Johnny Ludlow Fifth Series Part 38

"What should I know of it, sir? I have only just come in from Evesham.

The things were all right last night."

"How did you leave the greenhouse last night?"

"Exactly as I always leave it, sir. There was nothing the matter with it then. Drew--I saw him outside, didn't I? Step here, Drew. You were with me when I locked up the greenhouse last night. Did you see anything wrong with it?"

"It were right enough then," answered Drew.

Monk turned himself about, lifting his hands in dismay, as one blackened object after another came under view. "I never saw such a thing!" he cried piteously. "There has been something wrong at work here; or else----"

Monk came to a sudden pause. "Or else what?" asked the Squire.

"Or else, moving the plants into the hall on Tuesday has killed them."

"Moving the plants wouldn't kill them. What are you thinking of, Monk?"

"_Moving_ them would not kill them, sir, or hurt them either," returned Monk, with a stress on the first word; "but it might have been the remote cause of it."

"I don't understand you!"

"I saw some result of the sort once, sir. It was at a gentleman's place at Chiswick. All the choice plants were taken indoors to improvise a kind of conservatory for a night fete. They were carried back the next day, seemingly none the worse, and on the morrow were found withered."

"Like these?"

"No, sir, not so bad as these. They didn't die; they revived after a time. A great fuss was made over it; the gentleman thought it must be wilful damage, and offered twenty pounds reward for the discovery of the offenders. At last it was found they had been poisoned by the candles."

"Poisoned by the candles!"

"A new sort of candle, very beautiful to look at, but with a great quant.i.ty of a.r.s.enic in it," continued Monk. "A scientific man gave it as his opinion that the poison thrown out from the candles had been fatal to the plants. Perhaps something of the same kind has done the mischief here, sir. Plants are such delicate things!"

"And what has been fatal to the grapes? _They_ were not taken into the house."

The question came from the surgeon, Mr. Duffham. He had stood all the while against the end of the far steps, looking fixedly at Monk over the top of his cane. Monk put his eyes on the grapes above, and kept them there while he answered.

"True, sir; the grapes, as you say, didn't go in. Perhaps the poison brought back by the plants may have acted on them."

"Now, I tell you what, Monk, I think that's all nonsense," cried the Squire, testily.

"Well, sir, I don't see any other way of accounting for this state of things."

"The greenhouse was filled with some suffocating, smelling, blasting stuff that knocked me back'ards," put in Jenkins. "Every crack and crevice was stopped where a breath of air could have got in. I wish it had been you to find it; you'd not have liked to be smothered alive, I know."

"I wish it had been," said Monk. "If there was any such thing here, and not your fancy, I'll be bound I'd have traced it out."

"Oh, would you! Did you do anything to them there pot-stands?" continued Jenkins, pointing to them.

"No."

"Oh! Didn't clean 'em out?"

"I wiped a few out on Wednesday morning before we brought back the plants. Somebody--Drew, I suppose--had stacked them in the wrong place.

In putting them right, I began to wipe them. I didn't do them all; I was called away."

"'Twas me stacked 'em," said Jenkins. "Well--them stands are what had held the poison; I found a'most one-half of 'em filled with it."

Monk cast a rapid glance around. "What was the poison?" he asked.

Jenkins grunted, but gave no other reply. The fact was, he had been so abused by the Squire for having put away the trace of the "stuff," that it was a sore subject.

"Did you come on here, Monk, before you started for Evesham this morning?" questioned the Squire.

"I didn't come near the gardens, sir. I had told Jenkins last night to be on early," replied Monk, bending over a blackened row of plants while he spoke. "I went the back way to the stables through the lane, had harnessed the horse to the cart, and was away before five."

We quitted the greenhouse. The pater went out with Mr. Duffham, Tod and I followed. I, looking quietly on, had been struck with the contrast of manner between old Duff and Monk--he peering at Monk with his searching gaze, never once taking it off him; and Monk meeting n.o.body's eyes, but s.h.i.+fting his own anywhere rather than meet them.

"About this queer a.r.s.enic tale Monk tells?" began the Squire. "Is there anything in it? Will it hold water?"

"Moons.h.i.+ne!" said old Duff, with emphasis.

The tone was curious, and we all looked at him. He had got his lips drawn in, and the top of his cane pressing them.

"Where did you take Monk from, Squire? Get a good character with him?"

"Jenkins brought him here. As to character, he had never been in any situation before. Why? Do you suspect him?"

"Um-m-m!" said the doctor, prolonging the sound as though in doubt. "If I do suspect him, he has caused me to. I never saw such a s.h.i.+fty manner in all my life. Why, he never once looked at any of us! His eyes are false, and his tones are false!"

"His tones? Do you mean his words?"

"I mean the tone his words are spoken in. To an apt ear, the sound of a man's voice, or woman's either, can be read off like a book; a man's voice is honest or dishonest according to his nature; and you can't make a mistake about it. Monk's has a false ring in it, if ever I heard one. Now, master Johnny, what are you looking so eager about?"

"I think Monk's voice false, too, Mr. Duffham; I have thought himself false all along. Tod knows I have."

"I know that you are just a m.u.f.f, Johnny, going in for prejudices against people unreasonably," said Tod, putting me down as usual.

Old Duff pushed my straw hat up, and pa.s.sed his fingers over the top of my forehead. "Johnny, my boy," he said, "you have a strong and good indication here for reading the world. _Trust to it._"

"I couldn't trust Monk. I never have trusted him. That was one reason why I suspected him of stealing the things the magpie took."

"Well, you were wrong there," said Tod.

"Yes. But I'm nearly sure I was right in the thing before."

"What thing?" demanded old Duff, sharply.

"Well, I thought it was Monk that frightened Phoebe."

"Oh," said Mr. Duffham. "Dressed himself up in a sheet, and whitened his face, and went up the lane when the women were watching for the shadows on St. Mark's Eve! What else do you suspect, Johnny?"