The Moor End Mystery.
CHAPTER XXl.—(Continued.) THAT chap must have had his bike in the pub; and he knew how to navigate it too. He was a better man than me by a good furlong in the mile. He could go. Mind yon, it was all uphill, and I carried too much flesh. He hauled up on me yard by yard, and my wind ran short. At last, just before I got to the corner where you turn westward to the Common, I got a stitch in the side, and he knew he was bound to catch me. Something had to be done, and done smartly too. He was not a hundred yards behind and going strong. I cut round the corner, which turns at right angles, and the moment I was behind the high hedge jumped off, and had just time to shove my bike behind me when whiz round the angle came he. He cut it so fine that he nearly ran over me, and in a flash :I had given him a shove and sent him He did come a healthy howler.. It dazed him for a minute; and before he had time to know what had happened I had jumped both feet through the spokes of his back wheel, smashed his gear case in upon the gearing, and kicked the whole blessed hurdy-gurdy to pieces. It looked like a sick umbrella. And Constable Spudderty of Q Division picked himself up, with his face full of flints, just in time to see me hop on my machine and pull out for the. Common. The last sight I had of him he was standing over the relics of his bike, with the blood running down his nose, staring after me, and saying exactly what he thought of Jenkins in particular and of the clergy in general. I was sorry for Jenkins, but I can't see-that I was to blame if people insisted on mixing us up. If I have a naturally saintly look it is not my fault, I was born that way. Well, I spun right away over the Common, through the Park and down the long hill into Dagwell; from there I made Dustable, and then, reckoning that I had better head for some place off the main line, I steered North East, struck the North-road about a mile outside Streetley, and was in Bedford before midnight. I put up in a quiet little pub in the outskirts of the township, posted a letter to Dr. Tring, and at 6.13 next morning I caught the express, and was in Liverpool by eleven o'clock. I knew the place a little, and the first thing I did was to make for the docks and shipping, to see what was sailing. It was hardly good enough to go marching arounc the shipping office in Water Street. I meant to sail first and book after—with the help of the purser and a bit of luck. I dropped into a small tobacconist's on my way, got into talk with him and told him I was only in town for a few hours, and asked him if he would mind my having a telegram addressed there. I bought a good stock of 'baccy and some pipes from him, so he was willing enough. Then I went out and wired to Tring to send word of Dot addressed to ' Roberts ' at the tobacconist's address. After that I set to work to make arrangements for my voyage—a cargo boat was what I wanted, and a South American Freezer for choice. vThe Argentine seemed just about the place for me. Not that I cared a continental hang where I went It isn't all joy chucking one's job and the work of half-a-dozen years all at one throw, and I didn't feel over jubilant as I walked down Chapel Street towards the docks. CHAPTER XHI.-WORSE CONFOUNDED. (Dr. Tring's Narrative.) On Tuesday morning after breakfast I did a professional round of visits, and on my way home called at the vicarage. I found the poor old Vicar walking up and down his librarv wringing his hands and mumbling to himself in evident excitement. 'Thank God you have come,' doctor,' he cried, as 1 entered. ' You got my message ?' 'Message?' saidl. 'No, I merely called in on my way home to ask whether you had any further particulars of Jenkins' suicide. The case interests me. Is anything wrong? Have you found the body ?' The Vicar groaned. • Worso than that!' he cried. ' Far worit I fear. I cannot understand it.
By Victor Waite.
Author of 'Cross Trails,' &c, &o.
COPYRIGHT.
