The Merafield Mystery

Evening Star, Issue 19785, 8 February 1928, Page 2

The Merafield Mystery

By R. A. J. Walling

(Author of ‘Tho Third Degree,’ ‘Fatal Glove,’ etc.)

Special Note.—All the names, characters, _ and incidents in this story are entirely fictitious. *

CHAPTER XII. I calculated that darkness would sot in about 9 o’clock, summer time. I walked to Merafield Tower in . d daylight at S o’clock- 1 rather hoped that some of Rossiter’s men might be on guard then, for the more open my v' it to Mason the better for my purpose.

lie cautious, or if by any cliance he should suspect me, then Overbury’s prospects wore, indeed, not bright. Everything was quiet when 1 returned to the bottom of the stairway. Mason waited for mo, and pushed open the door.

Now, Mason,” said I, “ bring that screen and put it out at right angles, so that the alcove can’t be seen Irom the windows. That’s right. Now, go and got an old suit of yours and a white shirt, and collar and a black tie, and take them up to Major Overbury. Tell him to dress in those things and generally make himself up as much like you as he can; then he’s to wait until you give him a signal at half-past eleven, when ho will come down. I’ll do the rest.” 1 w'aitcd in the blinded room till Mason had done all this. It was nearly nine o’clock, and the light outside was fading. 1 drew up the blinds at every window, save one in the courtyard which faced the alcove. 1 set myself a chair at the big central table, took two or three folio-sized books from the shelves, and sat down with paper and an inkstand and pen, facing inwrads to the house and away from the most windowed end of the room. I told Mason to go out, return in live minutes, and switch on all the lights, as if to help me about my task. As it happened, none of Rossiter’s men were present at this performance, but 1 flattered myself that if they were it must have appeared to them to be most realistic." 1 sat at the tabic and read and wrote for more than two hours . At my instruction Mason came in several times to inquire wdietlier .1 wanted anything, and occasionally to letch mo another book out of the shelves. I. was conscious all the time that eyes might be watching me from the obscurity of the grounds outside. As the time drew on between 10 and 11 1 was certain that every movement X made and every visit of Mason to the room was seen.

The precaution proved useless. It turned out that Rossitcr, in order to avoid suspicion of his intention and any risk of being forestalled, had forbidden Grainger to send anybody near Merafield Tower till after dark. The police cordon was formed after 10 o’clock. I found Mason in a state of severe excitement. Mrs Briseno had obtained his connivance in the first part of her plan, and he was on tenterhooks to know whether it had succeeded. I had difficulty in calming him down. I had to point out that, if anything wont wrong, all who were suspected of having a part in tho affair would bo in a most delicate position; that it was necessary for us all to keep our wits and act precisely as if nothing out of the common were happening. Tho suggestion that any indiscretion might land us in gaol on a charge of felony had a wonderfully sobering effect on Mason. Ho listened carefully to all my instructions. Since the tragedy tbo blinds bad been down in the grouiki floor room of tho Tower—Sir Charles’s study or library—where he had died. I stood in that room feeling curiously excited. The entrance to the staircase, wherever it was, remained perfectly concealed. “Now, Mason,” said 1, “will you go up to Major Overbury and tell him 1 am here, and that I want to speak to him?” II You don’t think any the worse of mo because I didn’t tell you of this, Mr Franks?” said Masngi. “Not at all, Mason. I think the better of you. If Lady Merafield had taken mo as fully into her confidence it might have been better. But, of course, she could not foresee.”

Mason wajlted to the wall of the room between the two windows on the other side facing tlj,o door, ll.ro was an alcove containing a writing desk. In. the thickness of the wall at the side of the alcove, which was panelled all round, Mason pushed what disclosed, itself as a very narrow door—pushed and disappeared.

I do not know to tins day what I read or wrote. I cannot oven remember the titles of the books.

1 suppose i ought, to have felt as if tlio last of those hors was a century. In fact, it passed too quickly for me. The ordeal of getting through the cordon was coming, and J. would gladly have postponed it. Not that there was any danger to myself. My arrangements for safety wore perfect, but I did fear for Ovcry. His was a perilous adventure.

I walked to the alcove and examined it closely. No door could bo distinguished—it could never ho suspected. A most unlikely place for a floor—a clever bit of Tudor work.

