The Wooden Hand

"Very rude of her to tell you that. But I know my poor Harold is not popular."

"He is whimsical," said Allen, "and, somehow, Eva can't get on with him. She was not rude, mother, but simply stated a fact. She likes my father well enough to meet him occasionally, but she would not care to live with him. And if it comes to that," added Allen frowning, "no more should I. He is too eccentric for me, mother, and I should think for you, mother."

"I am fond of your father in my own way," said Mrs. Hill, looking down and speaking in a low voice, as though she made an effort to confess as much. "But does Eva expect to find out who murdered Mr. Strode?"

"Yes. She refuses to marry me until the assassin is found and punished. As she was bent on searching for the man herself, I offered to search for her."

Mrs. Hill frowned. "Why did you do that?" she asked sharply; "Strode is nothing to you, and you have to return to America. Far better find that capitalist you want, than waste your time in avenging the death of that man."

"You don't seem to like Mr. Strode, mother."

"I hate him," said the woman harshly and clenching her fist: "I have cause to hate him."

"Had my father cause also?" asked Allen pointedly.

She looked away. "I don't know," she answered gloomily. "Strode and your father were very intimate all their lives, till both married. Then we saw very little of him. He was not a good man-Strode, I mean, Allen. If my word has any weight with you, stop this search."

The young man rose and began to pace the library. "Mother, I must take up the search," he said in an agitated voice, "for my father's sake. No one but myself must search for the assassin."

"What do you mean by that?" questioned Mrs. Hill, sitting very upright and frowning darker than ever.

Allen replied by asking a question. "Who knows that my father is called Lawrence, mother?"

Mrs. Hill uttered an ejaculation of surprise and grew pale. "Who told you he was called so?"

"I found the name in an old book of Cowper's poems given by Mr. Strode to my father in their college days. It was presented to Harold Lawrence Hill."

"I remember the book," said Mrs. Hill, recovering her composure. "But what is odd about your father having two names? He certainly has dropped the Lawrence and calls himself simply, Harold Hill-but that is for the sake of convenience. Only those who knew him in his young days would know the name of Lawrence."

"Ah!" said Allen, thoughtfully turning over the brown paper, "then this was sent by some one who knew him in his young days."

Mrs. Hill looked at the brown paper covering, at the box, and at the roughly-formed cross. "What are these?" she asked carelessly.

"That is what I should like to know," said her son; "at least I should like to know why the sight of this cross made my father faint."

Mrs. Hill gasped, and laid her hand on her heart as though she felt a sudden pain. "Did he faint?" she asked-"did Lawrence faint?" The young man noticed the slip. Usually his mother called his father Mr. Hill or Harold, but never till this moment had he heard her call him Lawrence. Apparently the memory of old events was working in her breast. But she seemed genuinely perplexed as to the reason of Hill's behaviour at the sight of the cross. "Where did he faint?"

"Outside the gate," said Allen quickly, and explained how he had received the parcel from Jane Wasp, and the circumstance of its delivery, ending with the query: "Why did he faint?"

"I can't say," said Mrs. Hill, pushing back the cross and box pettishly; "there is no reason so far as I know. We'll ask your father when he awakens."

"He said he would explain," said Allen sadly; "and between you and me, mother, we must have an explanation."

"Your father won't like the use of the word 'must,' Allen."

"I can't help that," said the young man doggedly, and went to the door of the library. He opened it, looked out, and then closed it again. His mother saw all this with surprise, and was still more surprised when Allen spoke again. "Do you know, mother, why I say I must undertake this investigation?"

"No," said Mrs. Hill calmly; "I don't know."

"It is because I wish to save my father's good name."

"Is it in danger?" asked the woman, turning pale again.

"It might be-if any one knew he met Mr. Strode at the Red Deeps on the night of the murder."

Mrs. Hill leaped to her feet and clutched her son's arm. "Allen," she gasped, and the ashen colour of her face alarmed him, "how dare you say that-it is not possible-it cannot-cannot-"

"It is possible," said Allen firmly. "Sit down, mother, and let me explain. I held my tongue as long as I could, but now my father and I must have an explanation. The fact of his fainting at the sight of this cross makes me suspicious, and the fact that Eva wants to investigate the case makes me afraid of what may come out."

"Has the cross anything to do with the affair?"

