The Wooden Hand

Eva remembered Cain's odd behaviour, and wondered if he had anything to do with the theft. But the idea was ridiculous. The lad was bad enough, but he certainly would not rob the dead. Moreover-on the face of it-there was no reason he should steal so useless an object as a wooden hand. What with the excitement of the death, and the fulfilment of the dream, not to mention that she felt a natural grief for the death of her father, the poor girl was quite worn out. Mr. Hill saw this, and after questioning Mrs. Merry as to the theft of the glove, he went away.

"I shall see Wasp about this," he said, pausing at the door, "there must be some meaning in the theft. Meanwhile I'll examine the flower-bed outside the window."

Mrs. Merry went with him, but neither could see any sign of foot-marks on the soft mould. The thief-if indeed a thief had entered the house, had jumped the flower-bed, and no marks were discoverable on the hard gravel of the path. "There's that boy," said Mrs. Merry.

"What boy?" asked Hill, starting.

"A little rascal, as calls himself Butsey," said the old woman, folding her hands as usual under her apron. "London street brat I take him to be. He came to say Cain would be here to-morrow."

"But Cain is here to-day," said Mr. Hill perplexed.

"That's what makes me think Butsey might have stolen the wooden hand," argued Mrs. Merry. "Why should he come here else? I didn't tell him, as Cain had already arrived, me being one as knows how to hold my tongue whatever you may say, Mr. Hills" – so Mrs. Merry named her companion. "I would have asked questions, but the boy skipped. I wonder why he stole it?"

"You have no proof that he stole it at all," said Hill smartly; "but I'll tell Wasp what you say. When does the inquest take place?"

"To-morrow, as you might say," snapped Mrs. Merry crossly; "and don't bring that worriting Wasp round here, Mr. Hills. Wasp he is by name and Wasp by nature with his questions. If ever you-"

But Mr. Hill was beyond hearing by this time. He always avoided a chat with Mrs. Merry, as the shrillness of her voice-so he explained-annoyed him. The old woman stared after his retreating figure and she shook her head. "You're a bad one," she soliloquised; "him as is dead was bad too. A pair of ye-ah-but if there's trouble coming, as trouble will come, do what you may-Miss Eva shan't suffer while I can stop any worriting."

Meanwhile Eva and Allen were talking seriously. "My dream was fulfilled in the strangest way, Allen," the girl said. "I dreamed, as I told you, the night before last at nine o'clock-"

"Well?" questioned the young man seeing she hesitated.

Eva looked round fearfully. "The doctor says, that, judging by the condition of the body, my father must have been shot at that hour."

"Last night you mean," said Allen hesitatingly.

"No. This is Friday. He was shot on Wednesday at nine, and the body must have lain all those long hours at the Red Deeps. Of course," added Eva quickly, "no one goes to the Red Deeps. It was the merest chance that those labourers went last night and found the body. So you see, Allen, my father must have been killed at the very time I dreamed of his death."

"It is strange," said young Hill, much perturbed. "I wonder who can have killed him?"

Eva shook her head. "I cannot say, nor can any one. The inspector from Westhaven has been here this morning making inquiries, but, of course, I can tell him nothing-except about the telegram."

"What telegram?"

"Didn't I mention it to you?" said the girl, raising her eyes which were fixed on the ground disconsolately; "no-of course I didn't. It came after you left me-at nine o'clock-no it was at half-past nine. The wire was from my father, saying he would be down the next day. It had arrived at Westhaven at four, and should have been delivered earlier but for the forgetfulness of the messenger."

"But, Eva, if the wire came from your father yesterday, he could not have been shot on Wednesday night."

"No, I can't understand it. I told Inspector Garrit about the wire, and he took it away with him. He will say all that he learns about the matter at the inquest to-morrow. And now my father's wooden hand has been stolen-it is strange."

"Very strange," assented Allen musingly. He was thinking of what his father had said about Mr. Strode's probable enemies. "Eva, do you know if your father brought any jewels from Africa-diamonds, I mean?"

"I can't say. No diamonds were found on his body. In fact his purse was filled with money and his jewellery had not been taken."

"Then robbery could not have been the motive for the crime."

"No, Allen, the body was not robbed." She rose and paced the room. "I can't understand my dream. I wonder if, when I slept, my soul went to the Red Deeps and saw the crime committed."

