The episode, trivial as it seemed to Morriston, gave Gifford food for disagreeable reflection. Why, indeed, should Henshaw be hanging about in the grounds of Wynford, and give so unconvincing a reason? What troubled Gifford most was that the man's reticent att.i.tude precluded all hope of his learning anything of his plans which could usefully be imparted to Miss Morriston. Evidently there was nothing to be got out of him; the rather open confidence he had displayed on his first appearance at Branchester had quite disappeared, and if Gifford was to find out anything worth reporting it would a.s.suredly not be due to any communication from the man himself.

He had accordingly to be content with the resolve to keep a wary eye on Henshaw's movements.

He was now pretty free to do this. The Tredworths had ended their visit at Wynford and had returned home, and naturally Kelson spent much of his time over there, leaving Gifford to his own devices. It had, in view of Gifford's commission from Miss Morriston, been arranged that he should share Kelson's rooms at the _Golden Lion_, no longer as a guest, so that both men were now independent of each other. The date of Kelson's wedding seemed now likely to be put off for some months, as his friend had suggested. The unpleasant episode of the stains on Muriel Tredworth's dress had, although there was no indication of attaching serious importance to them, nevertheless cast an uncomfortable shadow over the happiness of her betrothal, and without giving any specific reason she had declared for a postponement of the wedding, for which there was, after all, a quite natural reason.

"Perhaps it is just as well," Kelson remarked to his friend. "Although it is absolutely unthinkable that Muriel could have had anything to do with the affair, yet one can quite appreciate her wish to wait till perhaps something crops up to give us the explanation beyond all question. It is rather a blow to me, and I hope if the mysterious Mr. Gervase Henshaw is really on the track of the crime he will produce his solution without much more delay. For a girl like Muriel to have even the faintest suspicion hanging over her is simply hateful."

Meanwhile the mysterious Mr. Henshaw seemed in no hurry to make known his theory, if he had one. Yet he still remained in Branchester, writing all the morning and going out in the afternoon, usually with a handful of letters for post. He always nodded affably to Gifford when they met, but beyond a casual remark on the weather or the events of the day, showed no disposition to chat.

But now while Gifford was in this unsatisfactory state of mind, persevering yet baffled in what he had undertaken to do, a very singular thing came to pa.s.s. He strolled out one afternoon, aimlessly, wondering whether the negative result of his efforts justified his remaining in the place, and yet loath to leave it, held there as he was by the attraction of Edith Morriston. He felt he could be making but little way in her favour seeing how he was failing in what he had undertaken to do for her, and as he walked he discussed with himself whether it would not be possible to hit on some more active plan of becoming acquainted with Henshaw's knowledge and intentions. It was obviously a delicate business, and after all, he thought, now that the man's undesirable presence had practically ceased to be an annoyance to the Morristons there scarcely seemed any need to bother about him. On the other hand, however, there was a certain strong curiosity on his own part to know Henshaw's design and what kept him in the town.

Gifford's walk took him over well remembered ground. He was strolling along a path which led through the Wynford property, over a rustic bridge across a stream he had often fished when a boy, and so on into a wood which formed one of the home coverts. Making his way through this familiar haunt of by-gone days he came to one of the long rides which bisected the wood for some quarter of a mile. He turned into this and was just looking out for a comfortable trunk where he might sit and smoke, when he caught sight of two figures in the distance ahead walking slowly just on the fringe of the ride. A man and a woman; their backs were towards him, but his blood gave a leap at the sight as their ident.i.ty flashed upon him. It was, in its unexpectedness, an almost appalling sight to him, as he realised that the two were none other than Henshaw and Edith Morriston.

CHAPTER XIV

GIFFORD'S PERPLEXITY

Next moment Gifford had instinctively sprung back into the covert of the trees, almost dazed by what he had seen. Henshaw and Edith Morriston! Could it be possible? His eyes must have deceived him. About the girl there could be no doubt. Her tall, graceful figure was unmistakable. But the man. Surely he had been mistaken there; it must have been her brother, or perhaps a friend who had been lunching with them. Had Gifford, his mind obsessed by Henshaw, jumped to a false conclusion? He stooped, and creeping warily beyond the fringe of trees looked after the pair.

They were now some thirty yards away. There could be no doubt that the lady was Edith Morriston; and the man? Incredible as it might seem, he was surely Gervase Henshaw. Gifford had seen him some two hours earlier, and now recognized his grey suit and dark felt hat. He stayed, crouched down, looking after the amazing pair, seeking a sign that the man was not Henshaw. After all, it was, he told himself, more likely that he had made a mistake than that Miss Morriston could be strolling in confidential talk (for such seemed the case) with that fellow. It was too astounding for belief.