I sent for you, doctor, to ask if you could help me to throw light on the mystery.' "• ' -**" And then he went on to tell that on the previous evening several men had actually seen the missing curate leap a hedge, violently steal a bioycle from a small boy in the lane, and ride off. They had afterwards seen him make an assault upon a policeman in plain clothes, whose bicycle he smashed. He had effected his escape without leaving a trace behind. 'And read ■ thati'"-said the poor Vicar, thrusting a.telegram into my hand. It was from one of his churchwardens who had run down to Liverpool for a night on business. It had been despatched at 11-15, and had arrived only half-an-hour before I came in. The churoh warden, who knew all about Jenkins' disappearance, wired that he had just seen him at the Central Station at Liverpool, and had followed and tried to speak with him, but had lost him in the crowd. '•What does' it mean?' asked the Vicar, desperately. 'What does it all mean r' I shook my head. I had my theory, but was loath to harrow the old man's feelings by saying all I thought.' 'lt's inexplicable,' cried the Vicar. 'His extraordinary disappearance in the train—his insahe flight in the street on Saturday—his apparent suicide, and . this new outbreak of violence—inexplicable •' 'Not at all,' I said. 'I can see nothing inexplicable in it.' 'What? You mean—' began the Vicar with a sudden look of alarm. ' Yes,' I said. ' That is it.' ' Then you do not believe he was insane?' 'That remains to be seen, but now— — ' The suicide was - 'Exactly. A hoax!' The Vicar flung his hands out hopelessly. ' But why,' he cried. ' What reason could there be ?' ' Well, my dear sir, you know what young men are. They are thoughtless and get entangled—you understand me—gambling possibly, or horse-racing; or—boys will be boys you know, even in the Church. The old Adam, sir—the old Adam 1' ' But he was so promising,' wailed the vicar. ' Such a good young fellow. I looked upon him as a most useful and—' What could I say? I could do nothing to comfort him. It was patent to me that the young imbecile had got himself into some serious scrape, had been afraid to face the consequences, and had run away. To throw off suspicion he had feigned madness and suicide. The thing was as clear as day ; but the vicar would hardly believe it. And seeing I could do no good I left him. When I got home I found a letter awaiting me. It had arrived by the II o'clock post, and was addressed in Kentland's handwriting. It bore the Bedford post-mark, was dated on Monday evening, and was shortalmost a telegram in fact; It ran: ' Dear Doctor, ' Have cleared. Making for Liverpool by morning train. Shall send address from there. On receipt wire me immediately how D. 0. is, and whether she is safe. Shall let you know movements Name * Roberts' at present. Sit tight. Say nothing and saw wood 'Yours, R. K.* That was all, but it was characteristic of the man—short, sharp and decided. I was greatly relieved to know he had at least got safe away from the neighbourhood, for I had been not a little alarmed to hear of his having been seen. But evidently, I thought, Shadow had really once more been mistaken. I had just sat down to luncheon when my man handed me a telegram. It was addressed from a shop in Liverpool, was signed 'Roberts,' and merely said, ' How is she '? Reply immediately.' 'ls the boy waiting r' I said, turning to James. ' Yessir.' , '-^ I rose, and had just began to write an answer, which, as you may imagine, was no very easy matter, considering Dorothy's precarious state of mind, when the door boll rang. James answered it, and a moment later returned with a second wire. I opened it and found it was also from Kentland:—
' Returning at one*. Explain later. —Robert*.' That was all. I read and re-read it. ' What in the world does the man mean ?' I said to myself. ' He'll explain at the Assizes later, That's very certain.' I smoked several pipes over the matter, despatched a wire to Kentland saying, simply, 'Don't be an ass,' and went for a walk to think it over. I was strolling down the hill into the little valley of Hammerton when suddenly I caught sight of the boy that brought the message from Kentland the day before. He ran as soon as he saw me, and disappeared into an empty house on the right of the road. I followed him up and entered the place just in time to see him fire a stone or something out of a catapult