Trevlyn Hold Part 73

We need not follow the interview any further. At the close of the night she knew little more than she had known at its commencement beyond the a.s.sertion that Rupert Trevlyn was killed. Jim went off in the morning to his work as usual, and she resumed her labours of the day before. Nora had scarcely shown her wisdom in releasing Jim so quickly; but it may be that to keep him longer concealed in the "tallet" was next door to impossible.

Mrs. Sanders was interrupted in her work by George Ryle. She smoothed down the coa.r.s.e towel pinned before her, and put her untidy hair behind her ears as her master entered. He questioned her as to the report which had been traced to her, and she disclosed what she had heard from Jim.

Not much in itself, but it wore an air of mystery George could not understand and did not like. He left her to go in search of Jim.

But another, as we have heard, had taken precedence of him in searching for that gentleman--Policeman Dumps. Mr. Dumps found him in the out-buildings at Trevlyn Farm, working as unconcernedly as though nothing had happened. The man's first move, fearing perhaps a second escape, was to clap a pair of handcuffs on him.

"There, you young reptile! You'll go off again, will you, after committing murder!"

Now, in point of fact, Mr. Dumps had really no particular reason for using the word. He only intended to imply that Mr. Jim's general delinquency deserved a strong name. Jim took it in a different light.

"It wasn't me murdered him!" he said, terrified almost out of his life at the handcuffs. "I only see it done. Why should I murder him, Mr.

Dumps?"

"Who's talking about murder?" cynically returned Dumps, forgetting probably that he had used the word. "The setting of the rick-yard on fire was enough for you, warn't it, without anything else added on to it?"

"Oh, you mean the fire," said Jim, considerably relieved. "I didn't do that, neither, and there'll be plenty to prove it. I thought you meant the murder."

Dumps surveyed his charge critically, uncertain what to make of him. He proceeded to questioning; setting about it in an artistic manner that was perhaps characteristic of his calling.

"Which murder might be you meaning of, pray?"

"Mr. Rupert's."

"Mr.----What be you talking of?" uttered Dumps, staring at Jim in the utmost astonishment.

And now Jim Sanders found he had been caught in a trap, one not expressly laid for him. He could have bitten his tongue out with vexation. That the death of Rupert Trevlyn would become public property, he had never doubted, but he had intended to remain silent upon the subject.

It was too late to retract now, and he must make the best of it, and put up with the consequences.

"Who says Mr. Rupert's murdered?" persisted Dumps.

"So he is," sullenly answered Jim. "But I didn't do it."

Mr. Dumps's rejoinder was to seize Jim by the collar, and march him off in the direction of the station as fast as he could walk. The farming men, who had been collecting since the policeman's arrival, followed to the fold-yard gate, and stood staring, supposing he was taken on suspicion of having caused the fire. Nora, shut up in her dairy, had seen nothing, or there's no knowing but she might have flown out to the rescue.

Not another word was spoken; indeed the pace at which Mr. Dumps chose to walk prevented it. When they reached the station, Mr. Chattaway was talking to Bowen. Jim went into a s.h.i.+vering fit at the sight of Chattaway, and strove to hide behind Policeman Dumps.

"So you have turned up!" exclaimed Bowen. "And now, where did you get to yesterday?"

Jim did not answer; he appeared to wish to avoid Mr. Chattaway, and trembled visibly. Bowen was on the point of inquiring what made him quake in that fas.h.i.+on, when Mr. Chattaway's voice broke in like a peal of thunder.

"How dared you be guilty of suppressing evidence? How dared you run away?"

Bowen turned the boy round to face him. "Just state where you got to, Jim Sanders."

"I didn't run away," replied Jim. "I lay down in the tallet at the farm atop o' the hay, and never woke all day yesterday. Miss d.i.c.kson can say I was there, for she come and found me there at night, and sent me off.

There warn't no cause for me to run away," he somewhat fractiously repeated, as if weary of having to harp upon the same string. "It wasn't me that fired the rick."

"But you saw it fired?" cried Mr. Chattaway.

Jim stole round, so as to put Dumps between him and the questioner. Mr.

