The Toll-Gate (28 page)

Half an hour later he was once more at the toll-house, dismounting from the landlord's cob, which animal he apostrophised as the greatest slug he had ever crossed in his life. The hen-house, he considered, would be a fitting stable; and allowing John to lead the cob away, he entered the toll-house, and was discovered by his friend, a few minutes later, inspecting the premises with interest not unmixed with consternation.

"How do you like my quarters?" John asked cheerfully.

"Well, your bedroom ain't so bad, but where do you sit?" enquired Mr. Babbacombe.

"Here, in the kitchen, of course!"

"No, really, Jack!"

"Lord, you've grown very nice, haven't you? Were you never billeted in a Portuguese cottage, with no glass in the windows, and a fire burning in the middle of the floor, so that you were blinded by the smoke?"

"I was," acknowledged Mr. Babbacombe. "That's why I sold out!"

"Don't you try to play off the airs of an exquisite on me, my buck! Sit down! By the way, why the devil didn't you pack up my cigarillos with the rest of my gear? I've none left!"

With a sigh, Mr. Babbacombe produced a case from his pocket, and held it out. "Because you didn't tell me to, of course. Here you are!"

"Bless you!" said the Captain. "Well, now we'll blow a cloud together, Bab, and I'll tell you what I'm doing here!"

After this promising beginning he seemed to find it hard to continue, and for a moment or two sat staring into the fire, smoking, and frowning slightly. Mr. Babbacombe, his elegant form disposed as comfortably as a Windsor chair would permit, watched him through his lashes, but preserved a patient silence. John looked up at last, a rueful smile in his eyes. "It all came about by accident," he said.

Mr. Babbacombe sighed. "I knew that," he replied. "You've never been in a scrape yet but what it came about by accident. The thing is, no one else has these accidents. However, I ain't going to argue about it! Why did you send your baggage to Edenhope, though? Been puzzling me!"

"I was coming to stay with you!" said the Captain indignantly.

"Well, what made you change your mind?" mildly enquired Mr. Babbacombe.

"I'll tell you," said the Captain obligingly; and settled down to give him a brief account of his present adventure. Certain aspects of it he chose to keep to himself, perhaps considering them to be irrelevant, and although the Squire's name occurred frequently during his recital, the most glancing of references only were made to his granddaughter. But the rest of the story he told his friend without reservation.

Mr. Babbacombe, listening in astonishment, and with no more than an occasional interruption, learned with incredulity that the Captain had no immediate intention of divulging to Stogumber the whereabouts of the treasure. He was moved to protest, saying in deeply moved accents: "No, really, my dear fellow——! Only one thing to be done! Tell the Redbreast at once!"

"If you had paid the least heed to what I have been saying," retorted John, "you would know that what I am trying to do is to keep young Stornaway's name out of this!"

"Well, you can't do it, and, damme, I don't see why you should wish to! Sounds to me like a devilish loose fish!"

"Yes, a contemptible creature! But I promised his grandfather I would do my possible to keep his name clean!"

"So you may have—though I'll be damned if I see why you should!—but you didn't know then what kind of a business he was mixed up in! I tell you, this is serious, Jack! Good God, it's a hanging matter!"

"Don't I know it!"

"Well, it don't seem to me as though you've the least notion of it!" said Mr. Babbacombe, with considerable asperity. "Dash it, who is this old fellow, and what made you take such a fancy to him?"

This home question brought the colour up into John's face. Avoiding his friend's eye, he was just about to embark on an explanation, which sounded lame even in his own ears, when he was interrupted by a shout from the road. Never more thankful to be recalled to his duties, he apologised hastily to Mr. Babbacombe, and went off to open the gate, and to collect the toll. By the time he returned to the kitchen, he was once more in command of himself, and the situation, and informed Babbacombe crisply that he had his own sufficient reasons for desiring to spare Sir Peter as much pain as possible. "It don't matter why: it is so!" he said. "Just accept that, will you, Bab?"

Mr. Babbacombe was conscious of a horrid sinking at the pit of his stomach. "You're doing it rather too brown, Jack!" he said uneasily. "The more I think of it, the more I'm sure there's more to this affair than you've told me!"