into the window of a lonely house that stands back in the larch wood on th 6 opposite side. And then while I was trying to catch the young jackanapes suddenly out of the window of the empty • house sprang Kentland himself. I knew his clothes, and saw that he had been as good as his word, He must have come straight back from Liverpool by the express. Without a second's hesitation I set off in pursuit, calling him by name. But instead of waiting for me he ran without even turning his head; and then a fool of a policeman came charging round the corner and spoilt i everything Of course I couldn't tell him why I was running, and of course he would ask questions. ' What's the matter, sir ?' he cried, When he recognised me. ' Matter, you fool ?' I said, feeling irritated, 'you're the matter. What do you mean by it ?' • By what, sir ?' ' By running into me in that way, like a football match. Eh? What?' ' I 'eard something shouting, and—' ' Shouting ? Of course I was shouting! Can't a man shout if he likes without being interfered with by a pac'« of officious idiots ?' ' Well,' he growled, * you was running 'ead first round the corner, sir -' ' Running I To be sure I was running. Surely one may take a little quiet exercise without a whole squad of police getting in one's way at every corner.' ' I was only doin' of my duty, sir,' he growled. ' Duty ? D'you call butting people in the stomach duty? No, not another word I Be off to your beat or I'll report you.' And i left him standing there, gaping like a postal pillar-box. The boy had disappeared, but I found my hat—a good guinea top-hat—stamped into a concertina. If I ever catch that boy I'll spank piety into his epidermis, the young villain t' Well, home I went hatless, and harried by all these miserable complications looked for a peg and a pipe in peace ; but instead found another message from the vicarage awaiting me, and had to hurry off, haltexpecting to find the Vicar had had a stroke or something of the kind. 1 1 found him more excitable and nervous than ever. 'What am I to do, Doctor?' he said, as I came in, ' Jenkins' aunt is coming to look for him. Here is her wire- What can I say? I can't tell her all I I'm at my wits' end!' He looked it, poor old man. ' Say! Do! Tell her all about it.' ' But it would be a most delicate matter—a most difficult subject to — to ' 5 ' Pooh! pooh i' said I. ' Delicate ? Not at all These things happen every day. I should just say—' At that moment the door opened, and the servant announced, ' Miss Jenkins!' The Vicar turned green and greeted i her. I turned to go, as it appeared to me that the presence of a third -party might be embarrassing at such a time. •Don't go, Dr Tring,' said the Vicar, hastily. And before I could form an excuse he had introduced me. Miss Jenkins donned a pince-nez, gazed at me, and bowed stiffly. She was a tartar. I saw that at a glance. The signs are unmistakable. She was tall and spare, with a prim mouth, an opinionative chin, and a decidedly evangelical nose. ' Algernon Jenkins is my nephew,' she announced in a brassy voice, ' and I have come to enquire into the truth of several scandalous paragraphs which have appeared in the papers.' She produced a bundle of newspaper cuttings as she spoke, and handed them to the Vicar. He glanced at them, and coughed nervously. 'I presume there is no truth in these calumnies ?' she remarked, looking fixedly at him. He started and cast a deprecatory eye up at her. 'I fear, Miss Jenkins,' he said, hesitating, ' that you must —must in fact prepare yourself for the—for the ' 'Pray, do not hesitate to speak plainly,' said she, severely. ' I understand you to mean— —' 'I mean that—really, Doctor, I think you had bettor—' said the Vicar, looking at me, invitingly. Being somewhat behind Miss Jenkins, I shook my head, and frowned at him. ' Doctor Tring knows more about it than I do,' said he feebly. ' He will—you'll explain, Dodtor, won't you F' ■.■■•< ' Ilk I despised this base cowardice/'* 'Not at all I Not at all 1' I said, hastily. «I assure you I would not deprive you of the plea—' Then I recollected and checked myself; and before I could continue Miss Jenkins interrupted me. ' Please toll me everything from the
