Scarhaven Keep Page 18

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE LIE ON THE TOMBSTONE

  Gilling's glance at his companion was quiet enough, but it spoke volumes.Here, by sheer chance, was such a revelation as they had never dreamed ofhearing!--here was the probable explanation of at least half the mystery.He turned composedly to the landlady.

  "I've already told you who and what I am," he said, pointing to the cardwhich he had handed to her. "There are certain mysterious circumstancesabout this affair which I want to get at. What you've said just now isabundant evidence that you can help. If you do and will help, you'll bewell paid for your trouble. Now, you speak of sickness--death--a funeral.Will you tell us all about it?"

  "I never knew there was any mystery about it," answered the landlady, asshe motioned her visitors to seat themselves. "It was all above-board asfar as I knew. Of course, I've always been sore about it--I'd a greatdeal of trouble, and as I say, I never got anything for it--that is,anything extra. And me doing it really to oblige her and her father!"

  "They brought a sick man here?" suggested Gilling.

  "I'll tell you how it was," said Mrs. Salmon, seating herself and showingsigns of a disposition to confidence. "Miss Chatfield, she'd been here, Ithink, three days that time--I'd had her once before a year or twoprevious. One morning--I'm sure it was about the third day that the_Swayne Necklace_ Company was here--she came in from rehearsal in aregular take-on. She said that her father had just called on her at thetheatre. She said he'd been to Falmouth to meet a relation of theirswho'd come from America and had found him to be very ill on landing--soill that a Falmouth doctor had given strict orders that he mustn't travelany further than Bristol, on his way wherever he wanted to go. They'd gotto Bristol and the young man was so done up that Mr. Chatfield had had todrive him to another doctor--one close by here--Dr. Valdey--as soon asthey arrived. Dr. Valdey said he must go to bed at once and have at leasttwo days' complete rest in bed, and he advised Mr. Chatfield to get quietrooms instead of going to a hotel. So Mr. Chatfield, knowing that hisdaughter was here, do you see, sought her out and told her all about it.She came to me and asked me if I knew where they could get rooms. Wellnow, I had my drawing-room floor empty that week, and as it was only fortwo or three days that they wanted rooms I offered to take Mr. Chatfieldand the young man in. Of course, if I'd known how ill he was, Ishouldn't. What I understood--and mind you, I don't say they wilfullydeceived me, for I don't think they did--what I understood was that theyoung man simply wanted a real good rest. But he was evidently a dealworse than what even Dr. Valdey thought. He'd stopped at Dr. Valdey'ssurgery while Mr. Chatfield went to see about rooms, and they moved himfrom there straight in here. And as I say, he was a deal worse than theythought, much worse, and the doctor had to be fetched to him more thanonce during the afternoon. Still Dr. Valdey himself never said to me thatthere was any immediate danger. But that's neither here nor there--theyoung fellow died that night."

  "That night!" exclaimed Gilling, "the night he came here?"

  "Very same night," assented Mrs. Salmon. "Brought in here about two inthe afternoon and died just before midnight--soon after Miss Chatfieldcame in from the theatre. Went very suddenly at the end."

  "Were you present?" asked Copplestone.

  "I wasn't. Nobody was with him but Mr. Chatfield--Miss Chatfield wasgetting her supper down here," replied Mrs. Salmon. "And I was busyelsewhere."

  "Was there an inquest then," inquired Gilling?"

  "Oh, no!" said Mrs. Salmon, shaking her head. "Oh, no!--there was no needfor that--the doctor, ye see, had been seeing him all day. Oh, no--thecause of death was evident enough, in a way of speaking. Heart."

  "Did they bury him here, then?" asked Gilling.

  "Two days after," replied Mrs. Salmon. "Kept everything very quiet, theydid. I don't believe Miss Chatfield told any of the theatre people--shewent to her work just the same, of course. The old gentleman saw toeverything--funeral and all. I'll say this for them--they gave me nounnecessary trouble, but still, there's trouble that is necessary whenyou've death in a house and a funeral at the door, and they ought to havegiven me something for what I did. But they didn't, so I considered itvery mean. Mr. Chatfield, he stayed two days after the funeral, and whenhe left he just said that his daughter would settle up with me. But whenshe came to pay she added nothing to my bill, and she walked outremarking that if her father hadn't given me anything extra she was sureshe shouldn't. Shabby!"

  "Very shabby!" agreed Gilling. "Well, you won't find my clients quite somean, ma'am. But just a word--don't mention this matter to anybody untilyou hear from me. And as I like to give some earnest of payment here's abank-note which you can slip into your purse--on account, you understand.Now, just a question or two:--Did you hear the young man's name?"

  The landlady, whose spirits rose visibly on receipt of the bank-note,appeared to reflect on hearing this question, and she shook her head asif surprised at her own inability to answer it satisfactorily.

  "Well, now," she said, "it may seem a queer thing to say, but I don'trecollect that I ever did! You see, I didn't see much of him after heonce got here. I was never in his room with them, and they didn't mentionhis name--that I can remember--when they spoke about him before me. Iunderstood he was a relative--cousin or something of that sort."

  "Didn't you see any name on the coffin?" asked Gilling.

  "I didn't," replied Mrs. Salmon. "You see, the undertaker fetched himaway when him and his men brought the coffin--the next day. He tookcharge of the coffin for the second night, and the funeral took placefrom there. But I'll tell you what--the undertaker'll know the name, andof course the doctor does. They're both close by."

