The Solitary Farm Part 18

"Wholly. Entirely. To the death we trust one another."

"That is well." Cyril sat down in the arm-chair, and drew Bella on to his knees. "Unity is strength. With you by my side I am not afraid."

"Then you have been afraid?" she asked softly.

"Of losing your love--yes. But now I am satisfied on that point, there is another thing that makes me afraid."

"What is it?"

"I may be accused of this murder. Other people may have seen me, as you saw me, dear."

"Then it _was_ you?" she gasped.

"No, no! I have explained myself. If necessary, I can put forward an _alibi_."

"Who was the man then?"

"I can't tell you that." Cyril pushed her away, and rose much agitated.

"Then you know?" Bella stood back from him doubtfully.

"I can't be sure. I think--that is, I fancy--Bella, don't ask me anything just now. Later I may be able to explain."

"And you will explain?"

"If it be possible. Remember, I said that I _might_ be able to explain, but of this I cannot be certain."

"I do not understand," sighed the girl, seating herself again. "Cyril, has this matter anything to do with you?"

"The matter of the murder?"

"Yes. I don't mean to ask if you are guilty, as I know you are not. But are you connected in any way with the matter?"

"No," he rejoined promptly, "if I were, I should be an accomplice after the fact. All the same----" He paused, looking paler than ever, and his face became peaked and haggard. "Don't ask me anything yet," he murmured.

"I am willing to trust you, dear," said Bella quietly, "but, as you remarked yourself some time ago, other people----"

He interrupted her. "Other people?"

"Yes. Some one else did see you on that evening."

"The person saw my double," corrected Cyril. "I was in London, as I told you, and as I can prove. Who is this person?"

"Silas Pence."

"Ah!" Lister's hands clenched. "He hates me because you are to be my wife. He will go to the police."

"I don't think so," said Bella slowly. "He threatened to go, but as yet he has held his tongue."

"Why, when he hates me so?"

"I think--I think," said Bella slowly, "that Mr. Pence knows more about this matter than he chooses to admit."

Cyril uttered an exclamation. "Do you suspect him?"

"Not of the murder," she replied promptly; "he is too weak and timid a creature to commit a crime. But I know that he was poor; now he is unexpectedly rich, and we are aware," she added with emphasis, "that one hundred pounds was stolen from my father's safe on the night of the murder."

"But surely you do not connect a harmless man, like Pence, with the crime?"

"I say nothing, because I know nothing, Cyril. But if Mr. Pence is entirely innocent, why does he not accuse you, whom he hates."

"He has no grounds to go upon, dear."

Bella shook her head. "He thinks that he has," she answered, "as he believed it was you he saw when he met your double at the boundary channel. Since he would like to see you in trouble, the very fact that he delays telling the police shows that his own conscience is not easy."

"It is strange," a.s.sented Lister. "However, if he does accuse me, I can prove an _alibi_."

"But what about your double?"

The young man turned away abruptly to the window. "I can say nothing on that point at present."

"When will you explain?"

"I can't say; sooner or later." Lister, with his hands in his pockets, looked out of the window as though to avoid further questioning. This behaviour puzzled Bella, as she felt sure that Cyril could tell her much if inclined to do so. But it was odd that he should so decline. She abruptly reverted to an earlier thought in her mind. "You did not tell me that you had a negro servant called Durgo."

Lister wheeled sharply. "I have no servant, negro or otherwise," he said in a decisive tone. "Why do you say that?"

Bella, wondering still more, gave him details, which Cyril heard with a perplexed frown. He made no comment until she had finished. "You say that this man recognised my portrait. In that case I can guess"--he did not finish his sentence, but became paler than ever.

CHAPTER XI

A RECOGNITION

Bella found the interviews with Cyril eminently unsatisfactory. It was perfectly plain that he entertained strong suspicions regarding the unknown person whom she termed his double. But even when questioned point-blank he declined to explain himself. Yet if Lister knew of someone who resembled him more or less closely he surely could place his hand on that someone. When he did so the a.s.sa.s.sin of Captain Huxham would speedily be found. This being the case it was strange that Cyril should hesitate, and again and again Bella questioned him bluntly, only to find him more determined than ever to keep his own counsel. Under these circ.u.mstances it was useless to prolong the conversation, and the girl left the cottage feeling extremely despondent. It seemed to her that the problem would never be solved, in spite of the certainty she entertained that Cyril could solve it if he so wished.

Nor did Bella feel any brighter when she returned to the Manor, for Mrs.

Coppersley chose to take umbrage at her niece's absence. Bella declined to say where she had been, and dismissed the matter in a few cold words.

Not feeling sure of her ground, Mrs. Coppersley retreated for the time being, but next day returned to the attack with the evident object of making the Manor-house too hot for the girl. Bella was strong enough to quell open mutiny on the part of her aunt, but she could not defend herself against incessant nagging. Since the death of her brother, Mrs.

Coppersley had become as bold as. .h.i.therto she had been meek, and in many skilful ways contrived to make her niece feel thoroughly uncomfortable.

As Bella had quite enough to bear without being taxed further with these petty worries she became restive, and on the third day of hostilities demanded what her aunt meant by behaving so aggressively. Mrs.

Coppersley, better at ambushes than in open warfare, would have s.h.i.+rked the battle, but Bella forced the quarrel since it was absolutely necessary to bring matters to a head.

"You never leave me alone, Aunt Rosamund," she complained wearily.