The Captain looked guilty, but there was a decided twinkle in his eye. "Well, yes, there is a little more!" he acknowledged. "No, no, I had nothing to do with stealing those sovereigns! don't look so horrified! But—well, never mind that now! The thing is, I've given the Squire my word I'll do my utmost to shield Henry, and I will! Nothing you can say is going to stop me, Bab, so spare yourself the trouble of saying it!"

Mr. Babbacombe groaned, and expressed the bitter wish that he had never come to Crowford. "I might have known I should find you in some damned, crazy fix!" he said. "If you don't put a rope round your own neck it will be a dashed miracle! How can you keep Henry out of it? Now, don't tell me you mean to help t'other fellow to escape as well, because for one thing I know you too well to believe you; and for another, if you did do anything so totty-headed, the chances are the Redbreast would arrest you and this highwayman of yours! Stands to reason!"

John laughed. "Chirk might not be able to prove an alibi, but I imagine I could. But you may be perfectly easy on that head! I don't mean to let Coate escape! No, not for anything that was offered me!"

"That's all very well," objected Babbacombe, "but you can't have one arrested without the other! The fellow's bound to squeak beef on Henry!"

John nodded. "Yes, naturally I have thought of that. I wish I knew how deeply he may be implicated! I must discover that." This was said with decision, and with a certain hardening of the muscles round his mouth. Mr. Babbacombe, looking up at the fair, handsome face, with the smiling eyes that held so level and steady a regard, and the good-humour that dwelled round that firm mouth, reflected gloomily that Crazy Jack was the oddest of fellows. Anyone would take him for a man with as level a head as his frank eyes, and so, in general, he was; but every now and then a demon of mischief seemed to take possession of him, and then, as now, he would plunge headlong into any perilous adventure that offered.

It was quite useless to argue with him. For all his easygoing ways, and the kindliness which endeared him to so many people, there was never any turning him from his purpose, once he had made up his mind. He had a streak of obstinacy, and although he had never in the smallest degree resented the attempts of his friends to stand in the way of his will, Mr. Babbacombe could not call to mind when the most forceful of representations had born the least weight with him. If you stood in his way, he just put you aside, perfectly kindly, but quite inexorably; and if you swore at him, when all was done, for having done a crazy, dangerous thing, although he was genuinely penitent for having caused a friend anxiety you could see that he was puzzled to know why you should worry about him at all.

"The trouble with you, Jack," said Mr. Babbacombe, following, aloud, the trend of these thoughts, "is that you're neither to lead nor drive!"

John glanced down at him, amusement springing to his face. "Yes, I am. Why, what a fellow you make me out to be!"

"Once you've taken a notion into your silly head, one might as well try reasoning with a mule as with you!" insisted Babbacombe.

"Well," said John apologetically, wrinkling his brow, "a man ought to be able to make up his mind for himself, and once he's done so he shouldn't let himself be turned from his purpose. I daresay I'm wrong, but so I think. In this case, I know very well what I'm about—and I swear to you I'm not funning, Bab! I own, at the outset I thought it might be good sport to keep the gate for a day or two, and try whether I could discover what was afoot here, but that's all changed, and I'm serious—oh, more than ever in my life! And also I am quite determined," he added.

"Something," said Babbacombe, looking narrowly at him, "has happened to you, Jack, and I'm dashed if I know what it can be!" He paused hopefully, but the Captain only laughed. "And another thing I don't know is what the deuce there is in this affair to put you into such high gig! I'd as lief handle live coals myself!"

"No, would you? I wouldn't have missed such an adventure for a fortune!" John said ingenuously.

"Wait until you find yourself explaining to a judge and a jury how you came to aid and abet these rogues—for that's what you are doing, dear boy, every instant you delay to tell what you've discovered to the Redbreast, or to the nearest magistrate!"