At twenty past eleven I said to Mason;

So was the stairway to which, in a minute or two, Mason introduced me. ft was not quite 2ft wide, and it ascended sleep and straight through the wall to a great height. “You go right up, sir. Major Overbury is waiting for you.” I told Mason to remain in the room until I came down. If I heard nothing, I should know that it was all clear; if I heard him talking, moving about, or making any sort of noise, I should know that it was not safe to come out. He closed the narrow door upon me, leaving me in perfect darkness.

“ When you give the signal to Major Overbury, remain behind the screen till he switches off the lights hero. Next we shall switch off tho lights in the hall. Then you slip out. (let outside the house somewhere and out about ten minutes. Then come in as if you had returned from seeing me through the garden. After that you’ll know what to do.”

“ Very good, sir,” said the trembling Mason, with a brave effort. And so it was. At half-past 11 Mason came into the room. I looked up and affected to speak to him; ho went behind the screen. Overbury must have been waiting at the foot of the stairs, for in loss than a minute he was ,in the room. ■ 1

I counted the steps as I went up—there were seventy-six. The seventysixth brought me up with a slight collision against what was apparently the door of a room. “Is that Franks?” said a voice on the other side. The next moment I stood on the threshold of a large chamber, with naked stone walls and a vaulted roof, through which the fading light came slanting from clerestory windows. Beyond them one could see the crenel lations of the tower rising high in the air.

“Keep your face turned away from the windows.” said I, rising and closing my book, and walking towards the door; “ then follow me, switch off the lights here, switch them off in the hall. Walk right out beside me. Don’t for heaven’s sake, speak; I’ll do all the talking.” When Ovcrbury had snapped down the switches and we were not lit up by that blaze of electric lights, 1 felt less naked, and the ordeal seemed loss formidable. Overbury played up smartly. In the tiny light of a summer evening (for the weather was very fine for the beginning of September) he passed very well for Mason—a butler. Even I, close to him, could not see his features.

But at the moment it was not the morn that held my attention. It was Overbnry, shaking mo by the hand and exclaiming: “Good old Papa Franks! Whoever would have thought it? ” I gripped his hand hard and looked well at him. He was pale, but well—the same neat, well-groomed, cleanshaven Overbury as ever. Ho had presumably been cooped up in this place for nearly three weeks, but he might just have stepped out of a bandbox. “Why,” 1 asked him, when we had done our greetings, “did yon nob contrive to Jet me know?”

At the porte cochere .1 began to talk. “Come down to the gate with me, Mason. It’s rather dark out here,” said I, loudly, “ and my eyes are not as good as they used to he.’’ J forbore to look around, though I could have sworn that there was a, man behind the fountain as wo passed, and that, bis head poked round the bow of Eros. .But I continued to talk, and to repeat at every moment, the name of Mason.

"My dear .Franks, you forgot.. To inform the clerk to the justices that here was I, ready to his hand, was a little too much like putting my head in the lion’s mouth. Besides, Qmince was not at all certain what your game was. You got the wind up lor him several times. “ But Mrs Briscoe ? ” I said, “ Who the devil is Mrs Briscoe? ” ho asked. For a moment i thought 1 should faint. If Mrs Briscoe was playing a game. . . . Then I remembered.

“ Well, Mason, I dare say you feel the awkwardness of it, but yon know what Lady Merafield’s instructions were. I should think you ought to carry on just as usual. I heard to-day that there seems to be a chance of catching Ovcrbury—they think he’s hiding somewhere near. AVhat’s that, Mason? Oh, well! you ought to have lived long enough in the world to know that. Of course, I cannot say what 1 think about it. Wouldn’t be proper for me in my position, Mason. . . .” And so on, until Overbury and I, who had struck straight across the lawn in the open, reached the belt of shrubs which sheltered the path to the drive. There wo gasped for breath 1 I was talking as hard as I could when a man stepped into the path in front of us.

“ Of course, 1 mean Miss Newland.” “She’s had no chance, has she? I thought you’d been_ off on detective stunts most of the time since you met her.”

