CHAPTER XX

THE REVEREND HORATIO TURNS DETECTIVE

The first thing in the curate's thoughts the next morning was this perplexing fragment of a letter. He examined it carefully, reading, first, the words in An Petronia's childish scrawl written on what had been the blank side of a castaway sheet:

chapter nine

reginals mother died six months before he was born and ever since Mr peabody had injoyed very dilicat health.

Horatio smiled at this tragically complicated picture of Reginald's entrance upon the scene of life. Then he turned the sheet and studied what was left of the original letter, a letter evidently written by his protégée, Hester Storm. Lengthwise and crosswise of this sheet ran sharp creases where the letter had been folded, and on either side the edges were torn symmetrically, leaving half-finished words and sentences. About half the letter was missing.

The letter began, "Dearest sist--" and five lines farther down the curate came upon "darling Rosalie." Then, after broken lines in which he made out "pull off something," there were six complete lines on what had been the last pages, that read:

"...so wonderful in the next few days that I can keep straight always after this the way you want me to, darling, and you and I can go out west where the air is fine or into the Adirondacks or anywhere you like, dearest sister, and you'll never have to work any..." Then there was a blot and a tear.

Most important of all was a postscript in the upper corner that read, "Remember, please, to address me as Hester Storm, not as Jenny Regan."

Horatio read and reread this with absorbed interest. He turned it this way and that, squinted at it, sniffed at it, rubbed his glasses, and tugged at his thin side whiskers, the total result being that his excitement and astonishment were presently at fever heat as he realized that he was on the verge of a momentous discovery. Ordinarily his conscience would have pricked the gentle curate at reading a letter not meant for his eyes, but this was an exceptional case, a matter to be immediately investigated for the common good. It was a critical moment. He was on the track of something serious, possibly a crime, and his mind buzzed with the possibilities held by this scrap of paper. What would a great detective do with such a clue? What would Horatio Merle do with it?

Tingling with a growing sense of his importance, the little man studied the paper again with a penetrating frown. An extraordinary document! A fascinating puzzle! To "pull off something" was, he knew, a locution familiar in the United States, and meaning to "make a coup" or to carry through a purpose; this he had gathered from his reading of adventure stories in the cheap magazines. So something was to be "pulled off!" Something involving "thousands of dollars!" Something that had delayed a sailing to America and brought to Ippingford this unfortunate girl, Jenny Regan, alias Hester Storm, on some desperate errand involving a rich reward. There was her plain statement, "You'll never have to work again!" How simple she must have thought him that day at the golf course! A gullible fool, believing every word she told him! It was pitiful!

And straightway Horatio resolved that in the present emergency, he would act a sterner part; he would be hard as adamant and would push this investigation through to a relentless finish. That was clearly his duty in view of the peril to which he had exposed the dwellers at Ipping House. This girl must be baffled in her wicked purpose, and, having sinned, she must now suffer.

But there was need of caution; he must have his facts well in hand before making any accusation or showing any suspicion; in short, he must dissemble--detectives invariably did dissemble, and already Horatio felt himself a detective. He had the analytical mind and intuitive insight, he knew it, always had known it, and, although these qualities had hitherto lain dormant, he would use them now, and by one supreme effort, he would not only make amends for past remissness and render a signal service to the Baxter household, but he would give himself the exhilarating joy of running down a real criminal.

His first step was evidently to learn from An Petronia where and when she had found this important fragment, so he went straight to the lodge and inquired for his little friend. Mrs. Pottle informed him, with a shrug of displeasure, that the child was playing somewhere about the grounds, and, after a careful search, the curate found her in the sunken gardens giving a spelling lesson to a forlorn wooden dolly sprawling on a marble bench. An Petronia was delighted to recover the missing page from her novel. Her memory about it was perfectly distinct. She had picked it out of the fireplace in the new lady's room at the lodge. The new lady being Hester Storm? Yes, Hester Storm. Was An Petronia accustomed to use scraps of paper out of fireplaces for her novel? Well, yes; because she had no other paper. Besides, this was such a pretty shade. Didn't Daddy Merle think so? Daddy Merle shrewdly agreed that it was a pretty shade, a beautiful shade. Did An Petronia think the new lady had any more paper like this? Oh, yes, a whole box full. Indeed! Was Hester at the lodge now? No, she was at the big house sewing. Oh! Well, would An Petronia mind, for a very particular reason, a secret--going to Hester's room and getting a sheet of this pretty paper, just one sheet?

