CHAPTER VI.

ARRESTED!

If the death of Sir Michael, unexpected as it was, had given the household of Evenden Priory a shock, this new calamity was overwhelming. Roberto’s wild shrieks were only too justified. The butler and a footman visited the Prior’s Room immediately, and there, lying on the floor in his pyjamas, his body twisted and contorted, was the young master of Evenden. Jack had enjoyed his baronetcy for something under twenty-four hours.

The police and the doctor were immediately sent for. The latter pronounced Jack dead, and added that death had probably taken place eight hours previously.

When the superintendent of the local police arrived, accompanied by an inspector, Frank Gough received them in the library. Frank stated all he knew. He said that on the previous evening he had been rather late returning from a visit to Norwich, where he had ordered some black clothes from his tailor. On the way back, his car had given trouble, and it had been necessary to have it repaired. The delay made him late for dinner, which he subsequently ate alone.

He then had received a message from the butler to the effect that his brother had retired, and that he would expect him to come up to the Prior’s Room. He did so, and had found the dead man strangely perturbed. Jack had been very nice, but it had been necessary for him to make a certain disclosure, the nature of which Frank had resented very much.

While Frank was still worried and shocked--because, he said, the disclosure was certainly shocking--his dead brother had gone on to explain that, as the apportionment of money for both Frank and his mother was entirely in his hands, it left him in a very difficult position. Frank then lost his temper, and accused Jack of deliberately raking up a cock-and-bull story to avoid his manifest duty, financially, to his stepmother and stepbrother.

High words had followed. The brothers had almost come to blows. Then Frank had said that as soon as the funeral of his stepfather was over he would leave the place forever. After that he left the room, going direct to his own bedroom. Half an hour later, he stated, Jack had come to his room to apologize. He understood, he had said, how Frank must have felt, and very quietly told him more details of the story. The two brothers had at last arrived at a common policy of silence in regard to the matter; and, before he left, Jack had told Frank that it was his intention to carry out religiously his father’s wishes with regard to money--and that with a generous interpretation.

Both had apologized to each other for the previous high words and unkind aspersions. Then, after shaking hands, Jack went back to the Prior’s Room.

All this was carefully taken down by the police inspector. The superintendent darted a keen glance at Frank from time to time; but, not until the statement was completed did he speak. Then he asked a number of questions. But Frank remained unshaken.

The superintendent then asked Frank to remain with him while he interrogated the servants.

The butler’s story was a complete confirmation of the early part of Frank’s story. The late young baronet, he said, had dined alone and then he had retired, after expressing a wish that his stepbrother should be asked to visit him in his room. He had delivered the message to Mr. Frank whom he later saw depart in the direction of the Prior’s Room. He knew nothing more until he had the report of Roberto in the morning that Mr. Jack was dead.

The housekeeper, two footmen, and Roberto were then examined. Roberto merely repeated his first statement. At eight o’clock he had found his master dead--that was all he knew.

The housekeeper knew absolutely nothing, and said so. Just before she left, however, she startled her hearers by declaring:

“Of course I know how he died, all the same.”

“What do you mean, Mrs. Turnbull?” asked the superintendent.

“Last night was the eve of St. Michael and All Angels,” declared the old lady, “and there never has been, in the history of the Priory, a case of a single person who has been allowed to remain the night through in the Prior’s Room on that awful night. Some have tried--but they have escaped in time--terrified.”

“What is this?” asked the bewildered superintendent.

Frank told him the ancient tradition of the haunted room and the supposed visit of the dour figure of the last of the priors, John Paseley, on the anniversary of his murder, in defense of his priory. The inspector, who was a good catholic, surreptitiously crossed himself.

“Is there any record of any authentic experiences?” asked the superintendent.

“Yes,” Frank replied. “There is an old book in the locked strong room, there. Shall I get it?”

“Yes,” replied the superintendent. “I would like to see it.”

Then the question of keys arose. Jack had had the key to that room. After a moment’s reflection, the superintendent said:

“Never mind, I will finish the inquiry first; then I will look. Perhaps I had better take the keys, for the moment.”

The next to be examined was the senior footman--he knew nothing and was quickly dispatched. He was followed by a young under-footman called Thomason--country-bred and raw. He entered the room with gaping mouth, his goggle-eyes fixed on Frank, and quickly had his hearers alert.

“I dunno whether I ought to say what I gotta say, sir,” he began helpfully. The superintendent immediately fixed on him a keen glance. “Tell us all you know,” he ordered. “Everything, mind you.”

“Well, sir,” began Thomason, “about nine o’clock I had occasion to go to the small pantry adjoining the Prior’s Room, and I heard awful quarreling, sir.”

“Did you recognize the voices?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Thomason.

“Who were they?” demanded the superintendent. Thomason turned a frightened glance in the direction of Frank.

