Of High Descent Part 75

"I have sent to ask again and again, but I felt that any call on my part in the midst of such trouble would be out of place."

"Walk faster," said the old man excitedly, "if you can. No. Let me go alone. Look at them--running. Look!"

Leslie had already noted the fact, and out of respect for the old man he stopped short at once, with the result that Uncle Luke stopped too.

"Why don't you come on?" he cried. "Good heavens, man, what can I do alone? There, there, Leslie, it's of no use, I can play the cynic no longer. Man is not independent of his fellows. I never felt more in need of help than I do now."

Leslie took the old man's arm, and could feel that he was trembling, as they hurried on down towards the harbour, which they would have to cross by the ferry before they could reach the little crowd gathering round the first two men on the patch of sand.

"Keep a good heart, sir," said Leslie, gently. "It may not be after all."

"Yes, it is--it is," groaned Uncle Luke. "I've hung on so to the belief that being a clever swimmer he had managed to get away; but I might have known better, Leslie, I might have known better."

"Let's wait first and be sure, sir."

"There is no need. I don't think I cared for the boy, Leslie; there were times when he made me mad with him for his puppyism; but he was my brother's son, and I always hoped that after a few years he would change and become another man."

"Well, sir, let's cling to that hope yet."

"No, no," said the old man gloomily. "There is the end. He was no thief, Leslie. Believe that of him. It was his wretched scoundrel of a friend, and if Harry struck down poor Van Heldre, it was in his horror of being taken. He was no thief."

As they reached the lowest turn of the cliff-path, the old man gripped Leslie's arm with spasmodic violence and stopped short, for the far side of the harbour lay before them, and they could see clearly all that was going on amid the rocks behind.

"We should be too late," he said huskily. "Your eyes are younger than mine. That's the police sergeant yonder in that boat, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Uncle Luke stood motionless, watching, and they could see that a boat rowed out from the harbour had gone on, and put in just opposite to the patch of the sand where that remote something had been cast up by the sea. To have carried it would have meant the use of a boat at the little ferry, and it was evident that the sergeant had decided to bring the sad flotsam and jetsam round to the harbour steps.

Leslie felt the old man's arm tremble, and his efforts to be firm, as they stood and watched the boat put off again, after a few minutes'

delay. Then the little crowd which had collected came slowly back over the rugged sh.o.r.e till they reached the eastern arm of the harbour just as the boat was coming in, and a piece of sail spread in the stern sheets told but too plainly the nature of her load.

"Mr Luke Vine," said Leslie.

"Yes," cried the old man, starting and speaking in a harsh way, as if suddenly brought back to the present.

"Will you let me make a suggestion?"

The old man only stared hard at him.

"Let me spare you this painful scene. It may not be as you think, and if it is not, it will be a shock; but if--there, let me go, and if it prove to be according to your fears, let me send you word by a trusty messenger, and you can then go up to your brother's house and break the terrible news as gently as you can."

Uncle Luke shook his head and began to descend the slope, timing his speed so as to reach the harbour steps at the same time as the boat.

There was a crowd waiting, but the people parted respectfully to allow the old man and his companion to pa.s.s, and the next minute Uncle Luke was questioning the sergeant with his eyes.

The man stepped ash.o.r.e, and gave an order or two which sent a constable off at a trot, and another policeman took his post at the head of the steps, to keep the way down to the boat.

"Am I to speak plainly, sir?" said the detective in a low voice.

"Yes; let me know the worst."

"I'm afraid it is, sir. We have made no examination yet."

He did not finish all he had to say aloud, but whispered in the old man's ear. Uncle Luke made an effort to be firm, but he shuddered and turned to Leslie.

"Up to the King's Arms," he said huskily; and taking Leslie's arm, the old man walked slowly towards the waterside inn; but they had not gone half-way before they encountered George Vine coming hastily down.

Uncle Luke's whole manner changed.

"Where are you going?" he cried half angrily.

His brother merely pointed to the boat.

"How did you know? Who told you?" he said harshly.

"Nne," was the calm reply. "Luke, do you suppose I could rest without watching for what I knew must come?"

His piteous, reproachful voice went to the heart of his hearers.

"Tell me," he continued earnestly, "Mr Leslie, the truth."

"There is nothing to tell, sir," said Leslie gravely, "so far it is only surmise. Come with us and wait."

Their suspense was not of long duration. In a very short time they were summoned from where they were waiting to another room, where Dr Knatchbull came forward with a face so full of the gravity of the situation that any hope which flickered in Duncan Leslie's breast died out on the instant; and he heard George Vine utter a low moan, as, arm in arm, the two brothers advanced for the identification, and then Luke led his brother away.

Leslie followed to lend his aid, but Uncle Luke signed to him to go back.

He stood watching them till they disappeared up the narrow path leading to the old granite house, and a sense of misery such as he had never before felt swelled in the young man's breast, for, as he watched the bent forms of the two brothers, he saw in imagination what must follow, and his brow grew heavy as he seemed to see Louise sobbing on her father's neck, heart-broken at her loss.

"And yet I could not help clinging to the hope that he had swum ash.o.r.e,"

muttered Leslie, as he walked back to the inn, where he found Dr Knatchbull in conversation with the officer.

"I wish I had never seen Cornwall, sir," said the latter warmly; "poor lad! poor lad!"

"Then there is no doubt whatever?" said Leslie hurriedly.

"Identification after all these days in the water is impossible," said the doctor; "I mean personal identification."

"Then it may not be after all," said Leslie excitedly.

The detective shrugged his shoulders, and took a packet from a little black bag. This he opened carefully, and placed before Leslie a morocco pocket-book and a card-case, both stamped with a gold coronet and the motto, _Roy et Foy_, while, when the card-case was drawn open and its water-soaked contents were taken out, the cards separated easily, and there, plainly enough, was the inscription, the result of Aunt Marguerite's inciting--

"_Henri Comte des Vignes_."

Volume 2, Chapter XIX.

POLL PERROW GOES A-BEGGING.