Chapter 13
"I hear a great deal said of you, Pike, that's not pleasant; that you are a poacher, and a--"
"Let them that say so prove it," interrupted Pike, his dark brows contracting.
"But how do you manage to live?"
"That's my business, and not Calne's. At any rate, Mr. Elster, I don't steal."
"I heard a worse hint dropped of you than any I have mentioned,"
continued Val, after a pause.
"Tell it out, sir. Let's have the whole catalogue at once."
"That the night my brother, Mr. Elster, was shot, you were out with the poachers."
"I dare say you heard that I shot him, for I know it has been said,"
fiercely cried the man. "It's a black lie!--and the time may come when I shall ram it down Calne's throat. I swear that I never fired a shot that night; I swear that I no more had a hand in Mr. Elster's death than you had. Will you believe me, sir?"
The accents of truth are rarely to be mistaken, and Val was certain he heard them now. So far, he believed the man; and from that moment dismissed the doubt from his mind, if indeed he had not dismissed it before.
"Do you know who did fire the shot?"
"I do not; I was not out at all that night. Calne pitched upon me, because there was no one else in particular to pitch upon. A dozen poachers were in the fray, most of them with guns; little wonder the random shot from one should have found a mark. I know nothing more certain than that, so help--"
"That will do," interrupted Mr. Elster, arresting what might be coming; for he disliked strong language. "I believe you fully, Pike. What part of the country were you born in?"
"London. Born and bred in it."
"That I do not believe," he said frankly. "Your accent is not that of a Londoner."
"As you will, sir," returned Pike. "My mother was from Devons.h.i.+re; but I was born and bred in London. I recognized that one with the writ for a fellow c.o.c.kney at once; and for what he was, too--a sheriffs officer.
Shouldn't be surprised but I knew him for one years ago."
Val Elster dropped a coin into the man's hand, and bade him good morning.
Pike touched his wide-awake, and reiterated his intention of "dodging the enemy." But, as Mr. Elster cautiously pursued his way, the face he had just quitted continued to haunt him. It was not like any face he had ever seen, as far as he could remember; nevertheless ever and anon some reminiscence seemed to start out of it and vibrate upon a chord in his memory.
CHAPTER VII.
LISTENERS.
It was a somewhat singular coincidence, noted after the terrible event, now looming in the distance, had taken place, and when people began to weigh the various circ.u.mstances surrounding it, that Monday, the second day fixed for the boat-race, should be another
A steady, pouring rain; putting a stop again to the race for that day.
The compet.i.tors might have been willing to face the elements themselves, but could not subject the fair spectators to the infliction. There was some inward discontent, and a great deal of outward grumbling; it did no good, and the race was put off until the next day.
Val Elster still retained his liberty. Very chary indeed had he been of showing himself outside the door on Sat.u.r.day, once he was safely within it. Neither had any misfortune befallen Lord Hartledon. That unconscious victim must have contrived, in all innocence, to "dodge" the gentleman who was looking out for him, for they did not meet.
On the Sunday it happened that neither of the brothers went to church.
Lord Hartledon, on awaking in the morning, found he had a sore throat, and would not get up. Val did not dare show himself out of doors. Not from fear of arrest that day, but lest any officious meddler should point him out as the real Simon Pure, Percival Elster. But for these circ.u.mstances, the man with the writ could hardly have remained under the delusion, as he appeared at church himself.
"Which is Lord Hartledon?" he whispered to his neighbour on the free benches, when the party from the great house had entered, and settled themselves in their pews.
"I don't see him. He has not come to-day."
"Which is Mr. Elster?"
"He has not come, either." So for that day recognition was escaped.
It was not to be so on the next. The rain, as I have said, came down, putting off the boat-race, and keeping Hartledon's guests indoors all the morning; but late in the afternoon some unlucky star put it into Lord Hartledon's head to go down to the Rectory. His throat was better--almost well again; and he was not a man to coddle himself unnecessarily.
He paid his visit, stayed talking a considerable time with Mrs. Ashton, whose company he liked, and took his departure about six o'clock. "You and Anne might almost walk up with me," he remarked to the doctor as he shook hands; for the Rector and Miss Ashton were to dine at Hartledon that day. It was to have been the crowning festival to the boat-race--the race which now had not taken place.
Lord Hartledon looked up at the skies, and found he had no occasion to open his umbrella, for the rain had ceased. Sundry bright rays in the west seemed to give hope that the morrow would be fair; and, rejoicing in this cheering prospect, he crossed the broad Rectory lawn. As he went through the gate some one laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"The Honourable Percival Elster, I believe?"
Lord Hartledon looked at the intruder. A seedy man, with a long coat and red whiskers, who held out something to him.
"Who are you?" he asked, releasing his shoulder by a sharp movement.
"I'm sorry to do it, sir; but you know we are only the agent of others in these affairs. You are my prisoner, sir."
"Indeed!" said Lord Hartledon, taking the matter coolly. "You have got hold of the wrong man for once. I am not Mr. Percival Elster."
The capturer laughed: a very civil laugh. "It won't do, sir; we often have that trick tried on us."
"But I tell you I am _not_ Mr. Elster," he reiterated, speaking this time with some anger. "I am Lord Hartledon."
He of the loose coat shook his head. He had his hand again on the supposed Mr. Elster's arm, and told him he must go with him.
"You cannot take me; you cannot arrest a peer. This is simply ridiculous," continued Lord Hartledon, almost laughing at the real absurdity of the thing. "Any child in Calne could tell you who I am."
"As well make no words over it, sir. It's only waste of time."
"You have a warrant--as I understand--to arrest Mr. Percival Elster?"
"Yes, sir, I have. The man that was looking for you in London got taken ill, and couldn't come down, so our folks sent me. 'You'll know him by his good looks,' said they; 'an aristocrat every inch of him.' Don't give me trouble, sir."
"Well now--I am not Percival Elster: I am his brother, Lord Hartledon.
You cannot take one brother for another; and, what's more, you had better not try to do it. Stay! Look here."
He pulled out his card-case, and showed his cards--"Earl of Hartledon."
He exhibited a couple of letters that happened to be about him--"The Right Honble. the Earl of Hartledon." It was of no use.
"I've known that dodge tried before too," said his obstinate capturer.