E. Phillips Oppenheim - Crime & Mystery Collection - 110+ Thrillers & Detective Tales in One Volume (Illustrated Edition)

“Cecil!” she cried. “Cecil!”

The young man shook his head slowly. She came sobbing into his arms.

“It couldn’t be helped, dear,” he said. “Goade happened along, and that’s the end of it.”

“You’d better neither of you say anything more,” Goade advised them. “You know who I am, Erriscombe. I’m on a vacation, but I’m still an officer of Scotland Yard all the same. I’ll have to take you back to Chidford.”

Erriscombe nodded. The girl was seated upon an adjacent boulder, rocking slowly in her misery.

“That’s all right, Goade,” the young man said.

“I shall give you no trouble. As to keeping silent, that’s my affair. I have a fancy to tell you exactly what took place, here on this spot, with Mabel listening.”

“It’s against my advice,” Goade reminded him.

“Last summer,” Erriscombe went on imperturbably, “I came down here for a holiday. I stayed at Wood Farm. How shall I put it in plain words? I became attached to Mabel, who was, I believe, half engaged to that clod down there—son of a farmer at Chidford. Do you remember anything, Goade? A newspaper case? We kept it fairly quiet, but the Sunday papers got hold of it.”

Goade nodded.

“I begin to remember,” he acknowledged.

“Well, I wasn’t quite the blackguard some people thought me because I came from London and was an actor. I went away for a time, and Mabel left to stay with an aunt in Exeter. We were married, and I came back here to complete my holiday. We made a mistake, of course,” he went on, “in not announcing our marriage, but I was due to open at the Haymarket a month later with a part which was to have been the part of my life. I knew that it would mean permanent success for me, and I knew that I would have a better chance if I kept my marriage secret until after the show was thoroughly started. Of course people gossiped a little about us, but Mabel didn’t care; she knew it would be all right directly. The trouble came with that brute with whom I have just squared matters.”

Erriscombe paused and looked up to where a hawk was circling overhead as though wondering what was going on below. Then he continued.

“This man—Crang, his name was—went about the country like a crazy loon, and every one warned me to be careful. He tracked us one day and found us out here. I did my best, but what was the good of it, Goade? He is six feet six, with the muscles of an ox, and, although I could box a bit, it’s never been one of my hobbies. He pounded me pretty well into a jelly—thrashed me, Goade, with Mabel running screaming about. Have you ever been thrashed?”

“I don’t know that I have,” Goade admitted.

“Well, I tell you it’s hell. I had about half an hour of it before the blackness came. Then he must have given me a few kicks before he left me. There was no first night at the Haymarket for me. I was in Exeter Infirmary for a month, and Crang went to prison for two years—‘Attempted Manslaughter.’”

There was another silence. A solitary curlew had drifted across the sky with mournful little calls. Mabel had begun to sob, and Goade waited gravely. He intended now to hear every word.

“You’ve never been thrashed, you said, Goade?” Erriscombe recommenced. “There’s something in a man’s blood seems to turn sour at the thought—something in oneself, I suppose, born at one’s public school, and carried through the ‘varsity into life. I have always known what the consequences would be. I knew there was only one thing to bring me peace of mind again, and I’ve done it. I had to kill the man who thrashed me. A fortnight ago I read that he’d broken out of prison and was supposed to be hiding somewhere around. I felt I knew where I should find him. I travelled down here. I had a revolver, but I didn’t use it. You’ll find it in the tarn there. I shot him with his own double-barrelled gun.”

“Who fired the first shot at Aarons?” Goade asked.

“Crang,” Erriscombe explained. “It was Mabel and her little cockney who drew him out of his lair. I was lying waiting a few yards away—waiting for him to come out. Mabel hurried from the farm to stop the mischief if she could. Crang heard their voices and came up. He scared the little man out of his life, had a shot at him, and left the gun against the boulder. Whilst he was talking to Mabel I got it. He heard me and turned around. I shot him. It was all I could do to drag him down to his hole, but I did it. Just as I was coming up again I heard you, so I waited. I invented the story about the George Robey outfit because I knew Aarons would tell you what sort of a man it was who had frightened him. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Goade confessed.

They sat and looked at one another. Erriscombe rose to his feet and crossed to his wife’s side. His arm went around her waist, and her head sank upon his shoulder.

“I had to do it, dear,” he whispered. “It’s a load gone—a great load.”

“Let’s make sure that the man’s dead,” Goade suggested, after a brief pause. “Come and help me Erriscombe.”

They descended the steps and dragged the heavy body into the outer cave. Farther they were incapable of moving him. Goade stripped off his coat, examined the wound, and turned abruptly around.

“Fetch some water in that basin,” he directed. “He’s not dead.”

For half an hour or more Goade worked, cutting up his own shirt to make a bandage. Erriscombe had some brandy, a few drops of which they forced between Crang’s teeth at the first sign of returning consciousness. Finally Goade staggered out into the fresh air.

“The man’s as strong as an ox,” he announced. “He may live. In fact, I feel sure he will.”

“And now?” Erriscombe asked again.

“And now?” the girl repeated, her eyes fixed upon Goade.

“Can you drive a car?” the latter enquired.

“Any make,” was the confident reply.

Goade pointed across the moor.

“You’ll find my car there,” he indicated. “Take it and drive round to the farm. Send a wagon and all the strong men you can find down to the lane there. That young man Aarons can mount his motor cycle and fetch a doctor. You’ll have to leave the rest to me. I’ll do the best I can.”

He held out his hand which Erriscombe gripped. No words passed between them; only a single glance of understanding. The girl went bravely off by her husband’s side. Goade waited until they were out of sight. Then he made his way to the tarn and fetched more water. When he returned and descended the three steps, the man’s eyes were wide open. Goade sprinkled his forehead, felt his pulse, and sat down by his side.

“You’ve been shot,” he said.

“Aye,” the man muttered.

“If I were you,” Goade went on, “I should forget it.”

The man looked at him vacantly.

“You slipped coming down the steps, carrying your gun. It went off and you were hit. I came along and found you. You see, you’re a Devonshire lad; you understand fair play. You half killed Erriscombe. He can’t fight, but he had to get it back on you. You’re quits now. He’s married to Mabel. Nothing can alter that.”

The man lay quite still. His features twitched. He looked as though he were trying to understand.

“You haven’t seen Erriscombe to-day,” Goade persisted. “You’ve been alone all the time until I found you. I heard the gun go off, and I came across. You’ll get well, but they may ask you questions. You’re a sportsman, Crang, I’m sure. Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll do my best to help you for breaking jail. I’m a head man at Scotland Yard, and I’ve influence there. You understand?”

“If the chap’s married right and proper to Mabel,” the man said slowly, “I don’t wish ‘e no more harm. I fell down them steps, master. That’s right. I aren’t seen Erriscombe. I got it now. Gi’e me some more water.”