The Golden Web Part 12

"At any rate," Mr. Sarsby remarked, with what he imagined was a dignified air, "there is no need to take a stranger into your confidence. Mr. Deane is scarcely interested."

"On the contrary," Deane answered, with a little bow. "But I thought you told me, Miss Sinclair, that you were probably leaving us before long."

"Oh, I hope so!" she replied. "My uncle was not a man to break his promise, and he did promise. I am expecting to hear now every day."

After tea, they wandered out on to the little stretch of sandy s.h.i.+ngle which alone separated the cottage from the sea. The girl had walked on a little ahead, and Deane laid his hand for a moment upon her uncle's shoulder.

"Mr. Sarsby," he said, "did I understand that the name of your niece's uncle was Sinclair--the same as her own?"

Mr. Sarsby nodded. "Yes, sir!" he said,--"Richard Sinclair. He was her father's brother, you see,--a queer, wandering sort of fish. However, he certainly did write the girl, a few weeks ago, saying that he was back in England, and hoped to realize a large sum of money on some of his investments, and promised to send for her to come up to town. Since then, we have heard nothing from him."

"Do you read the papers, Mr. Sarsby?" Deane asked.

"I read the _Times_ for an hour every afternoon between five and six,"

Mr. Sarsby admitted. "I have a special arrangement with Mr. Foulds--the vicar--which enables me to do this,--a special arrangement!" he concluded, with a little gurgle of satisfaction. "Our vicar, by the bye, Mr. Deane, is a highly intelligent man. He will doubtless be coming across to see you."

"I am here for so short a time," Deane said. "It is very kind of people, but really it is scarcely worth their while to trouble to come to see me. I am going on to Scotland in a few days. It is only that I was a little run down, and scarcely felt up to a large house-party, that I came here first."

"You are one of those fortunate people, I see," Mr. Sarsby remarked, a little enviously, "who mix in the world."

Deane shrugged his shoulders. "More or less, I suppose," he admitted.

"But I was asking you whether you read the papers. I did so for an object. I wonder whether you have noticed the details of a very sordid murder that was committed in a London hotel a short time ago?"

"I never read of such things, sir!" Mr. Sarsby declared. "They do not interest me. I read the political news and the foreign intelligence.

Anything that pertains to India, also, naturally claims my attention. I have always contended," he continued, "that a golf column in the _Times_, say twice a week, would be much appreciated. We who study the game from the scientific point of view would like to see the att.i.tude the _Times_ would take on certain matters. For instance, I myself--"

"Pardon my interrupting you, Mr. Sarsby," Deane said, with his eyes upon the returning figure of the girl, "but I was speaking about this murder.

Curiously enough, the unfortunate man was named Sinclair, and he had just returned from abroad."

Mr. Sarsby slowly opened his mouth. Looking up at his companion blankly, "You don't for a moment imagine," he began, "that there could be any connection between this person and Ruby's uncle?"

"I haven't any idea," Deane answered, "but when she mentioned his name, and told me that he had just come back from Africa, and that she had been waiting for a letter which did not come, it certainly occurred to me to be rather in the nature of a coincidence!"

"Have you a paper?" Mr. Sarsby asked hurriedly.

Deane shook his head. "No!" he said. "But there must be a village library, or some place where the London papers are preserved."

"There is," Mr. Sarsby declared. "I will hurry back. I will go and read about it at once. Does it say whether the unfortunate man," he continued, "was possessed of any means?"

"I do not remember," Deane said. "The object of the murder was supposed to be robbery, but the hotel he was staying at scarcely seemed to be one likely to attract a man of wealth."

"I shall hurry back at once," Mr. Sarsby declared. "If there is anything in this, I must come and ask your advice."

"If the thing seems in any way possible," Deane remarked, "you will have to run up to town and make inquiries."

Mr. Sarsby opened his mouth. "My dear sir!" he exclaimed. "Go to London?

