A Coin of Edward VII: A Detective Story

He did not reply immediately, as he did not want to tell her the truth. She had too long a tongue to be told anything which it was necessary to keep secret. He put her off as he best could with a general answer.

"I have just been going to and fro."

"Like Satan," sniffed Mrs. Parry. "He's your model, is he? So you have been searching for Anne. Where?"

"In Paris and in London. But I can't find her."

"She doesn't want you to find her," replied the old lady. "If she did, you would stand face to face with her soon enough."

"That goes without the speaking," retorted Ware. "However, my adventures would not amuse you, Mrs. Parry. Suppose you tell me what has been going on in these parts?"

"As if I knew anything of what was going on," said Mrs. Parry.

Giles laughed.

It was a fiction with Mrs. Parry that she never interfered with other people's business, whereas there was not a pie within miles into which she had not thrust her finger. But he knew how to start her tongue.

"The Morleys, what about them?"

"No change, Ware. The Tricolor has gone to school – I mean the three children – although I can't get out of the habit of calling them by that ridiculous name. Mrs. Morley is as dismal as ever, and seems to miss Anne very much."

"As well she might. Anne was a good friend to her. And Morley?"

"He has found a new friend," said Mrs. Parry triumphantly, "a man called Franklin."

"George Franklin!" cried Ware, startled, for he had heard all about the fortune from Steel. "He is the man who inherited the five thousand a year that Powell left to Daisy. Steel, the detective, told me, and, now I think of it, Morley told me himself when I was ill."

"It's the same man, Ware. He has been here two months, and has taken the Priory."

"That's a cheerful place," said Giles. "Why, it has been standing empty for three years."

"I know. The last tenants left because they said it was haunted."

"Rubbish! And by what?"

"By a white lady. She wanders up and down the park, wringing her hands. But this Franklin evidently does not believe in ghosts, for he has been there these two months, and never a word from him."

"What kind of a man is he?"

"A tall man, with very black eyes, and a black beard. No," added Mrs. Parry, correcting herself, "I am wrong. He had a beard when he first came, and now has shaved it off."

"Have you seen much of him?"

"Hardly anything. Morley is the only person with whom he is intimate in any degree. He hardly ever comes out, and when people call he is not at home. Why the man should have five thousand a year I can't make out. He does no good with it."

"Any family? a wife?"

"There is a daughter, I understand, but she is an invalid, and keeps to her room or to the grounds. Weak in the head I should say, seeing how secluded her father keeps her."

"Have you seen her?"

"Yes, I came on her unexpectedly one day – or rather one evening. A short girl, with red hair and a freckled face. She looks a fool, and was dressed in all the colors of the rainbow. I don't wonder he – I mean Franklin – keeps her out of sight."

"Humph!" said Ware, rather astonished by the extent of Mrs. Parry's information, "did the servants tell you all this?"

"There are no servants," retorted Mrs. Parry, with scorn. "The man is a mean creature. You may not believe me, Ware, but he has only three people to do the work of that huge house."

"Then there are three servants?"

"Some people might call them so," retorted Mrs. Parry, determined not to give up her point, "but they are a queer lot – not at all like the domestic I have been used to. An old man, who acts as a kind of butler; a woman, his wife, who is the cook; and a brat of fifteen, the daughter I expect, who does the general work. Oh, it's quite a family affair."

"A queer household. Does this man intend to stop long?"

"He has taken the Priory on a seven years' lease."

"And Morley visits him?"

"Yes, and he visits Morley. They are as thick as thieves. Perhaps they may be thieves for all I know."

"Does this man Franklin go about much?"

"Not a great deal, but he occasionally takes a walk into the village. Sometimes he comes to church, and I believe the rector has called. I wish any one but him had taken the Priory. We want company in this dull place. Will you call and see him?"

"I ought to," replied Ware slowly, "seeing that I was engaged to Daisy, who should have had the money. But from what you say I should not think Franklin would care to see me, and certainly he does not seem to be a desirable neighbor."

"He's quite a mistake," snorted Mrs. Parry. "I tried to be friendly, but he gave me to understand that he preferred his books to my company. He's a great reader, I understand."

Evidently the good lady was somewhat sore on the subject, for she shortly changed it for another. First she began to talk of Daisy; secondly, wonder who had killed her, and why; and thirdly, she made mention of the grave. "There's something queer about that," she remarked, rubbing her nose, a sure sign of perplexity.

"How do you mean, queer?"

"Well – " Mrs. Parry looked thoughtfully at her guest. Then, before replying, she gave him permission to smoke. "I like the scent of a cigar about the place," she said; "it reminds me of the Colonel. He was an awful man to smoke. The one habit I could not break him of."

Giles lighted a cigarette willingly enough, and repeated his question. This time he got an answer that surprised him. "It's this way," said the old lady, taking up her knitting, "for some time the grave was quite neglected."

"No, I gave orders that it should be looked after. I told Drake and my gardener. He's a friend of the sexton's, and I thought there would be no trouble."

"There has been, then," said Mrs. Parry triumphantly. "The sexton and your gardener quarrelled, and have not been on speaking terms for months. Thomas, the sexton, won't let Williams do anything to the grave, and out of spite won't touch it himself, so it went to rack and ruin. The grass is long – or rather was long – and the flowers all gone to seed. A sore wreck, Ware."

"I am most annoyed. I'll see about it to-morrow."

"There is no need. The grave is now as neat as a new pin. The grass is clipped, and fresh flowers were planted a month ago. I never saw a grave better kept. Quite a labor of love."

"And who has done this? Mrs. Morley?"

"Pish!" said the old dame pettishly. "As though that woman had the gumption to do anything. Humph! No one knows who has done it."

"What do you mean?" Ware looked puzzled.