CHAPTER VIII.

COMEDY BY NIGHT

Cautiously, Mr. Benson, keeping to the shadow of the wall, advanced from his hiding-place to endeavor to hear what the two newcomers were saying, for they talked in whispers, and it was quite impossible from where he was to catch a sound.

“But there is nothing to fear, my dear,” he heard the man say with a little laugh. “I am astonished that you should attach any importance to these old wives’ tales, Jill.”

“If it were only in the daytime,” the girl replied, “it would be a different matter; but at night--ugh, it’s terrible, and in any case I don’t see that we can find out anything more.”

“Some day or, rather, some night the incident will repeat itself. I refuse to believe that what happened that night was the first time the murderer visited the Prior’s Room. Didn’t you see lights before?” said the man.

“But, Wilfred, why not let the police do this horrid investigation. We know enough now practically to clear Frank Gough,” said Jill.

“We know nothing of the sort,” Wilfred replied. “We have formed certain theories, and I found out about these passages through the medium of that old medieval book I found in the antique shop in Ghent. But, because a rather unexpected person uses certain secret passages it doesn’t necessarily follow that they have evil intent, any more than we have.”

“Very well, Wilfred, you must know best,” replied the girl. “Come along and let us get it over.” The girl turned towards the entrance through which they had come, and the man stooped down and moved something, whereupon a large slab of stone bearing the inscription in Latin “R.I.P.,” and a lot of half undecipherable words below, swung around disclosing an opening. Into this opening both the man and the woman entered, and immediately the stone closed again.

“This is a very serious development,” Mr. Benson muttered to himself. “Evidently the young man--equally evidently her fiancé--is doing a bit of amateur detective work. A sort of free-lance. The appalling cheek of it! To say nothing of the indefensibility of it. Here we have a man about to take his trial for murder, and one of them says she knows enough to clear him, or words to that effect, and the other speaks of the recurring visits to the Prior’s Room of ‘an unexpected person.’ Well,” the old man finished with a grim chuckle, “they’ll find another unexpected person there to-night. Wait a bit--let’s do the thing properly.”

He turned and, with lighted candle, went back to the little vestry. There, on the ground, was a huge iron-bound chest, the padlocks long since gone. With an effort Mr. Benson raised the lid, it was metal-lined and terribly heavy. Holding his candle above the box, he began moving the contents. There were copes, chasubles, stoles, maniples, and all manner of richly-embroidered Mass vestments that had remained there secretly ever since the Reformation.

Mr. Benson took out a great heavily-embroidered red cope and a gold miter. The cope probably had been worn on many a high occasion by the last of the priors, John Paseley, and the miter by the lord abbot when he had visited the Priory. Putting the cope over his shoulders and setting the miter on his head, Mr. Benson set off. He walked to the wall, the cope trailing, moved the mechanism, and again the slab moved. Mr. Benson appeared quite familiar with the dark passage he entered; for, he turned and moved something which reclosed the stone, and then set off, up a dark winding staircase. Arrived at the top, he saw light coming through chinks in the opening of what was the door to the passage and at the same time the back of the great wardrobe which was a fixture in the Prior’s Room.

There in the room were Wilfred Barlow and Jill Kilby. Jill was standing still, looking around apprehensively, while Wilfred Barlow was intently examining the bed on which the murdered man had lain. He had the mattress turned back, and was inspecting the wooden laths that formed the base of the bed.

Very quietly, Mr. Benson opened the door of the passage and stood in the wardrobe looking into the room through the open door; for, the wardrobe door was swung open upon its hinges. In silence, he gazed for a minute. Then, as Jill looked in his direction, gave a gasp, and jumped back towards Wilfred, the lawyer spoke.

“How dare you disturb my rest?” he growled in booming accents. Jill gave a shriek and fainted. Wilfred Barlow, his eyes staring at first incredulously, then with genuine fear, grabbed Jill with one hand, his eyes still fixed on the apparition which the old lawyer made in the open wardrobe. Then, stooping quickly he picked Jill up bodily and made for the door. The lawyer still stood there, his stout stick clutched under his cope, and, as Wilfred opened the door and gave a hasty look backwards before he disappeared, Mr. Benson chuckled, stepped out of the wardrobe, and began to make an investigation of the Prior’s Room. He found nothing new, though he examined the bed closely. He was still continuing his examination when the door opened, and Wilfred Barlow’s head appeared around it. For a moment or two, the lawyer did not notice him. Wilfred stared in silence for some time. Then, stepping quietly across the room, he laid his hand upon the little man’s shoulder.

“Well! What the dickens do you think you’re playing at?” he asked. Instantly the lawyer sprang upright and from the folds of his cloak brought out the stick, which Wilfred grabbed.

“Do you know who I am, you young ruffian?” spluttered Mr. Benson, his miter falling off in the struggle. Wilfred paused, then sprang backwards.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Why, you’re Mr. Benson, the family lawyer. I couldn’t see before on account of the ecclesiastical millinery.”