"Heaven, whose symbol it is, only knows," said the young man gloomily. Mother, "I am moving in the darkness, and I dread to come into the light. If I undertake this search I may be able to save my father."

"From what-from-from-"

Allen nodded and sank his voice. "It may even come to that. Listen, mother, I'll tell you what I know. On that night I went to the Red Deeps to prove the falsity of Eva's dream, I found it only too true."

"But you never got to the Red Deeps," said Mrs. Hill, looking steadily into her son's face, "you sprained your ankle."

"So I did, but that was after I knew the truth."

"What truth?"

"That Eva's dream was true; that her father was lying dead by the spring of the Red Deeps."

Mrs. Hill looked still more searchingly at him. "You saw that?"

"I did-in the twilight. I reached there before it grew very dark. I found the body, and, as in Eva's dream, I recognised it by the gloved right hand-"

"The wooden hand," moaned Mrs. Hill, rocking herself. "Oh, heavens!"

"Yes! The whiteness of the glove caught my eyes. From what Eva had told me, I had no need to guess who was the dead man. The wooden hand explained all. The corpse was that of Strode, shot through the heart."

"But there was a slight flesh wound on the arm, remember," said Mrs. Hill.

"I know, but I did not notice that at the time," said Allen quickly. "At first, mother, I intended to give the alarm, and I was hurrying back to Wargrove to tell Wasp and Jackson, when I caught sight of a revolver lying in the mud. I took it up-there was a name on the silver plate on the butt. It was-" Allen sank his voice still lower. "It was my own name."

"The revolver was yours?"

"Yes. I brought it with me from South America, and kept it in my portmanteau, since a weapon is not needed in England. But one day I took it out to shoot some birds and left it in this library. I never thought about it again, or I should have put it away. The next sight I got of it was in the Red Deeps, and I thought-"

"That your father took it to shoot Strode!" burst out Mrs. Hill. "You can't be certain of that-you can't be certain. No, no, Lawrence!" again she used the unaccustomed name. "Lawrence would never commit a murder-so good-so kind-no, no."

Allen looked surprised. He never expected his mother to stand up for his father in this way. Hill, so far as the son had seen, was not kind to any one, and he certainly was not good. Why Mrs. Hill, who seemed to have no particular affection for him, should defend him in this way puzzled the young man. She saw the effect her speech had produced and beckoned Allen to sit down. "You must know all," she said-"you must know how I came to marry your father; and then you will know why I speak as I do, Allen." She laid a trembling hand on his shoulder. "You never thought I was fond of your father?"

Allen looked embarrassed. "Well, no, mother. I thought you tolerated him. You have strength to rule the house and the whole county if you chose to exert it, but you let my father indulge in his whims and fancies, and allow him to speak to you, as he certainly should not do. Oftentimes I have been inclined to interfere when hearing how disrespectfully he speaks, but you have always either touched me, or have given me a look."

"I would let no one lay a finger on your father, Allen, no one-let alone his son. I don't love your father, I never did, but" – she drew herself up-"I respect him."

The young man looked aghast. "I don't see how any one can respect him," he said. "Heaven only knows I should like to be proud of my father, but with his eccentricities-"

"They cover a good heart."

"Well, mother, you know best," said Allen soothingly. He did not think his father possessed a good heart by any manner of means. The young fellow was affectionate, but he was also keen sighted, and Mr. Hill had never commanded his respect in any way.

"I do know best," said Mrs. Hill in a strong tone, and looked quite commanding. "Allen, are you aware why I am so fond of Eva?"

"Because she is the most charming girl in the world," said the lover fondly. "Who could help being fond of Eva?"

"Women are not usually fond of one another to that extent," said Mrs. Hill drily; "and a mother does not always love the girl who is likely to take her son away. No, Allen, I don't love Eva so much for her own sake as because she is the daughter of Robert Strode."

"I thought you disliked him-you said he was not a good man."

"Neither he was, Allen. He was the worst of men-but I loved him all the same. I should have married him, but for a trouble that came. I have never told any one what I am about to tell you, but you must know. I don't believe your father killed Strode, and you must do your best to keep him out of the investigation. With your father's sensitive nature he would go mad if he were accused of such a crime."