They had stopped now, at the end of the ride; the man talking earnestly, it seemed; Miss Morriston standing with head bent down and scoring the gra.s.s with her walking-stick as though in doubt or consideration. Would they turn and put the man's ident.i.ty beyond uncertainty?

Gifford had not long to wait. Miss Morriston seemed to draw off and began to walk back down the ride; her companion turned and promptly put himself by her side. There was no doubt now as to who he was. Gervase Henshaw.

As one glance, now that the face was revealed, proved that, Gifford drew back quickly and hurried deeper into the thick wood fearful lest his footsteps should be heard. When he had gone a safe distance an intense curiosity made him halt and turn. From his place of hiding he could just see the light of the ride along which the couple would pa.s.s. He hated the idea of spying upon Edith Morriston; after all, if she chose to walk and talk with this man it was no business of his; but a supreme distrust of Henshaw, unreasonable enough, perhaps, but none the less keen, made him suspicious that the man might be playing some cowardly game, might have drawn the girl to him by unfair means. Otherwise it was surely inconceivable that she should have consented--condescended indeed--to meet him in that clandestine manner.

As Gifford stayed, hesitating between a breach of good form and a legitimate desire to learn whether the girl was being subjected to unfair treatment, the sound of Henshaw's rather penetrating voice came into earshot, and a few seconds later they pa.s.sed across the line of Gifford's sight.

He could catch but a glimpse of them through the intervening trees as they went by slowly, but it was enough to tell him that Henshaw was talking earnestly, arguing, it seemed, and on Edith Morriston's clear-cut face was a look of trouble which was not good to see. It made Gifford flush with anger to think that this lovely high-bred girl was being worried, probably being made love to, by a man of that objectionable type; for that she could be in that situation without coercion was not to be believed. The reason for Henshaw's prolonged and rather puzzling stay in the place was now accounted for. Moreover, to Gifford's bitter reflection the whole business seemed clear enough. Henshaw had been caught and fascinated by Edith Morriston's beauty, and being, as was obvious, a man of energy and determination, was now in some subtle way making use of the tragedy as a means of forcing his unwelcome attentions on her. How otherwise could this astounding familiarity be arrived at?

Sick with disgust and indignation, Gifford turned away and retraced his steps through the wood, dismissing, as likely to lead to a false position, his first impulse to appear on the scene and stop, at any rate for that day, Henshaw's designs. He felt that to act precipitately might do less good than harm. He was, after all, on private ground there, and had no right to intrude upon what in all likelihood Miss Morriston wished to be a secluded interview. What course he would take in the future was another matter, and one which demanded instant and serious consideration.

The right line to adopt was indeed a perplexing problem.

Gifford recalled Morriston's story of having met Henshaw hanging about more or less mysteriously in the plantation, and the annoyance he had expressed at the encounter. The reason was plain enough now. Of course the man was waiting either to waylay Edith Morriston or to meet her by appointment. It was not a pleasant reflection; since the fact showed that these clandestine meetings had probably been going on for some days past.

That Henshaw's object was more or less disreputable could not be doubted, and to Gifford the amazing and troubling part of it was that Edith Morriston, the very last woman he would have suspected of consenting to such a course, who had professed an absolute dislike and repugnance to Henshaw, and fear of his annoying presence, should be meeting him thus willingly. Had he not seen them with his own eyes he would have scoffed at the idea as something inconceivable.

Now what was he to do? For it was clear that, justified or not as he might be thought in interfering in matters which did not concern him, something must be done. The one obvious course which it seemed he ought to take was to give Richard Morriston a hint of what was on foot, if not a stronger and more explicit statement. For that Morriston could be privy to the correspondence between his sister and Henshaw was quite unlikely.

If anything underhand was going on, if Henshaw was holding some threat over the girl or pursuing her with unwelcome attentions her brother, as her natural guardian, should be warned. That seemed to Gifford his manifest duty. And yet he shrank from anything which might seem treachery towards the girl. For, if she needed her brother's help and protection against the man, it would be an easy matter for her to complain of his persecution. Why, he wondered, had she not done so? It was all very mysterious. He tried to imagine how the position had come about. On Henshaw's side it was plain enough. Miss Morriston was not only a strikingly handsome girl, but she was an heiress, possessing, according to Kelson, a considerable fortune in her own right. There, clearly, was Henshaw's motive; an incentive to an unscrupulous man to use every art, fair and unfair, to force himself into her favour. But how had he succeeded so quickly as to make this rather haughty, reserved girl consent to meet in secret the man whom she professed to dislike and avoid? That this unpleasantly sharp, pushing product of the less dignified side of the law could have any personal attraction for one of Edith Morriston's taste and discrimination was impossible. And yet there the challenging fact remained that confidential relations had been established between the disparate pair. Was it possible that this man could have found out something connecting Edith Morriston with his brother's death? The feasibility of the idea came as a shock to Gifford.