"You did not see the crime committed?"

"No; I saw the body, however, lying in the position in which it was afterwards found by Jacobs and the others. And then the laugh-that cruel laugh as though the assassin was gloating over his cruel work-the man who murdered my father was laughing in my dream."

"How can you tell it was a man?"

"The laugh sounded like that of a man."

"In your dream? I don't think a jury will take that evidence."

Eva stopped before the young man and looked at him determinedly. "I don't see why that part of my dream should not come true, if the other has already been proved true. It's all of a piece."

To this remark young Hill had no answer ready. Certainly the dream had come true in one part, so why not in another? But he was too anxious about Eva's future to continue the discussion. "What about you, darling?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied, and sat down beside him again. "I can think of nothing until the inquest has taken place. When I learn who has killed my father, I shall be more at ease."

"That is only right and natural; but-"

"Don't mistake me, Allen," she interrupted vehemently. "I saw so little of my father, and, through my mother, knew so much bad about him, that I don't mourn his death as a daughter ought to. But I feel that I have a duty to perform. I must learn who killed him, and have that person sent to the scaffold."

Allen coloured and looked down. "We can talk about that when we have further facts before us. Inspector Garrit, you say, is making inquiries?"

"Yes; I have given him the telegram, and also the address of my father's lawyer, which I found in a letter in his pocket."

"Mr. Mask?"

"Yes; Sebastian Mask-do you know him?"

"I know of him. He is my father's lawyer also, and so became Mr. Strode's man of business. Yes, it is just as well Garrit should see him. When your father arrived in London he probably went to see Mask, to talk over business. We might learn something in that quarter."

"Learn what?" asked Eva bluntly.

Allen did not answer at once. "Eva," he said after a pause, "do you remember I told you that my father said Mr. Strode might not arrive. Well, I asked him why he said so, and he declared that from what he knew of your father, Mr. Strode was a man likely to have many enemies. It struck me that this crime may be the work of one of these enemies. Now Mask, knowing all your father's business, may also know about those who wished him ill."

"It may be so," said Eva reflectively; "my father," from what Mrs. Merry says, "was a most quarrelsome man, and would stop at nothing to make money. He doubtless made enemies in Africa as your father suggests, but why should an enemy follow him to England to kill him? It would have been easier to shoot him in Africa."

Allen shrugged his shoulders. "It's all theory on our parts," he said. "We don't know yet if Mr. Strode had any virulent enemies, so we cannot say if he was shot out of malice."

"As the contents of his pockets were not touched, Allen, it looks as though malice might have led to the crime."

"True enough." Allen rose wearily to go, and Eva saw that he limped. "Oh," she cried with true womanly feeling, springing forward to help him, "I forgot about your sprain; is it very painful?"

"Oh no, not at all," said Allen, wincing; "help me to the door, Eva, and I'll get into the chaise. It must be here by this time. We must go round by the back."

In spite of her sorrow, Eva smiled. "Yes, Mrs. Merry won't allow the front door to be opened until my father's corpse passes through. I never thought she was so superstitious."

"The realisation of your dream is enough to make us all superstitious," said Allen as they passed through the kitchen. "Oh, by the way, Eva, my mother wants to know if you will stop with her till the funeral is over?"

"No, Allen, thanking your mother all the same. My place is here. Mrs. Palmer asked me also."

Mrs. Palmer was a gay, bright young widow who lived at the other end of the village, and whom Mrs. Merry detested, for some unknown reason. The sound of the name brought her into the conversation, as she was just outside, when the couple arrived at the kitchen door.

"Mrs. Palmer indeed," cried Mrs. Merry, wiping her red eyes; "the idea of her asking Miss Eva to stop with her. Why, her father was a chemist, and her late husband made his money out of milk and eggs!"

"She is very kind to ask me, Nanny, all the same."

"She's no lady," said Mrs. Merry, pursing up her lips, "and ain't the kind for you to mix with, Miss Eva."

"My mother wishes Miss Strode to come to us," said Allen.

"Well, sir," said the old nurse, "I don't say as what it wouldn't be good for my dear young lady: that is," added Mrs. Merry with emphasis, "if she keeps with your ma."

"My father won't trouble her if that's what you mean," said the young man drily, for Mrs. Merry made no secret of her dislike for Mr. Hill.