"But my revolver being found in-"

"That can be explained," said Mrs. Hill imperiously. "I shall ask Harold" – she went back to the old name being calmer. "I shall ask him myself to explain. He is innocent. He is whimsical and strange, but he would not kill a fly. He is too goodhearted."

Allen wondered more and more that his mother should be so blind. "I am waiting to hear," he said resignedly.

"You will not repeat what I say to Eva?"

"To no one, mother. Great heavens, do you think I would?"

"If you took after your father, poor, babbling soul, you would."

"Ah," Allen kissed her hand, "but I am your own son, and know how to hold my tongue. Come, mother, tell me all."

"Then don't interrupt till I end; then you can make your comments, Allen." She settled herself and began to speak slowly. "Both my parents died when I was a young girl, and like Eva Strode I was left without a penny. I was taken into the house of Lord Ipsen as a nursery governess-"

"What! Eva's mother-"

"I did not teach her, as she was my own age, but I taught her younger brother, who afterwards died. You promised not to interrupt, Allen. Well, I was comparatively happy there, but Lady Ipsen did not like me. We got on badly. There was a large house-party at the family seat in Buckinghamshire, and I was there with my charge. Amongst the guests were Mr. Strode and your father. They were both in love with Lady Jane Delham."

"What! my father also? I never knew-"

"You never shall know if you interrupt," said his mother imperiously; "wait and listen. I loved Mr. Strode, but as he was favoured by Lady Jane I saw there was no chance for me. Your father then had not come in for his money, and his father, ambitious and rich, was anxious that he should make an aristocratic match. That was why he asked Lady Jane to be his wife. She refused, as she loved Robert Strode. I felt very miserable, Allen, and as your father was miserable also, he used to console me. He was much appreciated for his talents in the house, and as he was a great friend of Mr. Strode's his lack of birth was overlooked. Not that I think Lord Ipsen would have allowed him to marry Lady Jane. But he never guessed that Harold lifted his eyes so high. Well, things were in this position when the necklace was lost-yes, the necklace belonging to Lady Ipsen, a family heirloom valued at ten thousand pounds. It was taken out of the safe." Mrs. Hill dropped her eyes and added in a low voice, "I was accused."

Allen could hardly believe his ears, and rose, filled with indignation: "Do you mean to say that any one dared to accuse you?"

"Lady Ipsen did. She never liked me, and made the accusation. She declared that she left the key of the safe in the school-room. As I was very poor, she insisted that I had taken it. As it happened I did go to London shortly after the robbery and before it was found out. Lady Ispen said that I went to pawn the necklace. I could not prove my innocence, but the Earl interfered and stood by me. He insisted that the charge was ridiculous, and made the detectives which Lady Ipsen had called in, drop the investigation. I was considered innocent by all save Lady Ipsen. The necklace was never found, and has not been to this day. I was discharged with hardly a penny in my pocket and certainly with no friend. In spite of people saying I was innocent I could not get another situation. I should have starved, Allen, and was starving in London when your father came like an angel of light and-married me."

"Married you? Did he love you?"

"No, he loved Lady Jane, but she married Mr. Strode. But your father was so angered at what he considered an unjust charge being made against me, that he risked his father's wrath and made me his wife."

"It was noble of him," said Allen, "but-"

"It was the act of a saint!" cried Mrs. Hill, rising. "His father cut him off with a shilling for what he did. I was penniless, deserted, alone. I would have died but for Lawrence. He came-I did not love him, nor he me, but I respect him for having saved a broken-hearted woman from a doom worse than death. Allen, Allen, can I ever repay your father for his noble act? Can you wonder that I tolerate his whims-that I let him do what he likes? He saved me-he surrendered all for me."

"He did act well," admitted Allen, puzzled to think that his whimsical, frivolous father should act so nobly, "but you made him happy, mother. There is something to be said on your side."

"Nothing! nothing!" cried Mrs. Hill with the martyr instinct of a noble woman; "he gave up all for me. His father relented after a time, and he inherited a fortune, but for a year we almost starved together. He married me when I was under a cloud. I can never repay him; never, never, I tell you, Allen," she said, facing him with clenched fists, "if I thought that he committed this crime, I would take the blame on myself rather than let him suffer. He saved me. Shall I not save him?"

"Was the person who stole the necklace ever discovered, mother?"