"Oh, no, I'm not! Now, consider, Bab! If Stogumber knew—if he had proof—that Coate and Stornaway are the men he's trying to catch, he would not be prowling about the district, seeking to come by information. He can do no more than suspect them; it may be that he does not even do that, but has merely some inkling that the treasure is to be looked for here. Of course he would be glad to recover it immediately, but if I know anything of the matter he won't be content only to find those chests. To perform his task successfully, he must also apprehend the thieves. Good God, Bab, there were two guards shot dead at the ford, poor fellows, and the gatekeeper stabbed, and left to petrify in that cavern, and an attempt made to murder Stogumber himself!"

"Yes, and one of these pretty rascals you mean to shield!" struck in Babbacombe.

"Well, yes," John admitted. "I must do so, for the sake of—of others, who are quite guiltless, and don't deserve to have an honourable name smirched. If it were not for that I wouldn't shield him! Lord, I'd hand him over to Stogumber, and think the world well rid of him—even though I doubt very much whether he has played any but a minor role in the affair! I am very sure he knew nothing of Brean's death, until he found his body in the cavern, and I'd go bail it was Coate and his rogue of a servant—if servant he is!—who shot down the guards. His part in this was to provide the safe hiding-place for those chests, and shelter for Coate and Gunn. Shelter near at hand, too! You may depend upon it, Coate would not go far from where the chests are hid!"

Mr. Babbacombe, perceiving that a little ash from his cigarillo had dropped on to his coat, carefully flicked it away, and with some anxiety inspected the superfine cloth. Satisfied that no damage had been done, he raised his eyes again, and said: "Seems to me, then, that if that's all Stornaway was brought into the business to do, this Coate of yours is paying pretty high for his services! Resourceful sort of a fellow: couldn't he hit upon a hiding-place without using a hen-hearted weasel that would turn King's Evidence at the first hint of danger?"

John looked at him, half frowning. "I don't know. It might not be so easy, after all, to find a sure hiding-place for six chests of gold! They must remain hidden for many months, remember! Then, too, it had to be near the hold-up—I mean, not so far off that the chests could not be conveyed to it before daylight. Nor yet so close, of course, that it must have been instantly suspected. I fancy that the thirty miles which lie between this place and the Wansbeck ford must have been the extremest limit. I've been thinking about that. This is a wild country, Bab, and if you look at the map of the county, hanging in the office there, you'll see that it would be possible to reach that cavern, from the Wansbeck ford, without passing any toll-gate but this. There is something else that occurs to me. It may well be that when the time is ripe to remove the chests Coate means to dispose of Stornaway, just as he has already disposed of Brean. In fact, I think it very likely. But he dare not murder Stornaway while he still needs an excuse for remaining in this district."

Mr. Babbacombe threw the butt of his cigarillo into the fire. "Well, if that's the kind of cut-throat villain he is, take care he don't stab you first!" he recommended.

"I'll take devilish good care he don't! But I think he don't suspect me—yet! I've let it be known I'm a discharged trooper, and any flash language I use is due to my having been a batman. Rose—she is Miss Stornaway's maid!—has told the woman who keeps this place clean, and cooks for me, that my mother was Brean's aunt, who married a man in comfortable circumstances. It's possible Coate really believes me to be Brean's cousin—though I don't think that. I fancy he don't know yet what my—er—lay is! It don't signify: he'll find me harder to kill than Brean! But I've had some further thoughts on this head, Bab! One of the three confederates recognised Stogumber for a Runner—and I think that one must have been Gunn: he has been got rid of very quickly, which seems to tell its own tale! Now, it seems to me that neither Coate nor Stornaway can have had the least expectation of being known to any law-officer: they would not else be staying at the Manor so openly. It is certainly a bad thing for them that Gunn was known to Stogumber; but I think it was a worse thing for him to have been recognised. He had no expectation of that either, for he has been wandering about the country calling himself an agent of some sort, and that he would not have done had he known that a cracksman with whom he was already acquainted was mixed up in this business. Well, had it not been for Chirk, he must have suffered Brean's fate, and gone to join him in the cavern. But Chirk chased off his assailants, and however much he may suspect that they were Coate and Gunn, he don't know it for certain, since they had their faces muffled in their scarves. But Coate knows that he's a Runner, and forewarned, Bab, is forearmed!"