"People have their likings and no likings," said the old dame, "but if your ma will take Miss Eva till we bury him," she jerked her head in the direction of the death chamber, "it would be happier for her than sticking in the house along with her pa and me. If Cain was stopping I'd say different, but he's going after his circus, and two women and a corpse as ain't lived well, isn't lively, whatever you may say, Mr. Allen."

"I intend to stop here," said Eva sharply, "so there's no need for you to say anything more, Nanny. Ah, here's Cain. Help Mr. Hill, Cain."

The dark-eyed youth doffed his cap and came forward with alacrity to aid Allen. "Jacobs is at the gate with the pony, miss," he said, "but I hope our horses won't run over him."

"What do you mean?" asked Allen, limping round the corner.

"The circus is coming, on its way to Shanton. I told Mr. Stag-he owns it, Miss Eva-that murder had been committed, so the circus band won't play when the horses pass."

"Oh," said Eva stopping short, for already she saw a crowd of people on the road. "I'd better remain within."

"Yes, do, Eva," said Allen. "Cain will help me to the chaise. I'll come and see you again; and Eva," he detained her, "ask Inspector Garrit to see me. I want to know what can be done towards discovering the truth."

While Allen whispered thus, a procession of golden cars and cream-coloured horses was passing down the road amongst a sparse gathering of village folk. These had come to look at the house in which the body of the murdered man lay, although they knew Misery Castle as well as they knew their own noses. But the cottage had acquired a new and terrible significance in their eyes. Now another sensation was provided in the passing of Stag's Circus on its way to Shanton fifteen miles further on. What between the tragedy and the circus the villagers quite lost their heads. At present, however, they looked at the cages of animals, at the band in a high red chariot, and at many performers prancing on trained steeds. With the music of the band it would have been even more exciting, but Stag, with extraordinary good taste, forbore to play martial melodies while passing through the village. Cain had not told him about the cottage, so the equestrians were unaware that Misery Castle contained the remains of the man whose death had caused such excitement in Westhaven.

Just as Eva turned to go in, and thus avoid the gaze of the curious, she heard a deep voice-a contralto voice-calling for Cain. On turning her head, she saw a handsome dark woman mounted on a fine white horse. "It's Miss Lorry," said Cain, leaving Allen's arm and running to the gate, with his face shining.

The young man, still weak in his ankle, lurched, so sudden had been Cain's departure, and Eva, with a cry of anger, ran forward to stop him from falling. "Cain, how could you!" cried Eva; "hold up, Allen."

"Go back and help the gentleman," said the dark woman, fixing her bold eyes on the girl's white face with a look of pity. "Miss Strode!"

Eva turned indignantly-for Cain by this time was helping Allen, and she was returning to the house-to see why the woman dare address her. Miss Lorry was reining in her rearing, prancing horse, and showing off her fine figure and splendid equestrian management. She was dressed plainly in a dark blue riding-habit, and wore a tall silk hat. With these, and white collar and cuffs and neat gloves, she looked very well turned out. By this time the procession had passed on towards the village, and the people, drawn by the superior attraction of the circus, streamed after it. Only a few hung about, and directed curious eyes towards the cottage and towards Eva, who paused near the fence in response to Miss Lorry's cry. Allen, who was now in the chaise, and had gathered up the reins, also waited to hear what this audacious woman had to say to Eva.

"Come here, please," said Miss Lorry, with a fine high colour in her cheeks. "I'm not going to bite you. You are Miss Strode, aren't you? – else that lad," she pointed to Cain, "must have lied. He said you lived in his mother's cottage and-"

"I am Miss Strode," said Eva sharply. "What is it? I don't know you."

Miss Lorry laughed in an artificial manner. "Few people can say that," she said; "Bell Lorry is known everywhere as the Queen of the Arena. No, Miss Strode, you don't know me; but I know you and of you. Your cousin Lord Saltars-"

"Oh!" cried Eva, turning red, and walked up towards the house.

"Come back," cried Miss Lorry, "I want to whisper-it's about the death," she added in a lower tone. But Eva was out of hearing, and round the corner walking very fast, with her haughty head in the air.

Miss Lorry, who had not a good temper, ground her fine white teeth. "I've a good mind to hold my tongue," she said.

"What is it about the murder?" asked Allen quickly; "I am engaged to marry Miss Strode."

"Oh, are you? Then tell her to be careful of the wooden hand!"