“I can’t help telling, sir, can I?” he faltered, looking the picture of rustic stupidity.

“Get on, you fool, get on--tell the truth,” ordered Frank.

“Well, the voices was Mr. Jack and Mr. Frank,” Thomason declared, gasping in his horror.

“Could you hear what they were saying?” the superintendent next asked.

“Not exactly,” replied the footman. “There was something about greediness--and something about her ladyship--and something about Mr. Frank leaving the place forever.”

“But they were quarreling--fiercely?”

“Oh yes, sir--something scandalous!” replied Thomason solemnly.

“You stayed there for some time, I take it?” asked the superintendent.

“Yes, sir.”

“Cocking your ear?” The interruption came from old Evans the butler who, with rising disgust, had watched the exhibition his footman was making of himself.

“Be quiet, Mr. Evans,” ordered the superintendent. “This man may be an important witness.”

“He’ll never be an important footman if I have anything to do with it,” heatedly replied the butler. “The very idea--a servant trained by me----”

“Mr. Evans, I must ask you to leave the room!” The superintendent stood up and pointed to the door. With a venomous look at his ungainly assistant, old Evans left the room, but it said much for his authority at the Priory that Thomason stood and shivered like a whipped baboon after he had gone.

Nothing more was got out of Thomason--indeed, he tried to withdraw something of what he already had said, until the superintendent frightened him severely by telling him the terrible things that happen to people who mislead the police.

While the inquiry was in progress, Mr. Benson arrived. Frank had sent for him earlier. The former was thunderstruck by the news. The first thing he asked was whether Lady Evenden knew about it?

Frank did not know--he had been fully engaged all the time since the discovery.

The old lawyer asked Frank to accompany him. The superintendent seemed on the point of demurring. But, Mr. Benson was accustomed to rule even superintendents of police; and, he and Frank went together to Lady Evenden’s room.

The news had been broken to her by the housekeeper and Jill Kilby. She was terribly distressed. But, singularly enough, Mr. Benson thought her in much better mental condition than she had been on the previous day. Jill Kilby stated that, earlier in the morning, Lady Evenden had broken down and had cried bitterly and passionately, for the first time since her husband’s death.

She said very little now. She took her son’s hand and gripped it. Then she turned to Mr. Benson, gripping his hand tightly, as though it were some pillar of rock in a moving sea of trouble.

“There must be a curse fallen upon the house,” she cried. “Oh, Mr. Benson, don’t let anything else terrible happen to us, will you?”

The old man answered as reassuringly as he could, and then he and Frank left the room to return to the library.

The superintendent and inspector had completed their interrogation of the servants, and were poring over the great tome which told of the recurring phenomena of the Prior’s Room.

“How did you get hold of that?” asked Mr. Benson.

“Mr. Frank Gough told me it was in the strong room, and I had the keys that were found in the pockets of the murdered man,” answered the superintendent.

“My dear Dodgson!” Mr. Benson’s eyebrows lifted and his forehead wrinkled. “Since when has it been customary for police officers to take keys from the pockets of deceased people without consulting lawyers, or anybody else? What are you thinking about?”

“I am searching in this book to see if I can find any possible clue to the murder. It has been stated that no one has remained throughout a whole night in that room--called the Prior’s Room--on a certain day--that is, the eve of Michaelmas.”

“By Jove, that is certainly remarkable--and it is true, too, I can tell you that,” said Mr. Benson thoughtfully.

“I want to see you a minute privately, in any case,” the superintendent proceeded. Mr. Benson nodded, and they left the room together. He led Superintendent Dodgson to a small morning room; then the superintendent coughed a little and spoke.

“You are, of course, acting for the family?” Mr. Benson nodded. “Well, roughly,” continued the superintendent, “this is the position at present. The following statements taken--will you read them? This is Mr. Gough’s, and this is the last one--by the footman Thomason.” There was silence for ten minutes while Mr. Benson digested the contents. The longer he read, the more he frowned. Without a word, he folded the papers, handed them back to the superintendent, removed his eyeglasses, and fixed the other with the piercing eyes that had intimidated many a county bench. Then he spoke.

“Well?”

The superintendent was undoubtedly embarrassed--his position was delicate. He coughed again, once or twice.

“I feel like calling Scotland Yard,” he began. Mr. Benson nodded approval. “But in the meantime--I say in the meantime--I don’t see how I can avoid arresting Mr. Gough.”

Mr. Benson never flinched. Not by so much as the flicker of an eyelid did he betray the slightest emotion. In silence for quite a minute he continued to stare at the superintendent; then, shaking his head a little, he said very quietly:

“At present that would seem inevitable, Dodgson, but I wouldn’t do it, if I were you. He certainly didn’t do it--I have not the slightest doubt upon that point--And equally, I have no doubt but what, as the inquiry proceeds, evidence will be forthcoming to substantiate the story he tells. It is not the duty of the law as I see it--and as I’m sure you do--to place a young man, newly shouldering great rank, in a position that will cast a certain stigma upon him for life? Frank Gough as you know, is now the heir. Reversion to him was long since arranged. Will you arrange with him to remain here and be at your call?”