Which certainly was true. I learnt from Overbury in a low words how ho had passed his life in this strange old cacnette. It was, in fact, a regular stronghold of a hiding place. There were three chambers covering the whole top floor of the tower, with ample furniture and appointments of a primitive sort. In other circumstances a pleasanter prison could hardly have been imagined. Bub in the circumstances—

“Good gracious, how you startled mo!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”

“All right, Mr Franks,” said the man. “ Pass on, sir—you understand.” “Oh!” said I. “Something doing?” “Pass on, sir, please,” said he. It was a narrow thing. Fortunately, this was one of Rossiter’s posse from Westport, who knew me, hut did not know Mason, and could not have recognised him even if he had been able to see his features.

“My dear Franks, 1 assure you it has been hell. 1 have had very little sleep and constant anxiety. Since Quance was taken it has ben very difficult indeed.”

“Yes, Overbury,” said I, “you shall tell me all about it some other time. Just now, the thing to do is to discover how to get away. I’ve put the extinguisher on Mrs Briscoe’s fantastic scheme ,i can’t stop thinking of her as Mrs Briscoe); it simply won’t do. I’m going down now to the library. I’m going to have all the blinds up and trie lights on, so that anybody outside can see all that is going on inside—or nearly all. I’m going to work there copying things out of books until half-past 11. In the meantime you are to dress and do as Mason will tell you, and 1 think by twenty to 12 you will be clear of Meratield Tower in spite of every precaution that our friend Rossiter can take. After that I know nothing about you. God help you! But first give mo two or three things that belong to you—a hat or cap, cap for choice, an old letter or two addressed to yon. Just a precaution that, in case it should bo necessary for yon to die to-night." Overbury grimaced. He found a golf cap, and turned out of his pocket a couple of letters. “ You’re taking great risks for mo, Franks,” ho said. 1

“Oh!” said I; “mum’s the word. Shall vve meet any more of you?” “ You may he challenged at the gate, Mr Franks, but don’t bo startled.”

We passed on, and I resumed my monologue to Ovcrhury. But wo were not challenged at the Eato, because we die! not go that way. Two hundred yards along the drive we struck off under the trees of the park and made for the road along the cliffs to Westport Passage. Five minutes were up; it was time for Mason to bo returning. So Mason left me, and Overbury took bis place by putting over his evening clothes the short light overcoat that I carried and donning the cap I took out of my pocket.

Now we hastened. There was as yet no hue and cry behind ns. and no sound from the house. The ruse had worked. Bossiter was proceeding according to plan. Not a son! on the road. We turned the head of Highcliff Creek, passed the gate of Bosebank. took the cliff path where Mrs Briscoe had escaped, and made our way to the point below which the Belle Bose lay. This point was a mile and a-half from Morafield Tower. We had covered the distance in little more than twenty minutes. ■ . ■

“Merely professional pride,” I answered him lightly. “ Wo can’t allow an eminent and still rising lawyer to be outwitted by a Rossiter. And I owe Rossiter something for trying to kiss my friend, Mrs Briscoe.” But as I went down to the library I felt anything but lightly about the prospects of the next two or three hours. I knew it was not going to be easy to outwit Rossiter. I had to rely a good deal on his rushing methods. If he should drop them for once and

My heart missed a heat or two, or something peculiar happened to it, as we stopped and listened. A thud-thud-thud-thud of running footsteps sounded behind us.

I dragged Overbury over the edge of the path down the slope towards the water, and wo hung on to a sapling

and held our breath to wait. , . The footsteps stopped suddenly, and •there was a sound of gasping, heavy breathing. Then a light Hashed in onr faces from ■an olcctric toYch. This was the end of all tilings! “How frightened you look!” . I cannot describe the reaction as I recognised the voice of Mrs liriscoc. “Oh. it’s gorgeous!” said she, between tier efforts to regain her breath. I’ve run a hundred miles in fifteen minutes. Come out; you’re quite safe. Nothing’s happening. Mason has gone in and locked up the house, and 1 expect Rossiter will have to hammer the door down.”

“All gone well?” she isked. ; “New you must both want some soup. I’ve kept it hot for you.” , That was all, Not a question, not an exclamation; as if the execution of a plot for the escape of a man accused of murder occurred every evening between dinner ami bedtime. Fvcn when 1 remarked that I woidd • t havp my soup yet, as i had one little thing more to do,' nil she said was; “Very well. Don’t bo longer (ban yon can help. I'm Retting sleepy." Isut I never did that little tMng. Almost as I turned to leave the dining, room the bell from the front door was wrung. I glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes to 1.