“And who may you be, my violent young friend?” asked Mr. Benson. “And by what right do you intrude into this house and into its secret passages?”

“I can assure you that I have a good explanation of that, Mr. Benson, which I will put forward at the proper time,” Wilfred replied.

“You will put it forward now,” declared Mr. Benson with some truculence. “The very idea! You, a complete stranger to me, tell me calmly that you have a perfectly good reason for wandering about a mansion through its secret passages, and then with equal calmness say that you will state your reason at the proper time. Proper time indeed!” Mr. Benson repeated, looking a comic figure, at which Wilfred could scarce forbear to smile, for, the lawyer’s scarlet and gold cope hung from his small frame at a rakish angle, and his white locks were ruffled by the miter coming off in the struggle. But, for all that, there was something in the old man’s eyes which dispelled very quickly any thoughts of laughter in Wilfred Barlow’s mind.

“I can assure you, sir, that I speak the truth----” he began, but Mr. Benson would have none of it. With an impatient wave of the hand, he interrupted:

“Your name, sir?”

“Wilfred Barlow,” replied the other man. “I am a doctor of medicine, and at present staying at the White Hart, in the village here. I am not unknown to the chief constable of Norwich.”

“And I should think not either,” instantly snapped Mr. Benson. “Most people who prowl about houses of a night are well known to the police!”

“No, I don’t mean that,” Wilfred Barlow replied with a little smile.

Mr. Benson decided his smile was rather disarming. He began to take stock of his new acquaintance. Wilfred had a clean, healthy appearance--a ruddy complexion and a clear brown eye. His hair was naturally curly and fair, while he was of good physical bearing--perhaps a shade stouter than the average man of his size. A likeable man, Mr. Benson decided, and reliable.

“In the name of goodness,” Mr. Benson persisted. “Tell me what you are doing here--and also what was that girl doing here with you?”

“Miss Kilby and I are engaged--secretly,” replied the young man, “and----”

“It seems to me that there is too much confounded secrecy in your manifestations, my lad,” again the old lawyer broke in.

“Well, I can assure you that I cannot help that,” Wilfred replied. “It appears that, although I have only had the honor of meeting her ladyship once, she took a profound dislike to me afterwards and ordered Jill--Miss Kilby--not to see me again.”

“And I’m not surprised to hear that, either,” said the lawyer, “if you are given to prowling round the houses of your acquaintances and friends. Come along now, tell me what you mean by it.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Benson, that, if you were to insist upon my telling you all that I could, you would curse me for the information.”

The old lawyer looked in surprise, and Wilfred continued: “There is a man at present in custody, but I can assure you that, were I to place in your hands the facts that I have at present established, they might possibly clear him, but they would probably place some one else, equally innocent, in his position. I have found out one or two valuable things, and this you can be sure about--that, should it be necessary, then for good or ill, I shall table the facts. I’ll bring them to you first, and with you must rest the responsibility.”

“Well, well, my lad,” said Mr. Benson, wiping his brow. “You rather take my breath away. That is, after all, as it should be--I mean my taking of responsibility. I have carried responsibility all my life. The only thing that I simply cannot bear is to know half a story--to work in the dark. Now, look here, my boy, tell me the full story. I see you know something--now tell me.”

“With great respect--no, sir!” Wilfred replied definitely. “I assure you----”

“Damn you, sir!” Mr. Benson roared. “Do you realize that I can have you locked up?”

“Of course, I do!” Wilfred replied. “Please bear with me a moment, Mr. Benson. I will tell you something--just give you an indication. But, for everybody’s sake, don’t press me further. I honestly think that, in a day or so, I’ll be able to come to you with a complete story. At present some one that you would probably give your life to protect would be really absolutely menaced--I put it as high as that--if I were to tell you all.”

“Are you collaborating with the police?” asked Mr. Benson more quietly.

“No, sir!” Wilfred replied.

“Well, now, what is it you can tell me?” the lawyer asked.

“Do you know a Dr. Laidlaw?” Wilfred asked, and Mr. Benson started. Keenly, he surveyed the serious face of Wilfred Barlow as he replied:

“Yes, what of him?”

“Well, I also have some slight knowledge of that gentleman,” Wilfred replied. “Now, you probably know far more about him than I do--I don’t know--but this much I can tell you: on the night when Sir John Evenden was murdered, Dr. Laidlaw entered the same passage that you entered to-night.”

“By the heavens above!” ejaculated the old man. “Can you prove that?”

“Practically,” the other replied. “But there are certain reasons why I feel sure he will come again. In the present state of affairs, were he to be apprehended there is very little doubt that he could clear himself at someone else’s expense. Do not ask me to say more.”

“Where are you to be found--the White Hart, you say?” asked the old man. “Very well, call openly and see me to-morrow, will you?” asked Mr. Benson. “By the way, how did you get into this?”

