Chapter XVIII Judge Simmons Again
Mr. Field turned to go, but he was arrested by a question from Gerald, which made him pause once more.
“There is one thing I should like to ask before we part,” he said. “Did I not leave some papers with you that dreadful night? I remember speaking to you about them before I went down to the river.”
“You babbled to me about some claim which you had patented,” answered Mr. Field, “and told me what you meant to do with it, but I can’t say your head was exactly clear that evening; and all papers, if there were any, went the same way as yourself, plump into the water. You left nothing with me. I took the trouble, however, to ask some fellows who came from that part of the country, and they told me you had been regularly taken in about it—the whole property was not worth a cent. So you need not cry over spilt milk. By the way, they know all about old Wattie up there, so it would be wiser not to make too many enquiries in that quarter.”
It was on the tip of Gerald’s tongue to ask why Mr. Field had not even mentioned the matter to Madelaine when he wrote, but he checked himself in time. If the land was really of no value, it was not worth bringing his wife’s name into the conversation. Better to let the matter drop, and leave well alone.
“I have no wish to rake up old stories,” he said. “Only I thought there was no harm in asking you about the papers, seeing I had mentioned them to you before. I pass now out of your life for ever.”
So saying he turned abruptly and continued his interrupted course towards the edge of the wood.
Mr. Field watched him until he disappeared behind the trees, then, with knit brow and a preoccupied look he slowly made his way back to Farncourt. He was met by Julius at the lodge gates.
“You are late for breakfast, father,” said the boy. “Why did you go out before you had had anything to eat?”
“I could not sleep last night,” was the answer, “and I thought half an hour’s stroll might give me an appetite, as I am not feeling very fit. I was longer than I meant to be.”
“It seems a day for early walks,” said Julius. “Robin has been up to see me already. Oh, father, isn’t it dreadful? He and Mrs. Power are going away this afternoon by the four o’clock train. He said they had to meet someone in London, I think it was, so they were leaving a few days sooner than they meant to do. I shall miss them awfully, especially Robin. It will be just horrid without him.”
The boy’s lips quivered as he spoke, and he tried manfully to keep back the tears which would well up in his eyes. The last month or two had been the happiest that the lonely child had ever spent, in the companionship of his cheery little friend and the protecting tenderness with which Madelaine had welcomed him into her large and loving heart. Even in the midst of his own conflicting thoughts, Mr. Field felt touched by the lad’s evident distress, and endeavoured to comfort him as best he could.
“Never mind, Julius,” he said. “I’m going to make some changes before long, so perhaps you won’t miss Robin so much as you think. This place doesn’t seem to suit me very well. I believe it is too near the sea, so I am going to try how I get on further inland. I have seen a very good estate advertised for sale about which I intend to enquire, and you may find other friends there who may make up to you for your loss. Besides, I have quite made up my mind that it is full time to send you to school. I can’t stand any more tutors, and it is not good for you going moping about here by yourself. How would you like to go to Eton or Harrow, or some other first-class place like that? I’ll see that you don’t want for pocket-money, my boy, so that you can foot it with the best of them, and lord it over the lords if so you will.”
Mr. Field chuckled over his joke, but though for a moment a gleam of comfort lightened the gloomy horizon of the lad, the thought of losing Robin settled again upon him like a cloud.
“It would be simply ripping to go to school if only Robin could come too,” he said. “I wish Mrs. Power would send him with me, but I’m afraid they’re rather poor, so perhaps they couldn’t afford it. They asked me to spend the morning with them at Sea View Cottage, father, that’s why Robin came up so soon, in case I should be going out in the motor, and they would not be able to say good-bye.”
“You may certainly go, Julius,” replied Mr. Field. “Mrs. Power has been a good friend to us, and contrary to my custom I shall call on her myself to thank her for all her kindness to you.”
“Robin is going to give Peter his liberty before he goes,” remarked Julius. “You know he was only a baby wild rabbit that old Timothy caught in his garden, so he will be quite pleased to live a free life again. We are first going to give him a feast of everything that he likes best, and then we shall take him to our hut in the wood and let him loose there. Robin says that if we tunnel out a little hole in the wall, Peter may perhaps believe it is a real rabbit’s burrow and make a home there. Of course the roof is all tumbled in now, so it is no use as a house for us, but it makes it all the better for Peter, as he can hide so easily under the fallen branches. Robin does think of such delightful things!”
