Was there a human agency in the matter? Did the pale, watchfulBarrymore know more than he cared to say? It was all dim andvague, but always there is the dark shadow of crime behind it.
One other neighbour I have met since I wrote last. This is Mr.
Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the southof us. He is an elderly man, red-faced, white-haired, and choleric.
His passion is for the British law, and he has spent a large fortunein litigation. He fights for the mere pleasure of fighting and isequally ready to take up either side of a question, so that it is nowonder that he has found it a costly amusement. Sometimes hewill shut up a right of way and defy the parish to make him openit. At others he will with his own hands tear down some otherman’s gate and declare that a path has existed there from timeimmemorial, defying the owner to prosecute him for trespass. Heis learned in old manorial and communal rights, and he applieshis knowledge sometimes in favour of the villagers of Fernworthyand sometimes against them, so that he is periodically eithercarried in triumph down the village street or else burned in effigy,according to his latest exploit. He is said to have about sevenlawsuits upon his hands at present, which will probably swallowup the remainder of his fortune and so draw his sting and leavehim harmless for the future. Apart from the law he seems a kindly,good-natured person, and I only mention him because you wereparticular that I should send some description of the people whosurround us. He is curiously employed at present, for, being anamateur astronomer, he has an excellent telescope, with which helies upon the roof of his own house and sweeps the moor all dayin the hope of catching a glimpse of the escaped convict. If hewould confine his energies to this all would be well, but there arerumours that he intends to prosecute Dr. Mortimer for openinga grave without the consent of the next of kin, because he dug upthe neolithic skull in the barrow on Long Down. He helps to keepour lives from being monotonous and gives a little comic reliefwhere it is badly needed.
And now, having brought you up to date in the escaped convict,the Stapletons, Dr. Mortimer, and Frankland, of Lafter Hall, letme end on that which is most important and tell you more aboutthe Barrymores, and especially about the surprising developmentof last night.
First of all about the test telegram, which you sent from Londonin order to make sure that Barrymore was really here. I havealready explained that the testimony of the postmaster shows thatthe test was worthless and that we have no proof one way or theother. I told Sir Henry how the matter stood, and he at once, inhis downright fashion, had Barrymore up and asked him whetherhe had received the telegram himself. Barrymore said that he had.
“Did the boy deliver it into your own hands?” asked Sir Henry.
Barrymore looked surprised, and considered for a little time.
“No,” said he, “I was in the box-room at the time, and my wifebrought it up to me.”
“Did you answer it yourself?”
“No; I told my wife what to answer and she went down to write it.”
In the evening he recurred to the subject of his own accord.
“I could not quite understand the object of your questions thismorning, Sir Henry,” said he. “I trust that they do not mean that Ihave done anything to forfeit your confidence?”
Sir Henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify himby giving him a considerable part of his old wardrobe, the Londonoutfit having now all arrived.
Mrs. Barrymore is of interest to me. She is a heavy, solid person,very limited, intensely respectable, and inclined to be puritanical.
You could hardly conceive a less emotional subject. Yet I have toldyou how, on the first night here, I heard her sobbing bitterly, andsince then I have more than once observed traces of tears uponher face. Some deep sorrow gnaws ever at her heart. SometimesI wonder if she has a guilty memory which haunts her, andsometimes I suspect Barrymore of being a domestic tyrant. I havealways felt that there was something singular and questionable inthis man’s character, but the adventure of last night brings all mysuspicions to a head.
And yet it may seem a small matter in itself. You are aware that Iam not a very sound sleeper, and since I have been on guard in thishouse my slumbers have been lighter than ever. Last night, abouttwo in the morning, I was aroused by a stealthy step passing myroom. I rose, opened my door, and peeped out. A long black shadowwas trailing down the corridor. It was thrown by a man who walkedsoftly down the passage with a candle held in his hand. He wasin shirt and trousers, with no covering to his feet. I could merelysee the outline, but his height told me that it was Barrymore. Hewalked very slowly and circumspectly, and there was somethingindescribably guilty and furtive in his whole appearance.
I have told you that the corridor is broken by the balcony whichruns round the hall, but that it is resumed upon the farther side.
I waited until he had passed out of sight and then I followedhim. When I came round the balcony he had reached the end ofthe farther corridor, and I could see from the glimmer of lightthrough an open door that he had entered one of the rooms.
Now, all these rooms are unfurnished and unoccupied, so that hisexpedition became more mysterious than ever. The light shonesteadily as if he were standing motionless. I crept down thepassage as noiselessly as I could and peeped round the corner ofthe door.
