Miss Arnott's Marriage

"That is Mr Parsloe's address. You will find my name in the corner as representing him. I may mention that I also am an admitted solicitor."

"It is possible that you will hear from me. In the meantime, thank you very much for taking so much trouble in bringing me this note. Any expenses which may have been incurred I shall be happy to defray."

"At present no expenses have been incurred. I need hardly say that any instructions with which you may honour us will receive our instant and most careful attention."

Again Mr Adams's cap came off. He turned his bicycle round, and presently was speeding back the way he had come. Miss Arnott stood looking after him, the "note" in her hand.

Jim Baker's "note," as the solicitor's clerk had more than hinted, was distinctly unusual as to form. It was represented by an oblong scrap of paper, perhaps two inches long by an inch broad. Nothing was written on the outside; on the exterior there was nothing whatever to show for what destination it was designed. As Mr Adams had said, where one end had been slipped into the other three seals had been affixed. On each seal was a distinct impression of what probably purported to be Mr Adams's own crest; with, under the circumstances, a sufficiently apposite motto-for once in a way in plain English-"Fear Nothing."

CHAPTER XXI

THE "NOTE"

Miss Arnott displayed somewhat singular unwillingness to break the seals. She watched Mr Adams retreating on his bicycle; not only till the machine itself was out of sight, but the cloud of dust which marked its progress had vanished also. Then she turned the scrap of paper over and over in her fingers, possessed by an instinctive reluctance to learn what it contained. It seemed ridiculous to suppose that Jim Baker could have anything to cause her disturbance, yet she had an eerie feeling that there was something disagreeable inside his "note," something which she would much rather not come into contact with. Had she followed her own inclination she would have shredded it into pieces, and scattered the pieces over the roadway. In some indescribable fashion she was actually afraid of the scrap of paper which she held between her fingers.

It was the sudden realisation that this was so which stung her into action. Afraid of anything Jim Baker might have to say? She? Nonsense! The idea! Could anything be more absurd!

There and then she broke the seals, unfolded the sheet of paper. But when she had got so far again she hesitated. The thing was fresh from a prison; had about it, she fancied, a prison atmosphere, a whiff of something sordid which it had borne with it out of gaol. It was that, she told herself, which she did not relish. Why should she read the scrawl? What interest could it have for her? Better instruct Mr Parsloe, or that eminent practitioner in the conduct of criminal cases with whose name Mr Stacey had furnished her, to undertake Baker's defence, and spare no expense in doing so, and so have done with it. Let her keep her own fingers out of the mire; leave the whole thing to the lawyers; that would be better for everyone concerned. So it would not be necessary for her to spell her way through the man's ill-written scribble.

And then she read Jim Baker's "note."

As Mr Adams had surmised it was written in pencil; apparently with a blunt stump of pencil used by unaccustomed fingers, probably under circumstances in which a skilful writer would have been uneasy. Here and there it seemed that the pencil had refused to write; possibly only by dint of pressure had it been induced to write at all. The letters were blurred and indistinct, ill-formed, irregular, disjoined-in general, mere hieroglyphics. And yet, despite the crabbed writing, the eccentric spelling, the clumsy wording, Jim Baker's "note" made a stronger impression on Miss Arnott than the most eloquent epistle with which she had ever been favoured.

"Miss Arnott I see you done it but I wouldnt say nuthink about it if it wasnt that from what I ear they are going to hang me for what I se you doing and I wont say nuthin about it now if you se I have a loryer and all regular so as to get me out of this were it aint rite I should be sein I saw you they may cutt my tung out before Ill speak unless they make out I dun it so if you dont se I have a loryer and all regular Ill have to speke Jim Baker."

That was Mr Baker's note; unpunctuated, formless, badly put together, ill-spelt, but alive and eloquent in spite of its obvious deficiencies. It was plain why he was so anxious that Mr Adams should not peep at the contents, why he had insisted on the three seals, why he had stipulated on its being given into Miss Arnott's own hands. From his point of view the "note" was a messenger of life and death, with hanging matter in every line.

The lady read it once and again and then again. As she crumpled it up in her hand it seemed to her that the country round about had assumed a different appearance, the cloudless sky had become dimmed, a grey tint had settled upon everything; for her the sunlight had gone out of the world.

Here was Jim Baker calling to her out of his prison cell that he was where she ought to be, because he had seen her do it, warning her, if she did not provide him with a lawyer "and all regular" to get him "out of this," that he would have to speak. What hallucination was this which all at once possessed men's minds? Could it be possible that the hallucination was actually hers? Could what, first Hugh Morice, now Jim Baker, said be true, and that they had seen her do it? What condition could she have been in at the time? Was it conceivable that a person could do such a deed unwittingly? During what part of her sojourn in the wood had she been in her sober senses? When had she ceased to be responsible for her own actions? and how? and why? Which of those awful happenings had been plain material fact and which nightmare imaginings?

She re-read Jim Baker's opening words, – "Miss Arnott I see you done it." The accusation was bold enough, plain enough, conclusive enough. It staggered her; forced her to wonder if she was, unknowingly, this dreadful thing.

But, by degrees, her common sense regained the upper-hand, and she began to put two and two together in an attempt to solve the mystery of Jim Baker's words. The man was drunk; so much was admitted. He had probably seen her, hazily enough, bearing away the blood-stained knife; and had, therefore, jumped to an erroneous conclusion. Then she remembered that he had sworn that, after firing the shot, he had gone straight home; then, how came he to see her? More, he had sworn that on his homeward way he had seen nothing; so, somewhere, there was a lie. At the very worst, Jim Baker was labouring under a misapprehension; the statement in his note was capable of no other explanation.