“You must not question me on that,” Wilfred replied. “I will tell you this much--Miss Kilby came by certain knowledge which led us to watch this man Laidlaw.”

“You are certain that that girl will keep her counsel?” asked Mr. Benson anxiously.

“Certain,” replied Wilfred.

“Then I presume you know your way out?” Mr. Benson asked with a grim smile, and the other smiled and nodded, then turned towards the cupboard. Mr. Benson remained in the Prior’s Room in absolute silence for ten minutes, then he, too, went down the stairs, through the various secret ways, and ultimately he arrived again in the library.

He then took his brief bag and extracted from it the bundle of papers labeled “Laidlaw,” lit a pipe, and, as he blew clouds of smoke about him, he read over again the strange words written in the handwriting of the late Sir Michael Evenden.

The following day Wilfred Barlow called on Mr. Benson, and by that time the lawyer had decided on a course of action.

First of all he tried again to get Barlow to reveal all he knew. But, finding that policy fruitless, as he expected it would be, he said:

“Now this man Laidlaw. Do you know anything of the relationship existing between Lady Evenden and him? Has the Kilby girl nosed anything out about that?”

Wilfred was inclined to resent the reference to Jill, but he saw that it was only the lawyer’s manner, so he replied:

“I know nothing beyond this: Lady Evenden will see him, at any time he desires an interview, without any condition upon her state of health or mind. I am assured by Miss Kilby that, during her most intense grief following the death of Sir Michael, she saw him in the park and had him admitted. She saw him alone. But, Miss Kilby has not the remotest idea what Lady Evenden can desire with him.”

“I think you said last night that you personally had some knowledge of him?” the lawyer next asked.

Wilfred Barlow then outlined to him all he knew of Dr. Laidlaw. When he had finished, Mr. Benson said:

“He had a certain connection with this family, not with Lady Evenden though, but with the late Sir Michael. Still, I don’t think that has anything to do with his seeing Lady Evenden; in fact I’m pretty sure it hasn’t. Now, look here, I’m having an inquiry set afoot to find Laidlaw. He sold his practice in Leicestershire, I find, several months ago. I expect a message from my detective people presently. Should you see him or hear of him, communicate with me at once, will you?”

Having got his assurance, Mr. Benson dismissed him. He then rang for the butler.

“Convey my compliments to her ladyship, and say that I wish to see her, if it is convenient,” ordered Mr. Benson.

Then he got through on the telephone to the chief constable of Norwich.

“Do you know a young fellow called Barlow, by the way?” he asked; “Wilfred Barlow--doctor, I believe?” He was assured that Wilfred Barlow and the chief constable’s younger brother had been at school together, and that Wilfred was altogether a desirable young man. They then proceeded to discuss the case for some minutes, and the chief constable said that the Scotland Yard inspector would be calling that evening to discuss certain points with Mr. Benson.

“How many more remands will you take to complete?” asked Mr. Benson.

“Well, in the present state of the evidence, I cannot see us requiring more than three,” replied the chief constable, “But it is always impossible to say beforehand what is coming forward in a murder trial.”

“Well, I sincerely hope that you will complete in time for this winter assize,” said Mr. Benson. “I don’t want that unfortunate chap left in jail over Christmas.”

“We’re working for a committal for the winter assize,” promised the chief constable, “and, for my part, I hope things go well for Mr. Frank. I’ve got an instinct that when this murder is solved, it will be something quite outside present calculations. Something that none of us knows anything about.”

“I think so, too,” agreed Mr. Benson, replacing the receiver as the butler entered the room.

“Her ladyship will see you now, sir,” he announced.

Mr. Benson made his way to Lady Evenden’s room and was admitted at once. She looked very pale; but, the solicitor noticed that the eyes were steady. Although they looked infinitely sad, they were perfectly sane.

“How do you do, dear Mr. Benson?” she greeted him.

“I am perfectly well, thanks, and you, my dear lady, how are you?” Mr. Benson asked anxiously.

“A slight headache, but that’s all, thank you,” she replied with a little wan smile. Mr. Benson turned to Jill.

“Girl,” he greeted her unceremoniously, then with a snap of his fingers in the direction of the door--a snap that sounded like steel fingers cracking--he indicated his desire to be left alone with Lady Evenden. Jill flushed a little and withdrew, while Lady Evenden smiled--she knew the ways of the old lawyer.

When the door was closed, he turned to her.

“Now, my dear lady, do you know anyone that you would rather rely upon than me? Anyone with your interests more at heart?”

“Certainly not, Mr. Benson,” she replied wonderingly. “You are my very best friend.”

“That’s right, my dear,” said Mr. Benson taking her hand. “Now, without any reservations--without any qualifications--just tell me everything there is to tell about Dr. Laidlaw. What? Bless my soul!”

The old lawyer got up hurriedly and rang the bell. Lady Evenden had fainted.