Breakfast was over and Mr. Field had gone into his study to write some letters. He had not been there many minutes when the footman entered and informed him that two gentlemen were waiting to see him in the drawing-room.
“Who are they?” he asked impatiently.
“I don’t know, sir,” replied the man. “They did not give any names.”
“As Julius said, this seems a day on which people are early astir,” muttered Mr. Field to himself. “I wish callers would not come bothering round at this time of day. I wonder who they can be.”
The visitors were admiring the view from the window when he entered the room, and he was almost at their side before they realized he was there.
“Judge Simmons and Elihu Pratt!” he exclaimed as they turned towards him. “Whatever brings you here together at this hour?”
“We should be glad of a little conversation with you, Mr. Field,” replied the judge. “There is a certain matter about which my friend and I have been making enquiries, and we believe that you may be able to throw some light upon it.”
“What is the subject under consideration?” asked Mr. Field, nervously requesting his guests to be seated. “Is it your young ward’s speculations in Mexico? I remember you were doubtful as regards his ventures in the silver line last time you were here.”
“I am glad to say he is doing well,” replied Judge Simmons, “but it is not about him that we came. You may not perhaps have heard that Mr. Elihu Pratt has lately been appointed District Attorney for the locality in which the Good Hope mine lies. He is now engaged in investigating the titles of the various mining claims about there, and he finds some difficulty in connection with the deeds to your property. It so chanced that I was interesting myself concerning the bit of land acquired by my former acquaintance, Gerald Barker, and not being able to reconcile several conflicting facts, we determined to call upon you together, both of us happening to be over in England just now. No doubt you will be able to make it clear, but we shall be much obliged if you will kindly do so.”
Mr. Field moistened his lips before he spoke, and hastily mopped his forehead with his handkerchief.
“I have my title deeds all right,” he said. “I can show them to you if you like, but there is nothing conflicting about them, so far as I know.”
“You remember, sir,” continued the judge, “that when I called upon you before, you were at some pains to convince me that Gerald Barker’s claim was in quite another valley to yours—a valley possessing the same strange geological features as that in which your mine is situated—although your little boy gave contrary evidence, much to your displeasure. Now, Mr. Field, I was with Barker when he staked his claim, and I have just returned from a visit to the ‘Good Hope.’”
“Well, what of that?” was the blunt rejoinder.
“They are one and the self-same place,” answered Judge Simmons gravely, casting a penetrating glance upon the man before him.
“I never said they were not,” snapped Mr. Field. “I only told you there were lots of cliffs of that formation about there. It was simply my boy’s rude way of contradicting that made me so angry with him.”
“There is no rock anywhere in the countryside similar to that which overlooks the Good Hope mine,” broke in Mr. Pratt, speaking for the first time. “I find, moreover, that the land on which you, as reputed owner, pay taxes, is identical with the claim patented some ten years back by Gerald Barker. The Registrar’s books fail to record any transfer of the property. How did it happen to come into your possession?”
“Barker sold it to me, if you want to know,” answered Mr. Field, indignantly. “It is really intolerable to be cross-questioned in this fashion. If you were not a government official I would kick you out of the house for daring to insult me by your dastardly insinuations. You may examine the patent for yourself, if that will satisfy you, and also the transfer which Barker signed with his own hand, in which he gave up all his rights to me.”
“I should like to see them,” was Mr. Pratt’s only reply.
The millionaire hesitated for a moment and the colour fled from his cheeks, but recovering himself quickly he invited them to accompany him into the study, where he proceeded to unlock his safe and spread out some documents before them on the table.
“There is no doubt that this is Barker’s patent,” remarked Mr. Pratt. “Now for the transfer. I see we have here the signatures of two witnesses, Benjamin Green and Walter Long, as well as that of Gerald Barker. It is also signed by Caleb Denham, who describes himself as a Notary Public, and whose seal, according to custom, is appended here. Have you any idea where the witnesses are now?”
“Benjamin Green is a rolling stone, always knocking about the world,” was the reply, “and old Walter or Wattie, as he was called, is dead.”
Mr. Pratt glanced across at Judge Simmons.