CHAPTER VII

THE INQUEST

There was great excitement when the inquest was held on the remains of Mr. Strode. Although he belonged to the old family of the neighbourhood, and should have lived in the manor as the lord of the village, he had been absent from Wargrove for so long, that few people were well acquainted with him. Some ancient villagers remembered him as a gay, sky-larking young man, when with Mr. Hill the two had played pranks during vacation. Then came the death of the old squire and the sale of the manor by his son. At times Strode had come to Wargrove with his wife, and at Misery Castle Eva had been born. But he usually stopped only a short time, as the slow life of the country wearied his restless spirit. But always, when he came to his old haunts, he went to look at the home of his race. Every one knew that it was his desire to be Strode of Wargrove again, in fact as well as in name.

Many people remembered him when he came to Wargrove for the last time, to place his wife and daughter under the roof of Mrs. Merry. Strode had always been stiff and cold in manner, but, being of the old stock, this behaviour was esteemed right, as no lord of the soil should be too familiar, the wiseacres thought. "A proud, haughty gentleman," said some, "but then he's a right to be proud. Ain't the Strodes been here since the Conquest? 'Tis a wonder he took up with that Mr. Hill, whose father was but a stockbroker."

So it will be guessed that Strode's return to his native place to meet with a violent death at unknown hands, created much excitement. The jury surveyed the body in Misery Castle, and then went to the one inn of the village to hear the evidence. A few people were in the coffee-room where the proceedings took place, but Inspector Garrit gave orders that the crowd should be kept out. The street therefore was filled with people talking of Strode and of his terrible end. One old man, who had seen eighty summers, gave it as his opinion, that it was no wonder Mr. Strode had died so.

"And what do you mean by that?" asked Wasp, who, full of importance, was making things unpleasant with over-zeal.

The ancient pulled his cap to the majesty of the law. "Whoy," said he, chewing a straw, "Muster Robert-by which I means Muster Strode-was a powerful angery gent surely. He gied I a clip on th' 'ead when I was old enough to be his father, though to be sure 'twas in his colleging days. Ah, I mind them two well!"

"What two?" asked Wasp, on the alert to pick up evidence.

"Muster Strode as was, an' Muster Hill as is. They be very hoity-toity in them days, not as 'twasn't right fur Muster Robert, he being lard an' master of the village. But Muster Hill" – the ancient spat out the straw to show his contempt-"Lard, he be nothin'!"

"He's very rich, Granfer."

"What's money to blood? Muster Strode shouldn't ha' taken him up, and given he upsettin' notions. He an' Giles Merry, as run away from his wife, and Muster Strode, ah-them did make things lively-like."

"I don't see what this has to do with the death," said Wasp snappishly.

"Never you mind," said Granfer, valiant through over-much beer. "I knows what I knows. Muster Robert-'twas a word an' a blow with him, and when he clips me on the 'ead, I ses, 'Sir, 'tis a red end as you'll come to,' and my words have come true. He've bin shot."

"And who shot him?" asked the blacksmith.

"One of 'em as he clipped on the 'ead same as he did me," said Granfer.

Wasp dismissed this piece of gossip with contempt, and entered the coffee-room to watch proceedings. The little policeman was very anxious to bring the murderer to justice, in the hopes that he would be rewarded for his zeal by a post at Westhaven. Hitherto he had found nothing likely to lead to any discovery, and Inspector Garrit had not been communicative. So, standing stiffly at the lower end of the room, Wasp listened with all his red ears to the evidence, to see what he could gain therefrom likely to set him on the track. A chance like this was not to be wasted, and Wasp's family was very large, with individual appetites to correspond.

Eva was present, with Allen on one side of her, and Mrs. Palmer on the other. Behind sat Mrs. Merry, sniffing because Mrs. Palmer was offering Eva her smelling-bottle. The widow was blonde and lively, well dressed, and of a most cheerful disposition. Her father certainly had been a chemist, but he had left her money. Her husband undoubtedly had been an egg and butter merchant, but he also had left her well off. Mrs. Palmer had been born and brought up in Shanton, and her late husband's shop had been in Westhaven. Therefore she lived at neither place now that she was free and rich, but fixed her abode at Wargrove, midway between the two towns. She went out a good deal, and spent her money freely. But she never could get amongst the county families as was her ambition. Perhaps her liking for Eva Strode was connected with the fact that the girl was of aristocratic birth. With the Lord of the Manor-as he should have been-for a father, and an Earl's daughter for a mother, Eva was as well-born as any one in the county. But apart from her birth, Mrs. Palmer kindly and genial, really liked the girl for her own sake. And Eva also was fond of the merry, pretty widow, although Mrs. Merry quite disapproved of the friendship.