Bowen brought him to again. "There's no need to dodge about like that,"

cried he, repeating Jim's words. "Just speak up the truth; but you are not forced to say anything to criminate yourself."

"I can tell 'em," thought Jim to himself; "it won't hurt him, now he's dead. It was Mr. Rupert," he said aloud. "After he got the horsewhipping, he caught up the torch and pushed it into one o' the ricks; and that's as true as I be living."

"You saw him do this?"

"I was watching all the while, round the pales. He seemed like one a'most mad, and it frighted me. I pulled the burning hay out o' the rick, and thought I pulled it all out, but suppose a spark must ha'

stopped in. I was frighted worse afterwards when the flames burst out, and I ran off for the engines. I telled Mr. Apperley I'd been for 'em when I met him at night."

The boy's earnest tones and honest eyes, lifted to Bowen's, convinced that experienced officer that it was the truth. But he chose to gaze implacably at the culprit, never relaxing his sternness of voice.

"Then what made you go and hide yourself? Out with the truth!"

Jim's eyes fell now. "I was tired to death," he said, "and crep' up into the tallet at master's, and went to sleep. And I never woke in the morning, when I ought to ha' woke."

This was so far probable that it _might_ be true. But before Bowen could go on questioning he was interrupted by Mr. Chattaway.

"He has confessed sufficient, Bowen--it was Rupert Trevlyn. But he deserves punishment for the trouble he has put everyone to; and there must be a fresh examination. Keep him safely here, and take care he's not tampered with. I am obliged to go to Blackstone to-day, but the hearing can take place to-morrow, if you'll apprise the magistrates.

And--Bowen--mind you accomplish that other matter to-day that I have charged you with."

The last sentence, spoken emphatically and slowly, Mr. Chattaway turned round to deliver as he was going out. Bowen nodded in acquiescence; and Chattaway mounted his horse and rode off in the direction of Blackstone.

Jim Sanders, looking the picture of misery in his handcuffs, stood awkwardly in a corner of the room; it was a square room with a boarded floor; and a railed-off desk. Bowen had gone within these rails as Mr.

Chattaway departed, and was busy writing a few detached words or sentences, that looked like memoranda. Dumps was gazing after the retreating figure of Mr. Chattaway.

"Call Chigwell," said Bowen, glancing at the small door which led into the inner premises. "There's work for both of you to-day."

But before Dumps could do this, he was half-knocked over by some one entering. It was George Ryle. He took in a view of affairs at a glance: Bowen writing; Dumps doing nothing; Mr. Jim Sanders handcuffed.

"So you have come to grief?" said George to the latter. "You are just the man I wanted, Jim. Bowen," he added, going within the railings and lowering his voice, "have you heard this report about Rupert Trevlyn?"

"I have heard he is probably off, sir," was Bowen's answer. "Two of the men are going out now to look after him. Mr. Chattaway has signed a warrant for his apprehension."

George paused. "There is a report that he is dead," he resumed.

"Dead!" echoed Bowen, aghast. "Rupert Trevlyn dead! Who says it?"

George looked round at Jim. The boy stood white and s.h.i.+very; but before any questions could be asked, Dumps came forward and spoke.

"_He_ was talking of that," he said to Bowen, indicating Jim. "When I clapped the handcuffs on him, he turned scared, and began denying it was him that did the murder. I asked him what he meant, and who was murdered, and he said it was Mr. Rupert Trevlyn."

Bowen looked thunderstruck, little as it is in the way of police officers to show emotion of any kind. "What grounds has he for saying that?" he exclaimed, gazing keenly at Jim. "Mr. Ryle, where did you hear the report?"

"I heard it just now at Trevlyn Hold. It would have alarmed them very much had they believed it. Mr. Chattaway was away, and Miss Trevlyn requested me to inquire into it, and bring back news--as she a.s.sumed I should--of its absurdity. I believe we must go to Jim for information,"

added George, "for I have traced the report to him."

Bowen beckoned Jim within the railings; where there was just sufficient s.p.a.ce for the three. Dumps stood outside, leaning on the bars. "Have you been doing mischief to Mr. Rupert Trevlyn?" asked the superintendent.