But there, there!" he added. "I forgot! If there is anything in it, the estate would, of course, pay my railway fare. Such a busy week, too, as I have next week," he added, taking out his memorandum book and glancing at it for a moment. "I have seven golf matches,--three foursomes and four singles. I scarcely see how I could get away. Ruby," he called, "come along, my dear. We must be getting back."

The girl stifled a yawn. She was beginning to be a bit curious as to why their host had devoted all his attention to her uncle. "Very well," she answered laconically. "I am quite ready. Good-bye, Mr. Deane!"

"If I may," he said, "I will walk a little way with you."

They crossed the strip of s.h.i.+ngly beach together. Afterwards, by necessity, the party became detached. Mr. Sarsby walked on ahead. Deane and the girl followed him, a few yards behind.

"You seem to have found plenty to say to my uncle," she remarked curiously.

"If you will spoil an interesting tea-party," he murmured, "by bringing in an elderly male relative,--"

"It wasn't my fault," she interrupted. "He would come--insisted upon it--as soon as he knew that I had spoken to you. Your man has been making purchases and sending telegrams in the village, which has made every one curious. People who live in small places are always such sn.o.bs."

He laughed. "Well, I had to talk to your uncle, anyhow," he said.

She nodded. "You know now what I have to put up with," she said. "He is a dull, ignorant, pompous little bore. You have probably found that out for yourself by now."

"You dismiss your relatives a little summarily," he remarked.

"I try to speak the truth," she answered. "I believe in being just to people. If I knew of any good quality that he possessed, I would tell it to you,--but I don't!"

She believed in being just! He looked at her as she walked by his side, stepping along with the delightful freedom of healthy youth, her limbs clearly defined beneath her thin skirt,--for they were facing a land breeze which played havoc, also, with her hair. She walked well, her head a little thrown back. Deane recognized the graceful lines of her neck and throat, the carriage of her chin. There was something particularly rhythmic about her movements. She was a believer in justice! Well, she looked like that. The mouth, in repose, was a little hard,--the jaw determined. He found himself wondering, with a nervous sort of morbid curiosity, exactly what she would say and do if she had known with whom she was walking, and if d.i.c.k Sinclair had indeed been her uncle! Supposing she knew the whole truth,--knew of that heated interview, knew of Rowan's enterprise, knew of the paper which was still sewn into the dead man's coat! She would scarcely be an easy person to deal with, he thought.

Her uncle had turned round. They had reached the end of the d.y.k.e. A little gra.s.s-grown footpath led them now to the side of the harbor, beyond which lay the village.

"Mr. Deane," he said,--"Mr. Deane, I should like to show you the village schoolroom."

Deane nodded. "I should be very glad," he said.

Mr. Sarsby turned to his niece. "Ruby," he said, "go home and tell your aunt where we are. I shall be home in half-an-hour,--perhaps five-and-twenty minutes. If there is any message for me from the golf club, the boy can wait till I return. This way, Mr. Deane,--this way."

The girl turned away with a little grimace, and waved her hand to Deane as she disappeared. The two men climbed the village street side by side.

CHAPTER XIV

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

Mr. Sarsby, like most men of his stamp, when brought in touch with larger things than his world knew of, was nervous and helpless. He seemed to throw the whole weight of further action upon this stranger at whose instigation he had commenced the search.

The reading-room was empty except for these two men. Deane was sitting in the little bow window, looking down with apparent interest into the narrow, tortuous street. Sarsby, with a pile of torn and crumpled newspapers in front of him, was still standing, leaning over the long table in the centre of the room. His search was finished. He had no doubt whatever in his mind. The murdered man was indeed Ruby's uncle!

"Mr. Deane!" he exclaimed hoa.r.s.ely.

Deane turned his head. "Well?"

"There's no doubt at all about it," declared Mr. Sarsby, striking the little pile of papers with the back of his hand. "It's the man--it's Ruby's uncle! The date of his arrival corresponds, and the hotel is the one from which he wrote to Ruby."

Deane nodded. "I fancied that it must be the same," he said.