“I would like to, Mr. Benson.” The superintendent was visibly troubled. “But I’ve thought it over, and I cannot see how I possibly can do anything but arrest him. My position in the event of his going away, or committing suicide, would be untenable. Don’t you see, sir,” he went on, “that even what you’ve just said, from a strictly impartial point of view, increases, _prima facie_, the case against him. Take the facts: there has been a quarrel; the elder brother has the power, and means to use it, of depriving the other of any inheritance. Further than that, there is some talk of scandal in connection with the mother. The removal of the first leaves the way open for the inheritance of the second, and that completely, as well as quieting the alleged scandal. In the face of that, what can I do?”

“Well, there are all sorts of things you can do--that is your trouble. One of the first things I _would_ do, if I were you, would be to get your pathological people down to conduct a post-mortem on the body. I suppose you don’t mind my having a chat with Mr. Gough privately, do you?”

“Not in the least, Mr. Benson,” agreed the superintendent, rising.

“And there’s just one other thing--I’m in charge now. Do you mind turning over those keys to me?” The little man held out his hand, and, after a second’s hesitation, Superintendent Dodgson placed the bunch of keys into it. Then he left the room, having agreed to send Frank to the lawyer.

Frank entered the room. The lawyer drew up a chair for him close to his own, and said:

“Frank, my boy, we’re in for a very unpleasant few days, from what I can see of things. Now, in whatever you have to undergo, I conjure you to be strong--never let yourself go. You are about to be tested in very fierce fires indeed, my lad, but remember you are not fighting alone. All the time the best brains that I can buy, and all that I can do, will be done. Victory is a foregone conclusion, boy--get that on your mind. We don’t need to even dream of defeat. But, in the meantime be strong.”

“What--what----” Frank stammered, for the earnestness of the lawyer was an indication of the terrible nature of the experience in store for him.

“When we shall have finished our chat,” said Mr. Benson gravely, “the superintendent of police will arrest you for the murder of your stepbrother.” Frank turned very pale. “Now, remember what I have told you--they will not win, but much depends upon your calmness, and the complete manner in which you take me into your confidence.”

“But--this is awful----” stammered Frank.

“Of course it is,” agreed the lawyer. “Now pull yourself together, and tell me, absolutely word for word, what your late brother said to you when you joined him in the Prior’s Room last night.”

Frank, after some difficulty in starting, told Mr. Benson as nearly as he could remember, word for word, what had occurred on the evening before. He repeated the whole story that had been told to Jack by Gunnery Lieutenant Towers, and he told of its connection with the visit of Dr. Laidlaw. The old man raised his eyebrows when he heard that. Then Frank told him how the quarrel was occasioned, how that, feeling pretty sick about the terrible tale of his own father’s death, his mind was still dwelling on it when Jack, having finished that subject, was talking about the terms of his father’s will. In the bitterness of his heart Frank accused him of coupling the two things together, and if making the one an excuse for the other.

Jack had been furious to have such meanness attributed to him. Frank had been equally furious to have this awful story told him of his father’s death--which would seem to shatter the ideal his mother stood for, to him.

Then he told of how Jack had come to his room later, unable to sleep without putting the unfortunate misunderstanding right, and how the interview had ended in perfect amity--with deep sympathy expressed on both sides, each for the position of the other.

When the interview was over, and Mr. Benson had asked him many questions, the old lawyer rang the bell, and upon a servant appearing, ordered brandy and soda. He insisted on Frank taking a stiff glass; then he accompanied him to the hall, where the superintendent was waiting.

“Have you prepared Mr. Frank Gough, Mr. Benson?” he asked.

“I have informed Sir Frank Evenden, Dodgson, and he is quite at your service. See to it that you treat him in every way----”

“You can leave that to me, sir,” interrupted the superintendent. “Sir Frank, I regret this most painful duty; but, until such evidence appears as will clear you, it is my duty to arrest and detain you for the wilful murder of the late Sir John Evenden.”

“I understand your position, superintendent,” Frank replied calmly. “I am, of course, innocent of any knowledge of the causes of my brother’s death. I place myself entirely at your disposal.”

The old lawyer nodded his approval, and a minute later he was standing on the steps of Evenden Priory, the autumn breeze ruffling his white locks--for he stood bareheaded--while a retreating motor car carried the heir to Evenden Priory, to answer a murder charge.

“Two dead baronets in the Priory, and another facing death at the hands of the law,” muttered the old man. “Surely, John Paseley, you are celebrating this Michaelmas in high and solemn order.”