“You were there!” ] exclaimed, as we regained the path. She had switched off the torch.

“Come quielly. my dear,” said -y wife to Airs Briscoe. “We shall go to my room,” sho added,, looking at me. I stood waiting while they t softly up the stairs. Then I noticed that. I still held in my hand the water-soaked cap that Ovcrbury had flung from the dock of the Terpsichore. I thought of putting it in the sideboard cupboard or under the cushion of a chair. Then I decided to keep on holding it in my hand. I looked around. There w?>•/■> no reminiscences of Mrs Briscoe were in the room. . . . But yes! There were three soup cups on the tray. I took one and nut it in the sideboard. I went to the hall and opened the front door. The light shone out on the face of Mr Rossiter. Behind him was another man.

“Yes. 1 wasn’t quite so sure that my little diversion wouldn’t be wanted. And I did so want to lire that shot in the woods, Mr Franks! However, it’s all right. Is Terpsichore in? Have they got him down?” ■ “We know nothing,” said Ovcrbury. “ We’ve just reached here.” “Oh! I expect they have. We’d better go down and see.” Sho led the way down to the waterside by (ho saplings and the branches, and Ovcrbury and I scrambled after. “Be careful,” she said, as wo approached the edge. “Is that Mary?” a voice asked out of the gloom below. “Yes, all serene. lie’s here.” . “Is it safe to have a light?” asked the voice.

“ I saw the light in your house, Mr Franks,” said Rossiter. “I hoped you would not mind being disturbed.” “Of course not,” I answered. “ But what on earth brings you here at this time of night?” “ Overbury’s got away with it,” he said.

“ Yes,” said Mrs Briscoe, so long as you keep it pointed in this way'. Don’t show out to sea.”

The rest of that scene passed in three minutes, but it is fixed m my memory for ever.

A torchlight flickered in and Jit the green tunnel where the Belle Rose lay. “Overbury! is it really you?” came tlic voice out of the darkness behind H.

“Ovcrbury! You mean ” “ I mean Overbury’s escaped. You were at Merafield Tower to-night. 1 thought you might toll me if you saw anything suspicious.” I hoped the start I made at tin’s appeared to Rossiter to be a natural expression of surprise. “ What? ” I cried. “ But won’t you come inside? ”

“Yes, Nowhmd, thanks to our friend blanks here; it’s me. Arc yon ready?” “I want your help, Ovcrbury. I can’t get him on board myself. 1 think he’s hardly conscious.”

“Where is he?” asked Overbury

“Here on tho dock of the little boat.” The light flashed down and illuminated the Bello Rose. Stretched full length on tiio decking forward of the cuddy Jay a pale, grey-haired man with his eyes closed. Ho was wrapped in a big rug. Only bis face and head showed. It looked ghastly, like death. “I'll get down and help you,” said Overbury. “We’ll soon get him on board.”

He swung himself down to the Belle Hose from a branch of the giant tree. Mrs Briscoe stood by my side. Ovevbnry and Ncwland, tho torch flashing here and there as they moved, lifted tho grey-haired man. ‘‘Show a fight here, Mary,” said Newland. "We must risk it, else we shall drop him overboard.” Mrs Briscoo flashed- her torch on to the deck, 'j lien 1 saw, tied close to the rirrn of the Belle Rose, pulhng at tier moo -iiig ropes on the ebbing tide, the nose of a much larger vessel pushing through tho branches. With grcit labor, Overbury and Newfan-.f transitrred the Jimp lonn of the grey-haired man to the deck of this vessel.

“You know what to do, Mary,” said Newland, already untying the rope that held it. “All right, dad,” said Mrs Briscoe. “Cheerio. Good luck.”

I spoko for the first time. “Are you off, Overbury P For heaven’s sake throw that cap ashore.”

“Righto, Franks.” Ho snatched off the cap and hove it ashore, ft fell short and dropped in the water, but Mrs Briscoo jumped down to the deck of the Belle Rose, leaned over, and safved it as tho ebb tide swept it by. “Good-bye, Papa Franks!” came Ovcrbury’s voice from the darkness. “You’re a good sport!” “Good-bye, Alary!”—in her father’s voice.