beginning,' said she, turning an imperious gaze upon me, and assuming a waiting attitude. I glanced appealingly at the vicar; but he was looking out of the window with a face of mild unconcern. I had to speak. 'The plain fact is, madam,' I began, ' that your nephew has— hag in point of fact disappeared.' ' Then there is some foundation of truth in the ' ' Certainly!' I answered. ' Certainly—plenty of truth. He disappeared on Friday last.' * The very day he left me?' she cried. 'Has he—my nephew —been seen since then?' ' Oh, yes. He has been seen, I rejoined, ' very much seen in fact, I have seen him twice myself.' And I told her how I had seen Jenkins at the station and again in the street; and detailed all the story of his extraordinary flight, down to the discovery of his clothes on the bank of the canal. There she interrupted me. I had seen her beginning to effervesce, and grew alarmed—for her health, you understand. ' And did no one—did his own friends not—attempt to find the poor boy ?' she cried. 'We believed, of course, that in a fit of temporary insanity——,' I continued. ;" Again, she interrupted me. 'lt is incredible!' she cried. 'Do you mean'to r ' say that a whole parish full of people calling themselves Christians could drive a poor boy mad and then hunt him down until he took his own life ?' ' But you misunderstand the ——' I began, but got no further. She turned upon me haughtily., ' I wish to hear no more,' she said, with crushing scorn. ' You are all guilty. You, sir—why did you not save the poor lad when you saw him in the station ? Why did you allow those outrageous people to chase him in the street ? Why did you not bring him home to me ? Why did you —?' ' But how could I help ?' ' Help !' she cried witheringly. 'As a physician, it was your duty to place him under suitable control. You have killed my poor nephew by your neglect.' 'Now —now—now!' I cried, thoroughly annoyed. 'My good madam, your poor nephew is not dead.' 'Not dead?' she repeated incredulously. 'How!'; "'■ ' No, not dead,' said I, firmly. ' Not in any degree dead!' ' Then where is he?' she demanded, as if I were in the habit of stealing curates and had abducted him. ' He is in Liverpool,' I said- ' In Liverpool ?' 1 Yes—in Liverpool!' ' But why is he there ? What is he •doing pi •' He appears to be in hiding.' ' From whom may I ask ?' she demanded, looking suspicious over at the Vicar. ' From the consequences of his own folly, I fear,' said I; The old lady gave me a sweeping glance of distrust, and said stiffly: ' Will you be good enough to explain what you mean, sir ?' " I am really a long-suffering man, but my endurance has definite limits. I felt distinctly irritated by the tone of the question,'".' "•' ; 'Madam,' said I, <I mean what I say.' 'Do you mean that Algernon—my nephew—did not go—was not driven insa ' ' Insane ? Certainly not!' 'And did not commit—that is to say—' ' Suicide ? Of course not 1' ' Then what was it ?' she cried, distractedly. ' How came his clothes to be found——' ".' ' Sham, madam!' I replied, ' Sham —simply sham!' That aunt of Jenkins bridled up until the linglets about, her yellow face quivered. 'Do you intend to insinuate that my nephew absconded because ' 'I insinuate nothing*' I. said decidedly, ' Calm yourself my dear madam; calm yourself! We all know what boys are. We are not distant from town, Temptation, you know—temptation! Youth—youth—folly of youth!' ' was always sueh_a good boy 1' she exclaimed, 'bopious —such a dear Christian!' ' Quite so,'. I replied. 'No doubt he knew nothing of the world, got into bad company, too!; to betting possibly, or drinking perhaps, or speculation or something, and ' 'My nephew could have known of none of those things!' she said, sharply. ' I brought him up myself in the strictest manner—' 'Ah ! the strictest manner—quite so—quite so. That may account for it—reaction, you know, Miss Jenkins, reaction—natural reaction!' I said, forgetting for the moment everything but the case we w< re diagnosing. The result of my innocent remark was alarming. Miss Jenkins stiffened up her back and seemed positively to swell with pent-up indignation. She glared at me through her pince-nez m a manner really appalling to a bachelor like myself, unaccustomed to feminine tempests. (To be continued.)
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Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 440, 22 September 1904, Page 2
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3,079The Moor End Mystery. Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 440, 22 September 1904, Page 2
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