At this suggestion the child opened her blue eyes and her sweet, red lips in wide astonishment, but being assured by Daddy Merle (who must know) that it was all right, she danced happily away, while the curate followed on, not quite reconciled to this necessity of setting his eager little friend to pilfering. Still he saw the value as evidence of a sheet of paper from the sewing girl's room, and when the youthful novelist presently returned with the desired article (the paper was obviously identical), the good man merely patted the golden red curls with a solemn warning that not a word of their secret be breathed to the new lady. And he borrowed overnight the incriminating page from An Petronia's romance.

The next thing was to have a talk with Hester Storm herself, and here Horatio saw the importance of clever management. An experienced detective would draw from the girl, without arousing her suspicion, as much damaging testimony as possible, and then, having involved her in a network of lies, he would turn suddenly and overwhelm her with the evidence of her own written words. That would be the method, the curate felt sure, of _M. Lecoq_ or _Mr. Sherlock Holmes_, and, with a sigh of regret, he resigned himself to the painful necessity of following their example. He disliked exceedingly resorting to subterfuge and--er--dissimulation; but there was no choice, the thing must be done and--very well, he would do it. He would be firm, he would be relentless, he would immediately find out what it was that his unworthy protégée was trying to "pull off."

Merle's first move was to exercise his patience for an hour and a half, strolling about among the shrubs and beeches, watching for the appearance of Hester Storm. He knew the girl would come forth presently from the manor, after her task, and he planned to intercept her on her way to the lodge. A detective must always be ready to wait, so Horatio waited.

The chiming clock in the stable tower, with pompous deliberation, had just sounded the third quarter after four o'clock when the curate espied a familiar scarlet cloak coming down the graveled walk.

"Enfin!" he breathed in relief, and a moment later he was walking at Hester's side, marveling at the innocence and candor of her beautiful dark eyes.

"My dear child," he began kindly, "I have something important to say to you. Would you mind strolling over toward the lake? I know a quiet seat where we may talk--shall I say without interruption?"

The girl looked at him in surprise.

"I will do whatever you wish, sir," she said simply. "You have been so good to me! I hope I have done nothing to displease you."

"Of course not, my child, that is to say, why--er--of course not," he replied, remembering with difficulty that it was his duty to dissemble.

They came presently to Horatio's favorite retreat by the lake, a low, broad bench between two friendly fir trees, and here, looking out over the placid surface, with its heavy shade lines following the shores, they had a memorable interview. It was characteristic of Merle that he chose this spot of soothing beauty, where nature seemed to reveal her tenderest moods, for the hard business of criminal investigation.

"The point is, Hester," he began, "I have been thinking over the matter of your arrival at Ipping House and your establishment here, and, while I have the deepest sympathy for you, my friend, I feel that I should have shown a greater interest in your family and--er--antecedents; in short, I should have asked you to tell me a little more about yourself."

"I'll be glad to tell you anything you want to know," the girl said with an air of perfect truthfulness, while the curate continued to marvel.

"How did you happen to come to so small and unimportant a place as Ippingford? As I understand it, you knew no one here and--er--why did you buy a ticket to Ippingford?"

"I didn't," answered Hester with ready invention. "I bought a ticket to York and I--I got off here because," she hesitated, and her eyes, wandering over the lake, rested on a company of swans that were drifting down the cove in stately squadron. In an instant she had her explanation.

"Yes?" said Merle encouragingly.

"I got off here because it was so beautiful. I wanted to be in the country--away from noise and smoke and--you see I've always lived in cities, and I've been unhappy there; I've had no luck there, and when I saw this lake and the hills and green things it seemed like a voice calling me, and I--I just got off the train. I couldn't help it."

There was a quiver in her voice that stirred Horatio's sympathy, but he hardened his heart.

"Then you had no specific purpose in coming to Ippingford?"

"Oh, no! I did not even know the name of the town."

"And suppose you had found no friends here, no employment? What would you have done?"

"I should have gone on to some other place. And I should never have forgotten the flowers and hedges and that lovely walk I took the day I met you--when you were so kind to me."

Her sweet, low tones moved him strangely, but he kept to his task.

"That was only natural, my dear, after you had come to my assistance. But tell me, are you contented here? Do you plan to stay with us, now that we have made a place for you?"

Hester looked at him sharply. How came he to put that question? What was he driving at?

"Why, yes," she assured him. "I want to stay, if you are satisfied with me."

"You have no intention of going away? No thought of returning to America?"

"No," she said, disturbed by his persistence. "Why do you ask me that?"

