have been left by nature just a beer-loving serf, devoid of grief for his dead wife, devoid of longing for the nearest he could get to her again, devoid of susceptibility to this young man's influence? And the thought of all that was before the mute creature, sitting there in heavy, hopeless patience, stung Felix's heart so that he could hardly bear to look him in the face.

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