The nose of the big boat drew out from tho screen of branches, and we were loft alone in the green tunnel. I standing with my arm round a bole, and Airs Briscoe on the deck of the Bello Rose. Five minutes afterwards wo were walking along the cliff path to Rosebank. The boat had dropped down the estuary on the tide without lights and without sound, except for an almost imperceptible roucoucle of the engines now and then to give her steering way. “Ah!” Airs Briscoo had sighed. “So that’s that!”

“And now, my dear young lady,” I asked her, “ what are you going to do?” , ',,i “ I’m coming home with you, she said, calmly. But I had got over any tendency to be surprised at anything Mrs Briscoe said or did. “I had rather thought,” said I “that you were going on this little trip yourself.” “Oh, no,” she replied. “1 never meant to. 1 want to see Eossiter’s face when he finds that he’s been sold. And, of course, there's Bertram. Having got him into gaol, I couldn’t very well leave until he’s either let out or hanged, could I?” I had forgotten Mr Quance for the moment. , . “So,” said Mrs Briscoe, 1 fixed it all up with Mrs Franks beforehand. She’ll be expecting us.” “They got away very _ neatly, 1 said. “It was all well timed.” “Yes. Dad’is a marvel, isn’t he? Worked it all out to a hair—like _ getting one of his beastly formulas right. He’s a frumpish old Victorian in some thingo, hut really rather a dear.” “ I should like to have the_ pleasure of Professor Rowland's acquaintance,” said I. ■ “Oh, you will; and you two will get on fine. You know, Mr Franks, you’re rather Victorian and rather a dear yourself!” I was not conscious of feeling particularly Victorian or of having done anything very frumpish during the oast few hours. A comic speculation came into my mind as to the sort r r comment that would have been made on the proceedings of that evening by my hte partner, old Joshua Wilson. However, I accepted the tribute without protest. “Yours was a topping plan, Mr Franks. But I did so want to fire that shot and send Rossiter scooting down through tho woods to Merafield bridge. It’s better this way. though. Unless Mason makes a bloomer. Rossiter ' ill never find the ducky little door and the thrilling staircase. But fell mo how it wont off, and especially nhy you insisted on having Major Overbury’s cap.” “ Oh ; the cap? For the benefit of our friend Rossiter, if it should lie necessary to do what I believe in tho best criminal circles is called a 1 plant.’ ” “A ‘plant’! Oh, how lovely!”

“ And when yon make a ‘plant,’ ” said I, “ if you desire to do it really well, you must do it at once. So that’s why I’m going to see you safe at Bosebank, and then go on somewhere else.”

“ Let me come, too,” she pleaded. But I insisted on having my own way. It was fortunate, as it happened. “ I’ve been at fault a good many times over this business, Mrs Briscoe,” said I, “ but never more than over Mason. Do you mind tolling mo when ho camo into the secret?” “ Oh, Mason’s been in from the 'fc'.y first. Bertram knew that ho foukl trust him. You know. Mason s'mpiy worships Lady Merafield. He was horrified by the way her husband treated her. That horrible night Bertram could have done nothing without the help of Mason. He told him the truth, and swore him to be secret. And the old man’s been splendid all the time.” At Bosebank 1 found that it was as Mrs Briscoe said. My wife was waiting up. She seemed to oe more wonderful than ever.

“Thanks,” said Rossiter,' and instructed his man to stay where fie was. 1 supposed that the whole house was surrounded. 1 kept as cool as I could. To one thinw I made up my mind—Rossiter or anybody else should not enter my wife’s bedroom. “Now,” said J, when we reached the dining room, “ tell me about this. It is very strange. Do you mean to suggest that Overbury has been at Meratielcl Tower to-night? ” “ I don’t mean to suggest it—l know it,” Rossiter answered. “ And not only to-night, hut the wljole time since tho murder. Ho had accomplices to keep him there, of coarse, and we’ve got them in the clink. But he must nave had accomplices to get away, and I mean to have them in the clink too, before the trail is cold.”

