King of the Castle Part 82

"You don't like Mr Lisle?" said the lawyer, looking at him searchingly.

"Well, sir, if I must speak out, no: I don't like Mr Lisle."

"And so you magnify this suspicion, and seek to do him harm by setting about the story."

"Steady there, sir, please. I don't set about a story without good proof. Now, let me ask you, sir, was Mr Gartram the sort of man to go and kill himself with an overdose of that stuff?"

"By accident, man; yes."

"Not a bit of it, sir. He was too clever. I don't want to prove Mr Lisle guilty, but there's the case. He was hanging about the grounds that night."

"Who saw him?"

"The gardener, sir, Brime. Caught him there after he had been forbidden the place, and he persuaded the man to hold his tongue."

"Look here, Wimble," said Trevithick, sternly, "there may be a slight substratum of probability in what you say, but it is most unlikely that this young man can have committed such a crime. Now, then, I'll tell you what it is your duty to do."

"Yes, sir," said Wimble eagerly.

"Go back to Danmouth, and keep your own counsel for the present. You can do that?"

"Hold my tongue, sir? Of course."

"Don't mention this to a soul."

"And hush it up, sir--a murder?"

"Pis.h.!.+ It is no murder. Let the matter rest while I try to make out whether there is anything in what you say."

"Ah, you'll find it right, sir. Young men like Mr Chris don't get rich in a day."

"Never mind about that. I'll go into the matter quietly. Recollect that it would be your ruin if it was known that you had, without foundation, made this horrible charge against Mr Lisle."

"My ruin, sir?"

"Of course. You could not stay in the town afterwards. There, go back and hold your tongue. I'm coming over to Danmouth to-morrow, and after I have carefully weighed all you have said, I will see you again."

"Come in and see me to-morrow, sir. You can easily do that, sir.

n.o.body would think it meant anything more than coming in to be shaved."

"Well, I'll call; and now, mind this: not a soul in the place must hear a word. It is our secret, Wimble."

"Yes, sir, I see," said the barber. "You may trust me. I came straight to you, sir. Oh, I can be as close and secret as grim death, sir, you'll see."

"That's right, my man. And take my advice, don't think any more of it.

I confess that it looks bad, but we shall find out that it is all imagination, and I hope it is, for every one's sake. Close, Mr Wimble, perfectly close, mind, at all events for the present."

"Trust me, sir. I'm glad I came to you, and you shall find me close as a box."

Wimble spoke in all sincerity, and he returned to Danmouth, feeling glad that he had seen the lawyer; but when he spoke he did not realise that there was a key that would open that box.

He had no necessity for going round by Mrs Sarson's cottage, it was quite out of his way, but it was in the dusk of evening, when love will a.s.sert itself even in middle-aged minds.

"All alone there at the mercy of a murderer," thought Wimble. "I'll just walk by and see if she is quite safe."

It was rather a hopeless thing to do, he owned, for there was not likely to be anything in the outside walls to indicate whether the widow was safe or no. All the same, he went round that way to find that all looked right; but as he pa.s.sed very slowly by, he found that the window of Chris's room was open, and he stopped short as if spellbound, for a familiar voice said, in tones which indicated that the speaker was shedding tears--

"No, no, my dear; you can't think how much I think about you."

The voice ceased as Wimble gave a very decided knock at the door.

Mrs Sarson came to answer it slowly, for she was wiping her eyes after a long, long talk with Chris, whom in a motherly way she had been trying to rouse from the reckless, despondent state into which he had fallen, and tried in vain.

Consequently there was a wet gleam on her cheeks, as, candle in hand, she answered the door.

"You, Mr Wimble!" she said, starting, and feeling a little confused.

"So bold of him to come and call," she thought.

"Yes, Mrs Sarson, I want to speak to you particularly."

"Not to-night, Mr Wimble. I--I am not quite well."

"Yes; to-night."

"But Mr Lisle is at home."

"Yes, I know," he said, with a dark look in his eyes; and--fluttered and trembling before the strange, stern manner of her visitor--she drew back, allowed him to enter, closed the door, and led the way to the snug back room--half kitchen, half parlour--and then looked at him wonderingly, her heart fluttering more and more as she saw his wild look, and that he carefully closed the door.

"Goodness me, Mr Wimble, what is the matter?" she said faintly.

"Everything," he cried, making a s.n.a.t.c.h at her wrist, and holding it tightly. "Woman, you know how for years I have had hopes."

"Well, Mr Wimble, you made me think so; but it's quite impossible, I a.s.sure you. Neighbours, but nothing more."

"Why, woman, why?" he said, in a whisper.

"Because--because I am quite happy and contented as I am, Mr Wimble, with my little bit of an income and my lodger."

"Yes," cried Wimble, with a laugh, "that's it. Ah, woman, woman, that you could throw yourself away upon a creature like that?"

"Mr Wimble, what do you mean?"

"Knowing how I wors.h.i.+pped you, for you to consort with a vile creature, who cheats and abuses your confidence--a villain too bad to be allowed to live--a man whom the law will seize before long."

"Mr Wimble, are you mad?"

"Yes, madam, with shame and horror, to think what must come when you find out that this serpent who has wound himself about you is a convict, a murderer, who stops at nothing."

"Mr Wimble, whom do you mean?"