"I thought perhaps your family in America--or your friends----"

She shook her head sadly. "I have no family. No friends. I am all alone."

"You have no father or mother? No brother? No sister?"

Again she shook her head. There was no particular reason why she should lie about Rosalie, except that her sister was too sacred a thing in Hester's life to be mentioned lightly. And she failed to see what difference it could possibly make to this queer little man whether she said that she had a sister or had no sister.

But it made a great difference to Horatio, for Hester's denial of Rosalie came as a crushing culmination to her other falsehoods. She had lied in declaring that she had no special purpose in visiting Ippingford. She had lied in saying she was not planning a return to America. And now she had lied about her sister. The moment had come for Merle to strike. His trap was ready, his victim helpless and defenseless; he had only to touch the spring, or, more precisely, to produce the accusing letter.

Horatio sat silent, looking out over the lake now bathed in its full summer splendor. What a glory of color! What a profusion of life and joy of life! The birds, the insects, the myriad creatures of field and wood and lake, all happy in their several ways! There were the thrushes calling!

Horatio sighed. Why should not men and women be as carefree as these songsters of the air? Why all this sadness in a world that God had made so beautiful? Why all this sorrow and sin?

Horatio turned to the girl beside him, and there was a wonderful light in his eyes, the light of humility and spiritual love. She lifted her eyes to his, then dropped them, then lifted them again, then dropped them again. A strange thing had happened. The curate's heart was so filled with the spirit of kindness and pity that there was no resisting it, either by him or by her. His well planned attack and her watchful defense were alike unavailing against the spirit of kindness and pity!

Tears came suddenly into Horatio's eyes, and when he tried to speak there was a catch in his voice. He looked at this young woman. God's fair creature, and it seemed as if he read into her soul and understood. Then he reached out impulsively and took her two hands in his.

"My poor child! My poor child!" he murmured.

The gentle curate was far off the track of approved detective procedure. He was neither master of himself nor of the situation. His analytical mind had failed him, his intuitive insight also, leaving only the treasure of his heart as an available asset. Quite forgotten was his carefully set trap! And the girl's letter! And her lies! Just one fact remained, that here was a soul in distress, a sister pilgrim on life's hard highway who needed succor.

"You have suffered! You have suffered! I--I am sorry!" he added.

In Hester's whole life this was a unique moment. For years she had broken the law and had grown skilful in defending herself, after the fashion of law breakers. Had Merle sprung his trap it is doubtful if he would have caught her. Had he challenged her with the letter it is more than likely she would have found some way of explaining it. Had he pointed out her lies she would have saved herself by other lies. That was the sort of thing she knew how to do, but she had never learned to defend herself against love; she didn't know the answering move to pity--and when he looked at her like that--as Rosalie had looked--and told her he was sorry, why--it got right through her guard, it was more than she could bear, and, before either of them knew it, that world-old miracle, the power of simple goodness, had been shown again, and one more starved soul had heard and answered the silent voice.

Hester's bosom began to heave, her breath came in quick, sharp gulps, she clenched her hands and tried to fight this thing that was happening, but it was too strong for her.

"Wh--what is it?" she gasped, her eyes on him in desperate pleading.

"It is God calling you, my child. It is God calling," the curate whispered.

Then the storm broke in convulsive, hysterical weeping. And Horatio waited, without speaking, without trying to stem the flood.

"I--I've told you what isn't true," she confessed in broken tones. "I have no right to be here. I--I'm no good," and the storm broke again.

"Listen to me, my dear," said Merle soothingly. "We are all of us weak and sinful. I'm sure I don't know why, but it seems to be our fate to----"

"Wait!" sobbed the girl. "You don't know--what I am. You don't know--what I have done."

"I know you are sorry," he answered gently.

"Sorry," she repeated. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry, but that isn't enough. I'm going to tell you everything, and----"

"Stop! I don't want to know what you have done. I can help you better if I only know that you are sorry. Whatever your sins, they will be forgiven--if you ask God for forgiveness. You understand, my child?"

"I--I understand."

"If you see any way to make amends for any wrong act you must take that way."

The girl's head was bowed as if in prayer. "I will," she said.

"And in the future you must try--with all your heart and soul---- Say those words, my child."

He laid his hand tenderly on her glossy black hair.

"I will try in the future--with all my heart and soul," she murmured.

"To be honest, to be kind," he continued.

"To be honest, to be kind," she repeated.

"I will ask God every day to give me strength against temptation."

"I will ask God every day--to give me strength against temptation."

"For Jesus' sake. Amen."

"For Jesus' sake. Amen."