Inspector Garrit was present, and beside him sat a lean, yellow-faced man, who looked like a lawyer and was one. He had presented himself at the cottage that very morning as Mr. Mask, the solicitor of the deceased, and had been brought down by Garrit to give evidence as to the movements of Mr. Strode in town, since his arrival from Africa. Eva had asked him about her future, but he declined to say anything until the verdict of the jury was given. When this matter was settled, and when Strode was laid in the family vault beside his neglected wife, Mask said that he would call at Misery Castle and explain.

The case was opened by Garrit, who detailed the facts and what evidence he had gathered to support them. "The deceased gentleman," said Garrit, who was stout and short of breath, "came to Southampton from South Africa at the beginning of August, a little over a week ago. He had been in South Africa for five years. After stopping two days at Southampton at the Ship Inn, the deceased had come to London and had taken up his quarters in the Guelph Hotel, Jermyn Street. He went to the theatres, paid visits to his tailors for a new outfit, and called also on his lawyer, Mr. Mask, who would give evidence. On Wednesday last, the deceased wired from London that he would be down at eight o'clock on Thursday evening. The wire was sent to Miss Strode, and was taken from the hotel by the porter who sent it, from the St. James's telegraph office."

"Why are you so precise about this telegram?" asked the coroner.

"I shall explain later, sir," panted Garrit, wiping his face, for it was hot in the coffee room. "Well then, gentlemen of the jury, the deceased changed his mind, as I learned from inquiries at the hotel. He came down on Wednesday evening instead of Thursday, and arrived at the Westhaven station at six-thirty."

"That was the train he intended to come by on Thursday?" asked a juryman.

"Certainly. He changed the day but not the train."

"Didn't he send another wire to Miss Strode notifying his change of plan?"

"No. He sent no wire saying he would be down on Wednesday. Perhaps he desired to give Miss Strode a pleasant surprise. At all events, Miss Strode did not expect him till Thursday night at eight. She will give evidence to that effect. Well, gentlemen of the jury, the deceased arrived at Westhaven by the six-thirty train on Wednesday, consequent on his change of plan. He left the greater part of his luggage at the Guelph Hotel, and came only with a small bag, from which it would seem that he intended to stop only for the night. As the bag was easily carried, Mr. Strode decided to walk over-"

"But if he arrived by the six-thirty he would not get to the cottage at eight," said a juryman.

"No. I can't say why he walked-it's ten miles. A quick walker could do the distance in two hours, but Mr. Strode not being so young as he was, was not a quick walker. At all events, he walked. A porter who offered to take his bag, and was snubbed, was the last person who saw him."

"Didn't any one see him on the road to Wargrove?"

"I can't say. As yet I have found no one who saw him. Besides, Mr. Strode did not keep to the road all the time. He walked along it for some distance and then struck across Chilvers Common, to go to the Red Deeps. Whether he intended to go there," added the Inspector, wiping his face again, "I can't say. But he was found there dead on Thursday night by three men, Arnold, Jacobs, and Wake. These found a card in the pocket giving the name of the deceased, and one of them, Jacobs, then recognised the body as that of Mr. Strode whom he had seen five years previous. The men took the body to the cottage and then went home."

"Why didn't they inform the police?" asked the coroner.

Garrit stole a glance at Wasp and suppressed a smile. "They will tell you that themselves, sir," he said; "however, Mrs. Merry found the policeman Jackson on his rounds, late at night, and he went to tell Mr. Wasp, a most zealous officer. I came over next morning. The doctor had examined the body, and will now give his evidence."

After this witness retired, Dr. Grace appeared, and deposed that he had been called in to examine the body of the deceased. The unfortunate gentleman had been shot through the heart, and must have been killed instantaneously. There was also a flesh wound on the upper part of the right arm; here the doctor produced a bullet: "This I extracted from the body, gentlemen, but the other bullet cannot be found. It must have merely ripped the flesh of the arm, and then have buried itself in the trees."