He stopped dead in his walk as the notion took form in his brain. The possibilities of this most mysterious case were too complicated to be grasped at once. And so with his mind in a whirl of vague conjecture and apprehension he reached his hotel. And there a new development in the mystery awaited him.

CHAPTER XV

ANOTHER DISCOVERY

Kelson was in their sitting-room reading the _Field_. He started up as Gifford entered, and flung away the paper. "My dear Hugh, I've been waiting for you," he exclaimed.

"What's the matter? Anything wrong?" Gifford asked with a certain apprehensive curiosity, as he noticed signs of suppressed excitement in his friend's face.

"I don't know whether it's all wrong or whether it is all right," Kelson replied. "Anyhow it has relieved my mind a good deal."

Controlling his own tendency to excitement, Gifford put aside his hat and stick and sat down. "Let's hear it," he said quietly.

"Well, another unaccountable thing has, it appears, happened at Wynford Place. A pendant, or whatever you call it, to that which has been troubling Muriel. What do you think? As I was riding along the Loxford road this afternoon I met d.i.c.k Morriston, and he told me that another discovery of blood-stains has been made at Wynford. On a girl's ball-dress too. And on whose do you suppose it is?"

"Not Miss Morriston's?" Gifford suggested breathlessly.

Kelson nodded, with a slight look of surprise at the correctness of the guess. "Yes. Isn't it queer? Poor old d.i.c.k is in rather a way about it, and I must say the whole business is decidedly mysterious."

Gifford was thinking keenly. "How did it come out? Who found the marks?" he asked.

"Well," Kelson answered, "it appears that Edith Morriston's maid found them some days ago, in fact the day after a similar discovery had been made on Muriel's gown. She had brought the dress which her mistress had worn at the Hunt Ball out of the wardrobe where it hung, in order to fold it away. She appears to have spread it on the bed where the sun shone on it and in the strong light she noticed on the dark material some brownish discolorations. With what had happened about the other dress in her mind, she examined the marks closely, and with such intentness as to raise the curiosity of a housemaid who happened to come into the room. At first Miss Morriston's maid tried to put her off, but the other girl, who was sharp-eyed, had seen the marks, was not to be hood-winked, and the mischief was done. The housemaid seems to be a foolish, babbling creature, and the discovery soon became the talk of the servants' hall, whence it spread till it reached the police."

"And what are they doing about it?" Gifford asked.

"Morriston says they've had a detective up at the house examining the gown; being so utterly at sea over the affair the police are doubtless glad to catch at anything. There seems little question that the stains are blood, and that makes the whole business still more puzzling. d.i.c.k Morriston is naturally very exercised about it, but I am very glad for Muriel's sake that the second discovery has been made. In fact I have been just waiting till I saw you before riding over to tell her of it, and relieve her mind."

"Yes," Gifford responded mechanically, "of course it removes any serious suspicion from Miss Tredworth."

"And," said Kelson eagerly, "it divides the odium, if there is any. In fact, to my mind, it reduces the whole suspicion to an absurdity. For that both girls could have been concerned in Henshaw's death is absolutely incredible."

"Yes," Gifford agreed thoughtfully; "they could not both have had a hand in it."

"Or either, for that matter," Kelson returned with a laugh. "Don't you admit that the idea is in the highest degree ridiculous?" he added more sharply as Gifford remained silent.

"It is--inconceivable," he admitted abstractedly.

Kelson, who had taken up his hat and crop and was turning to the door, wheeled round quickly. "My dear Hugh," he exclaimed impatiently, "what is the matter with you? What monstrous idea have you got in your head? You owe it to me, and I really must ask you, to speak out plainly. It seems almost an insult to Muriel to ask the question, but do you still persist in the notion that she had, even in the most innocent way, anything to do with Henshaw's death? Because I have her positive a.s.surance that she knows nothing of it, beyond what is common knowledge."

"I too am quite certain of that now," Gifford answered.

"Why do you say now?" Kelson demanded sourly. "Surely you never seriously entertained such an abominable idea."

"You must admit, my dear Harry," Gifford replied calmly, "that with a man stabbed to death in practically the next room, the blood-stains on Miss Tredworth's dress were bound to give rise to conjecture. One would suspect an archbishop in a similar position. But that is all over now. I am as convinced as you can be that Miss Tredworth knew nothing of the business."

"On your honour that is your opinion?"

"On my honour."

"This new discovery has changed your opinion?"

"It has at least shown me how dangerous it may be to jump to conclusions."