“This transfer is dated the day after that on which Barker was drowned,” he said quietly.
“How do you know so exactly when that took place?” questioned Mr. Field.
“His wife has supplied us with the information,” answered the judge. “I have here a copy of your own letter to her.”
“Ass that I was!” muttered Mr. Field under his breath. Aloud he added, “It is easy to make a mistake like that in the backwoods, where every day is alike.”
“These little mistakes sometimes need to be enquired into,” rejoined Judge Simmons. “We shall have to look up this same Benjamin Green and find out what he has to say about it. It is fortunate that we have an independent witness in this case, although it is unusual to have other names besides that of a lawyer subscribed to a similar deed.”
Mr. Field bit his lip with vexation. “I have over-reached myself there,” was the thought which passed rapidly through his mind. “I believed it would make it all the safer if I had those two signatures as well as Caleb’s, but they may prove my undoing. All the same, I don’t think I could have got the old shyster to put his seal to it if their names hadn’t been there, so they served my turn after all.”
In an injured voice he next addressed the judge.
“Surely,” he exclaimed, “you can rely on the statement of a Notary Public without having to get proofs of his veracity.”
“I happen to know that this particular Caleb Denham has just been convicted as an unprincipled and dishonest scoundrel,” answered Judge Simmons. “He is now undergoing a well-merited term in jail because of his illicit practices. I would not give a button for his word.”
“By the way,” he added, turning again to the letter before him, “when I saw you last you gave me to understand that it was only a report of Barker’s death which had reached you, but it is mentioned here that you yourself saw him swept away by the river. These statements seem rather conflicting. Was anyone else there at the time?”
“No,” replied Mr. Field. “We were quite alone when the accident happened.”
“Are you prepared to swear that you have given a strictly accurate account of the whole incident?” asked the judge, his keen eyes fixed on Mr. Field’s agitated face. “I cannot deny that appearances are very much against you. It is a queer thing that Barker should have disappeared in this mysterious manner just at the very time that you became possessed of his papers. When we questioned Mrs. Power about it this morning, I thought she seemed rather to hesitate when I asked her if she had any reason to doubt the truth of your report.”
“Mrs. Power!” ejaculated Mr. Field. “Whatever has she got to do with it?”
“You are evidently ignorant of the fact that she is Gerald Barker’s widow, she having changed her name on account of some stipulation in a will,” replied Judge Simmons. “We traced her by the information given to us by a servant of the old gentleman who left her the money. Finding that she was at present staying in Sunbury, we had an interview with her this morning before we came on to you.”
“It is apparent that Mrs. Power has not let out to them that Barker is alive,” was the thought that flashed across Mr. Field’s mind. “She has evidently been in touch with her husband all along, but is terrified at the idea of him being taken up for the crime. I never should have believed that she could be so cunning as to hoodwink me like this. I suppose she has set these men to catch me out. I’ll be even with her though, and with Barker too!”
“Look here,” he said in a bullying tone, “this Mrs. Power, or Barker, or whatever she chooses to call herself—does she mean to make a fuss about these papers which there is no doubt her husband signed? Because, if so, will you please go back to her with a message. Tell her from me that silence is the price of silence. If she wants me to hold my tongue she had better not provoke me too far. I put myself unreservedly into her hands. If after giving her this message she still wants you to take up the cudgels for her, I confess I shall be surprised. She is more likely to go down on her knees, begging me not to disclose her secret to the world. You think perhaps you are doing her a service, but she may end by crying, ‘Save me from my friends!’”
“This is a most extraordinary threat!” exclaimed the judge. “You had better explain yourself more fully.”
“I shall have great pleasure in doing so,” answered Mr. Field. “Doubtless you are not aware that her husband’s last public act was to kill a defenceless old man in cold blood—this very same Walter Long whose signature is on this paper. It was a false report which got about concerning Barker’s death. True he tried to drown himself in despair when he realized what he had done—I saw him leap into the river with my own eyes, and honestly believed him to have perished that day—but it seems he managed to reach the bank again some way further down the stream. He has been a fugitive from justice ever since. It was only this morning that I learnt he was still alive. I happen, moreover, to know where he is hiding at the present moment, and you may tell Mrs. Power that if she pesters me with questions about the property which I honourably came by, I shall know well enough how to be avenged!”