"No, the necklace vanished and has never been found to this day. I met Lady Jane Strode when she came here. She did not believe me to be guilty, and we were good friends. So you see, Allen, it is small wonder that I let your father do what he likes. Why should I cross the desires of a man who behaved so nobly? Sometimes I do interfere, as you know, for at times Harold needs guidance-but only rarely."

"Well, mother, I understand now, and can say nothing. But as to how the revolver came to the Red Deeps-"

"Your father shall explain," said Mrs. Hill, moving to the door; "come with me."

The two went to the room at the back of the house where Hill had lain down. It was one of the Greek apartments where the little man sometimes took his siesta. But the graceful couch upon which Allen had left him lying an hour previous was empty, and the window was open on to the Roman colonnade. There was no sign of Mr. Hill.

"He must have gone into the garden," said the wife, and stepped out.

But there was no sign of him there. The gardener was working in the distance, and Mrs. Hill asked him where his master was.

"Gone to London, ma'am," was the unexpected answer; "Jacobs drove him to the Westhaven Station."

Allen and his mother looked at one another with dread in their eyes. This sudden departure was ominous in the extreme.

CHAPTER XI

ALLEN AS A DETECTIVE

Mr. Hill left no message behind him with the groom. Jacobs returned and said that his master had gone to London; he did not state when he would return. Allen and his mother were much perplexed by this disappearance. It looked very much like a flight from justice, but Mrs. Hill could not be persuaded to think ill of the man to whom she owed so much. Like many women she took too humble an attitude on account of the obligation she had incurred. Yet Mrs. Hill was not humble by nature.

"What will you do now, Allen?" she asked the next morning.

"I intend to learn why Cain sent that parcel to my father. If he can explain I may find out why my father is afraid."

"I don't think he is afraid," insisted Mrs. Hill, much troubled.

"It looks very like it," commented her son; "however, you had better tell the servants that father has gone to London on business. I expect he will come back. He can't stop away indefinitely."

"Of course he'll come back and explain everything. Allen, your father is whimsical-I always admitted that, but he has a heart of gold. All that is strange in his conduct he will explain on his return."

"Even why he took my revolver to the Red Deeps?" said Allen grimly.

"Whatever he took it for, it was for no ill purpose," said Mrs. Hill. "Perhaps he made an appointment to see Strode there. If so I don't wonder, he went armed, for Strode was quite the kind of man who would murder him."

"In that case Mr. Strode has fallen into his own trap. However, I'll see what I can do."

"Be careful, Allen. Your father's good name must not suffer."

"That is why I am undertaking the investigation," replied the young man, rising. "Well, mother, I am going to see Mrs. Merry and ask where Cain is to be found. The circus may have left Colchester."

"You might take the brown paper that was round the box," suggested Mrs. Hill. "Mrs. Merry may be able to say if the address is in her son's writing."

"I don't think it is-the hand is a most illiterate one. Cain knows how to write better. I have seen his letters to Eva."

"What!" cried Mrs. Hill, scandalised, "does she let a lad in that position write to her?"

"Cain is Eva's foster-brother, mother," said Allen drily, "and she is the only one who can manage him."

"He's a bad lot like his father was before him," muttered Mrs. Hill, and then went to explain to the servants that Mr. Hill would be absent for a few days.

Allen walked to Misery Castle, and arrived there just before midday. For some time he had been strolling on the common wondering how to conduct his campaign. He was new to the detective business and did not very well know how to proceed. At first he had been inclined to seek professional assistance; but on second thoughts he decided to take no one into his confidence for the present. He dreaded what he might learn concerning his father's connection with the crime, as he by no means shared his mother's good opinion of Mr. Hill. Allen and his father had never got on well together, as their natures were diametrically opposed to each other. Allen had the steady good sense of his mother, while the father was airy and light and exasperatingly frivolous. Had not Mrs. Hill thought herself bound, out of gratitude, to live with the man who had done so much for her, and because of her son Allen, she certainly would not have put up with such a trying husband for so many years. Allen was always impatient of his father's ways; and absence only confirmed him in the view he took of his evergreen sire. He could scarcely believe that the man was his father, and always felt relieved when out of his presence. However, he determined to do his best to get to the bottom of the matter. He could not believe that Mr. Hill had fired the fatal shot, but fancied the little man had some knowledge of who had done so. And whether he was an accessory before or after the fact was equally unpleasant.