Rossiter was very angry. He fumed. Ho looked at mo as he spoke with a glare of wrath. But I knew ho dare not hint at any connection between me and his failure, even if he suspected it. I had. thought for a moment that Mason might have proved a broken reed, but it became clear in a moment that Mason’s respectable stolidity had stood him in excellent stead. “The old fool,” as Rossiter called him, seemed to have suggested that Rossiter had gone off his head. Ho spurned with polite laughter the idea that Alajor Ovcrbury had been anywhere within a hundred miles of Aloratield Tower since he ran away three weeks ago. “ But,” said Rossiter, “ between the time when you and Alason walked across the lawn and the time when Alason came back Overbury got out of that place and vanished. He must have had accomplices, and they must have been accomplices who knew my plans. I mean to get at the bottom of it.” I took a yet more solemn vow that nobody should go near my wife’s bedroom that night. “ I don’t want to worry you with my troubles, Air Franks,” Rossiter went on. “I thought you might have possibly have seen something over there to-night that _ might he useful to me without realising its significance.” “No,” I said. “ 1 saw nothing at Alerafiekl Tower. I was busy making some extracts in the library for legal purposes. Very fine library there. But f think I saw and heard something after I left Alerafield Tower that may have some hearing on your trouble.” “Ah!” Rossiter pricked up his ears. “After Alason had gone back 1 walked straight here, and just as I turned into the drive I heard a rush of footsteps and somebody panting, and then a crash of bushes.” “Ah!” exclaimed Rossiter. “I went back to the road, and then distinctly heard the sounds of some person scrambling oown through the copse. I listened hard. Then I hoard a cry ami a soar.a of stones clattering clown and a splash. 1 thought there was some mishap; anyhow, it was a bit mysterious,' so J came hack here for my torch, and then ran down the path to the head of the creek. Do yon know it?” “No. Js it. far?”

‘Oh, no distance—just helnw here. I could not find anybody there, hut I saw something light in the water, stuck on the edge of a stone, and fished it out. It was this cap.” I hold out Overhury’s cap, which had been in my hand all the time. Rossiter grabbed it, turned it inside out, and peered at it. “Look!” he cried. “On that tab — J.W.O.—John Wilson Overhury.” “Good heavens!” said I. “Is that so? Do you think so?” “Not an atom of_ doubt,” said Rossiter. “Where’s this place? Can you take me there?”

“Why, yes,” said 1. “But I’m afraid Overbury’s got away with it for good this time. If it was he, and this is his cap, and ho fell in there, not much hope for him. Just the one place where he was almost certain to be drowned, where the stream curls round and has cut a deep channel. And the tide had only just turned. I suppose there’s 15ft of water there, and a current running four knots.” Rossiter listened to the details of this suggestive story with a frown. “ All tho same. I’d like to see it if yon don’t mind,” said lie. He tapped his foot on tho carpet for a moment. “ X think we’ll go alone. No need to have this story known until we are a little surer.” It was thus that I took Rossiter down to the spot where I had meant to “ plant ” Overbury’s cap if Rossiter had not arrived so soon.

“ How did you guess Overhury was at Merafield Tower all the time?” I asked him. “I can hardly credit it.”

‘ Oh. there’s no doubt. The lootman saw him once in the quadrangle at night, and he had been suspicious about the chauffeur chap, who was always disappearing and springing up from nowhere. There’s a hiding place somewhere in that house. 1 haven’t found it, but I’d eat my boots if Over-' bury wasn’t there. And he was even daring enough to go out to Highcliff Farm one afternoon. I shall have those yokels yeti” he said, angrily. “Funny that Mason should never have suspected,” I. ventured.

“Mason? An old fool!” said Kossiter, impatiently.

There wasn’t much for him to see when we got to the bottom of the valley, Tho stream came down through a widish slope of swampy ground into the gorge of Highcliff. Creek, and rushed against the hillside below my house, where it had bored a deep channel. I pointed out to Bossiter that the tide had been ebbing two hours, but the water at this point was deep and black.

“Where did you find the cap?” he asked.

I flashed my light round, and it fell upon a place under tho trees where some ground, had slipped. “Just there,” said I.

He looked gloomily at the water swirling by.

“If Overbury 101 l in there,” ‘■aid no, “he’ll be out to sea bv lh ; ‘hue.”

“Yes,” I responded. “I expect Overbnry’s well out to sea by this time.”-

(To bo continued.)