The Missioner Part 40

"What is it?" Macheson asked.

"I was wondering, sir," he said, in a confidential whisper, "whether you could not give me an idea as to who the lady was who called herself Stephen Hurd's daughter in Paris six years ago."

Macheson shook his head.

"I have no idea," he answered curtly.

The man shuffled away. Macheson lit a cigarette and watched him for a moment steadfastly through the large gilt-framed mirror.

"Queer sort of Johnny, your friend," Holderness remarked.

"He's a bad lot, I'm afraid," Macheson answered. "Somehow or other I can't help wis.h.i.+ng that I hadn't seen him."

Holderness laughed.

"Man alive," he said, "it's a good thing you've come back to me, or you'd be a bundle of nerves in no time. We'll get along now, if you're ready. You might find something to say to 'em to-night. I know Henwood's pretty well pumped dry."

They left the place, and took an omnibus citywards.

CHAPTER VII

A COUNTRY WALK

It was exactly such a day as he would have chosen for his purpose when Macheson stepped out of the train at the wayside station and set his face towards Thorpe. A strong bl.u.s.tering wind, blowing down from the hills, had dried the road of all save a slight coating of mud, a wind fresh from the forest, so fresh and strong that he walked with his cap in his hand and his head thrown back, glad to breathe it in his lungs and feel the sting of it on his cheeks. It seemed to him that he had been away for months, as he climbed the long hill towards the village.

The fields now were brown instead of green, a pungent smell of freshly turned earth and burning wood was in his nostrils. The hedges and trees were bare; he caught a glimpse of the great house itself from an unexpected point. Everywhere he was receiving familiar impressions. He came to the avenue up which he had pa.s.sed on his first visit to the house, continually he met carts bearing her name, and villagers, most of whom he noticed with some surprise, looked at him doubtfully. Presently he arrived at the village itself, and stopped before the long, low, white house where Stephen Hurd lived. He paused for a moment, hesitating whether to fulfil this part of his mission now, or to wait until later in the day. Eventually, with the idea of getting the thing over, he opened the gate and rang the front-door bell.

He was shown into the study, and in a few minutes Stephen Hurd came in, smoking a pipe, his hands in his pockets. When he saw who his visitor was he stopped short. He did not offer his hand or ask Macheson to sit down. He looked at him with a heavy frown upon his face.

"You wished to see me?" he said.

"I did," Macheson answered. "Perhaps my call is inopportune. I have come from London practically for no other reason than to ask you a single question."

Hurd laughed shortly.

"You had better ask it then," he said. "I thought that you might have other business in the neighbourhood. Preaching off, eh?"

"My question is simply this," Macheson said calmly. "Have you, or had you, ever a sister?"

A dull red flush streamed into the young man's face. He removed his pipe from his mouth and stared at Macheson. His silence for several moments seemed to arise from the fact that surprise had robbed him of the powers of speech.

"Who put you up to asking that?" he demanded sharply.

Macheson raised his eyebrows slightly.

"My question is a simple one," he said. "If you do not choose to answer it, it is easy for me to procure the information from elsewhere. The first villager I met would tell me. I preferred to come to you."

"I have no sister," Hurd said slowly. "I never had. Now you must tell me why you have come here to ask me this."

"I am told," Macheson said, "that years ago a girl in Paris represented herself as being your father's daughter. She is being inquired for in a somewhat mysterious way."

"And what business is it of yours?" Hurd demanded curtly.

"None--apparently," Macheson answered. "I am obliged to you for your information. I will not detain you any longer."

But Stephen Hurd barred the way. Looking into his face, Macheson saw already the signs of a change there. His eyes were a little wild, and though it was early in the morning he smelt of spirits.

"No! you don't," he declared truculently. "You're not going till you tell me what you mean by that question."

"I am afraid," Macheson answered, "that I have nothing more to tell you."

"You will tell me who this mysterious person is," Hurd declared.

Macheson shook his head.

"No!" he said. "I think that you had better let me pa.s.s."

"Not yet," Hurd answered. "Look here! You've been in communication with the man who came here and murdered my father. You know where he is."

"Scarcely that, was it?" Macheson answered. "There was a struggle, but your father's death was partly owing to other causes. However, I did not come here to discuss that with you. I came to ask you a question, which you have answered. If you will permit me to pa.s.s I shall be obliged."

Hurd hesitated for a moment.

"Look here," he said, with an a.s.sumption of good nature, "there's no reason why you and I should quarrel. I want to know who put you up to asking me that question. It isn't that I want to do him any harm. I'll guarantee his safety, if you like, so far as I am concerned. Only I'm anxious to meet him."

Macheson shook his head.

"I do not know where he is myself," he answered. "In any case, I could not give you any information."

Stephen Hurd stood squarely in front of the door.

"You'll have to," he said doggedly. "That's all there is about it."

Macheson took a step forward.

"Look here," he said, "I shouldn't try that on if I were you. I am stronger than you are, and I have studied boxing. I don't care about fighting, but I am going to leave this room--at once."

"The devil you are," Hurd cried, striking at him. "Take that, you canting hypocrite."

Macheson evaded the blow with ease. Exactly how it happened he never knew, but Hurd found himself a few seconds later on his back--and alone in the room. He sprang up and rushed after Macheson, who was already in the front garden. His attack was so violent that Macheson had no alternative. He knocked him into the middle of his rose bushes, and opened the gate, to find himself face to face with the last person in the world whom he expected to see in Thorpe. It was Wilhelmina herself who was a spectator of the scene!

"Mr. Macheson," she said gravely, "what is the meaning of this?"

Macheson was taken too completely by surprise to frame an immediate answer. Stephen Hurd rose slowly to his feet, dabbing his mouth with his handkerchief.