On arriving at Mrs. Merry's abode he was greeted by that good lady with the news that Eva had gone to spend the day with Mrs. Palmer. "To get used to her, as you might say," said Mrs. Merry. "Oh, Mr. Allen, dear," she spoke with the tears streaming down her withered face, "oh, whatever shall I do without my deary?"

"You'll see her often," said Allen soothingly.

"It won't be the same," moaned Mrs. Merry. "It's like marrying a daughter, not that I've got one, thank heaven-it's never the same."

"Well-well-don't cry, there's a good soul. I have come to see you about Cain."

Mrs. Merry gave a screech. "He's in gaol! I see it in your eyes! Oh, well I knew he'd get there!"

"He hasn't got there yet," said the young man impatiently; "come into the drawing-room. I can explain."

"Is it murder or poaching or burglary?" asked Mrs. Merry, still bent on believing Cain was in trouble, "or horse-stealing, seeing he's in a circus?"

"It's none of the three," said Allen, sitting down and taking the brown paper wrapping out of his pocket. "Jane Wasp saw him in Colchester, and he's quite well."

"And what's she been calling on my son there, I'd like to know?" asked Mrs. Merry, bridling. "He shan't marry her, though he says he loves her, which I don't believe. To be united with that meddlesome Wasp policeman. No, Mr. Allen, never, whatever you may say."

"You can settle that yourself. All I wish to know is this," he spread out the paper. "Do you know whose writing this is?"

Mrs. Merry, rather surprised, bent over the paper, and began to spell out the address with one finger. "Lawrence Hill," she said, "ah, they used to call your father that in the old days. I never hear him called so now."

"Never mind. What of the writing?"

Mrs. Merry looked at it at a distance, held it close to her nose, and then tilted it sideways. All the time her face grew paler and paler. Then she took an envelope out of her pocket and glanced from the brown paper to the address. Suddenly she gave a cry, and threw her apron over her head. "Oh, Giles-Giles-whatever have you bin up to!"

"What do you mean?" asked Allen, feeling inclined to shake her.

"It's Giles's writing," sobbed Mrs. Merry, still invisible; "whatever you may say, it's his own writing, he never having been to school and writing pothooks and hangers awful." She tore the apron from her face and pointed, "Look at this Lawrence, and at this, my name on the envelope. He wrote, saying he's coming here to worry me, and I expect he's sent to your pa saying the same. They was thick in the old days, the wicked old days," said Mrs. Merry with emphasis, "I mean your pa and him as is dead and my brute of a Giles."

"So Giles Merry wrote this?" said Allen thoughtfully, looking at the brown paper writing. "I wonder if the cross is a sign between my father and him, which has called my father to London?"

"Have you seen Giles, sir?" asked Mrs. Merry dolefully, "if so, tell him I'll bolt and bar the house and have a gun ready. I won't be struck and bullied and badgered out of my own home."

"I haven't seen your husband," explained Allen, rising, "this parcel was sent to my father by your son through Jane Wasp." Mrs. Merry gave another cry. "He's got hold of Cain-oh, and Cain said he hadn't set eyes on him. He's ruined!" Mrs. Merry flopped into a chair. "My son's ruined-oh, and he was my pride! But that wicked father of his would make Heaven the other place, he would."

"I suppose Cain must have got the parcel from his father?" said Allen.

"He must have. It's in Giles's writing. What was in the parcel, sir?"

"A cross made of two sticks tied with a piece of grass. Do you know what that means?"

"No, I don't, but if it comes from Giles Merry, it means some wicked thing, you may be sure, Mr. Allen, whatever you may say."

"Well, my father was much upset when he got this parcel and he has gone to London."

"To see Giles?" asked Mrs. Merry.

"I don't know. The parcel came from Colchester."

"Then Giles is there, and with my poor boy," cried Mrs. Merry, trembling. "Oh, when will my cup of misery be full? I always expected this."

"Don't be foolish, Mrs. Merry. If your husband comes you can show him the door."

"He'd show me his boot," retorted Mrs. Merry. "I've a good mind to sell up, and clear out. If 'twasn't for Miss Eva, I would. And there, I've had to part from her on account of Giles. If he came and made the house, what he do make it, which is the pit of Tophet, a nice thing it would be for Miss Eva."