  Gilling took names and addresses and once more pledging the landlady tosecrecy, led Copplestone away.

  "That's the end of another chapter," he said when they were clear of thatplace. "We know now that Marston Greyle died there--in that very house,Copplestone!--and that Peter Chatfield was with him. That's fact!"

  "And it's fact, too, that the daughter knows," observed Copplestone in alow voice.

  "Fact, too, that Addie Chatfield was in it," agreed Gilling. "Well--butwhat happened next? However, before we go on to that, there are threethings to do in the morning. We must see this Dr. Valdey, and theundertaker--and Marston Greyle's grave."

  "And then?" asked Copplestone.

  "Stiff, big question," sighed Gilling. "Go back to town and report, Ithink--and find out if Swallow has discovered anything. And egad! there'sa lot to discover! For you see we're already certain that at the stage atwhich we've arrived a conspiracy began--conspiracy between Chatfield, hisdaughter, and the man who's been passing himself off as Marston Greyle.Now, who is the man? Where did they get hold of him? Is he some relationof theirs? All that's got to be found out. Of course, their object isvery clear, Marston Greyle, the real Simon Pure, was dead on their hands.His legal successor was his cousin, Miss Audrey. Chatfield knew that whenMiss Audrey came into power his own reign as steward of Scarhaven wouldbe brief. And so--but the thing is so plain that one needn't waste breathon it. And I tell you what's plain too, Copplestone--Miss Audrey Greyleis the lady of Scarhaven! Good luck to her! You'll no doubt be glad tocommunicate the glad tidings!"

  Copplestone made no answer. He was utterly confounded by the recentrevelations and was wondering what the mother and daughter in the littlecottage so far away in the grey north would say when all these thingswere told them.

  "Let's make dead certain of everything," he said after a long pause."Don't let's leave any loophole."

  "Oh, we'll leave nothing--here at any rate," replied Gilling,confidently. "But you'll find in the morning that we already know almosteverything."

  In this he was right. The doctor's story was a plain one. The young manwas very ill indeed when brought to him, and though he did not anticipateso early or sudden an end, he was not surprised when death came, and hadof course, no difficulty about giving the necessary certificate. Just asplain was the undertaker's account of his con
nection with the affair--avery ordinary transaction in his eyes. And having heard both stories,there was nothing to do but to visit one of the adjacent cemeteries andfind a certain grave the number of which they had ascertained from theundertaker's books. It was easily found--and Copplestone and Gillingfound themselves standing at a new tombstone, whereon the monumentalmason had carved four lines:--

  MARK GREY

  BORN APRIL 12TH, 1884

  DIED OCTOBER 6TH, 1912

  AGED 28 YEARS.

  "Short, simple, eminently suited to the purpose," murmured Gilling as thetwo turned away. "Somebody thought things out quickly and well,Copplestone, when this poor fellow died. Do you know I've been thinkingas we walked up here that if Bassett Oliver had never taken it into hishead to visit Scarhaven that Sunday this fraud would never have beenfound out! The chances were all against its ever being found out.Consider them! A young man who is an absolute stranger in England comesto take up an inheritance, having on him no doubt, the necessary proofsof identification. He's met by one person only--his agent. He dies nextday. The agent buries him, under a false name, takes his effects andpapers, gets some accomplice to personate him, introduces that accompliceto everybody as the real man--and there you are! Oh, Chatfield knew whathe was doing! Who on earth, wandering in this cemetery, would everconnect Mark Grey with Marston Greyle?"

  "Just so--but there was one danger-spot which must have given Chatfieldand his accomplices a good many uneasy hours," answered Copplestone. "Youknow that Marston Greyle actually registered in his own name at Falmouthand was known to the land lord and the doctor there."

  "Yes--and Falmouth is three hundred miles from London and five hundredfrom Scarhaven," replied Gilling dryly. "And do you suppose that whoeversaw Marston Greyle at Falmouth cared two pins--comparatively--what becameof him after he left there? No--Chatfield was almost safe from detectionas soon as he'd got that unfortunate young fellow laid away in thatgrave. However we know now--what we do know. And the next thing, now thatwe know Marston Greyle lies behind us there, is to get back to town andcatch the chap who took his place. We'll wire to Swallow and toPetherton and get the next express."

  Sir Cresswell Oliver and Petherton were in conference with Swallow at thesolicitor's office when Gilling and Copplestone arrived there in theearly afternoon. Gilling interrupted their conversation to tell theresult of his investigations. Copplestone, watching the effect, saw thatneither Sir Cresswell nor Petherton showed surprise. Petherton indeed,smiled as if he had anticipated all that Gilling had to say.

  "I told you that I knew the Greyle family solicitors," he observed. "Ifind that they have only once seen the man whom we will call the Squire.Chatfield brought him there. He produced proofs of identification--paperswhich Chatfield no doubt took from the dead man. Of course, thesolicitors never doubted for a moment that he was the real MarstonGreyle!--never dreamed of fraud: Well--the next step. We must concentrateon finding this man. And Swallow has nothing to tell--yet. He has neverseen anything more of him. You'd better turn all your attention to that,Gilling--you and Swallow. As for Chatfield and his daughter, I suppose weshall have to approach the police."

  Copplestone presently went home to his rooms in Jermyn Street, puzzledand wondering; And there, lying on top of a pile of letters, he found atelegram--from Audrey Greyle. It had been dispatched from Scarhaven at anearly hour of the previous day, and it contained but three words--_Canyou come?_