Still, it was awkward that he should be under such a misapprehension, in view of the attitude which Hugh Morice had just been taking up. The problem of saving Jim Baker's life became involved. If freeing him meant that Mr Morice would prefer against her such a charge, and that Baker himself would support it; then it behoved her to be careful how she went. In any case it was not agreeable to think that that ancient but muddle-headed family retainer believed-with some considerable foundation in truth-that she was willing-to say no more-that he should suffer for her offences.

Her thoughts were not pleasant companions on her homeward journey. Nor was her peace of mind heightened by a brief interview which she had with Mrs Plummer almost immediately on her return. The lady, waylaying her on the landing, followed her into her sitting-room. She was evidently in a state of considerable agitation.

"My dear, there is something which I must say to you at once-at once!"

Miss Arnott looked at her with that mixture of amusement and resentment with which she had been conscious that, of late, Mrs Plummer's near neighbourhood was wont to fill her.

"Then by all means speak, especially if refraining from doing so would occasion you inconvenience."

"Mrs Forrester called; you are never in when people come."

"I am not sorry that I was out when Mrs Forrester came; she bores me."

"You ought to fix a regular day, so that people might know when to find you."

"You have made that remark before. Is that all you have to say?"

"No, it is not; and let me tell you that this flippant way you have of treating everything I say may have the most serious and unlooked-for consequences."

Miss Arnott laughed, which caused Mrs Plummer to resort to a trick she had-when at all put out-of rubbing the palms of her hands briskly together.

"Oh, you may laugh; but I can assure you that if things go on like this much longer I don't know what will be the end of it."

"The end of what?"

"Do you know what Mrs Forrester has been saying? She tells me that there is a story going about the place that that evening you were out in the woods till all hours of the night; and she wanted to know if she should contradict it."

"That's as she pleases."

"But don't you see how serious it is? Won't you understand? I understand; if you don't. Violet, I insist upon your telling me what time it was when you came in that night; where you went, and what you did. I insist! I insist!"

At each repetition Mrs Plummer brought her hands together with quite a smart clap. Miss Arnott looked down at the excited little woman as if she was still divided between two moods.

"You insist? Mrs Plummer, aren't you-rather forgetting yourself?"

"Of course I am prepared for you to adopt that tone. You always adopt it when I ask you a question, and I am ready to leave the house this moment if you wish it; but I can only assure you that if you won't give me an answer you may have to give one to somebody else before very long."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean exactly what I say. Won't you see?"

"I can see that you are in a state of excitement which is not warranted by anything I understand."

It was odd what a disinclination the elder lady showed to meet the young one's eyes. She moved hither and thither, as if possessed by a spirit of restlessness; but, though Miss Arnott kept her gaze fixed on her unfalteringly wherever she went, she herself never glanced in the girl's direction.

"Excited! I can't help being excited! How you can keep so cool is what I don't know! Everyone is pointing a finger and saying that you were out in the woods at the very time that-that wretched man was-was being murdered" – Mrs Plummer cast furtive looks about her as if the deed was being enacted that very moment before her eyes-"and asking where you were and what you were doing all alone in the woods at that hour, and how it was that you knew nothing at all of what was taking place, possibly quite close by you; and you let them ask, and say and do nothing to stop their tongues; and if they are not stopped heaven only knows where they'll lead them. My dear, won't you tell me where you went? and what it was that you were doing?"

"No, Mrs Plummer, I won't-so now your question is answered. And as I have some letters to write may I ask you to leave me?"

Mrs Plummer did glance at Miss Arnott for one moment; but for only one. Then, as if she did not dare to trust herself to speak again, she hurried from the room. Left alone, the young lady indulged in some possibly ironical comments on her companion's deportment.

"Really, to judge from Mrs Plummer's behaviour, one would imagine that this business worried her more than it does me. If she doesn't exercise a little more self-control I shouldn't be surprised if it ends in making her actually ill."

CHAPTER XXII

MR ERNEST GILBERT

Miss Arnott wrote to Mr Ernest Gilbert-the famous lawyer whose name Mr Stacey had given her-asking him to make all necessary arrangements for Jim Baker's defence. She expressed her own personal conviction in the man's innocence, desiring him to leave no stone unturned to make it plain, and to spare no expense in doing so. In proof of her willingness to pay any costs which might be incurred she enclosed a cheque for £500, and assured him that she would at once forward any further sum which might be required. Mr Gilbert furnished himself with a copy of the depositions given before the committing justices, and also before the coroner; and, having mastered them, went down to see his client in Winchester Gaol.

He found Mr Baker in very poor plight. The gamekeeper, who probably had gipsy blood in his veins, had been accustomed from childhood to an open air life. Often in fine weather he did not resort to the shelter of a roof for either sleeping or eating. Crabbed and taciturn by constitution he loved the solitude and freedom of the woods. On a summer's night the turf at the foot of a tree was couch enough for him, the sky sufficient roof. Had he been able to give adequate expression to his point of view, his definition of the torments of hell would have been confinement within four walls. In gaol-cribbed, cabined and confined-he seemed to slough his manhood like a skin. His nature changed. When Mr Gilbert went to see him, the dogged heart of the man had lost half its doggedness. He pined for freedom-for God's air, and the breath of the woods-with such desperate longing that, if he could, he would have made an end of every soul in Winchester Gaol to get at it.

Mr Gilbert summed him up-or thought he did-at sight. He made it a rule in these sort of cases to leap at an instant conclusion, even though afterwards it might turn out to be erroneous. Experience had taught him that, in first interviews with clients of a certain kind, quickness of speech-and of decision-was a trick which often paid. So that the door had hardly been closed which left the pair together than-metaphorically-he sprang at Mr Baker like a bull terrier at a rat.