IT seemed strange, at first, to the good people of Harleyford to see young Lord Hardcastle and the rector’s son daily in close and friendly intercourse, accustomed, as they were, to see each politely ignored by the other, or else spoken of in terms of supercilious contempt. It was certainly a strange sight to see the young men constantly walking side by side in earnest conversation, or else riding to and from each other’s houses. Lord Hardcastle’s weakness had hitherto been near-sightedness whenever Varley had happened to cross his path. “Who was that you recognized just now?” he would say to a companion, if he happened to have one at the time, and on being informed it was the rector’s son, would remark, carelessly—
“Oh, the young giant whose brains have run into muscle; let us talk of something interesting.”
Frank Varley, in his turn, would speak in no measured terms of “that kid-gloved dandy—that embodiment of priggishness and polite literature.”
But now all was changed. A common sorrow had drawn them to each other, and their intense and true love for, and devotion to poor Amy, had rendered them so far unselfish as to enable them to work together with determination and courage.
Mr. Warden’s reply to their letter had been a brief, “Come and see me; we will talk the matter over.” And arm in arm the young men had responded to his invitation.
“I am very grateful to you both,” was Mr. Warden’s greeting, “I know not how to express my thanks; but what can any one do that has not been already done?”
“See here, Mr. Warden,” broke in Frank, impetuously, “I don’t care what other people have or have not done, I must do something. I shall go mad if I sit here idle any longer. I have no doubt that detective fellow you had from London did his work superlatively well, but still it is possible he may have left something undone. Let me ride through your plantations once more; let me have men down here, and drag over again that cursed water, yonder.” He pointed through the window to a silvery little stream which flowed at the bottom of Mr. Warden’s lawn and flower garden. Deep water it was here and there, and here and there clogged with long grasses and rushes; but on and on it went, until at length it fell into the noble river upon which the town of Dunwich is built.
“My poor fellow, do it if you will,” is Mr. Warden’s reply, “do it a hundred times over, if it is any gratification to you; I fear the result will be the same to your efforts as to mine. But tell me in your turn, have you nothing to suggest? You, Lord Hardcastle, have the reputation of having more brains than most of us, tell me if you can propose anything to lighten this terrible time of suspense? Have you thought well over the possibilities and impossibilities of this dreadful affair, and do you see any glimmer of hope anywhere for us?”
“Have I thought well over it?” repeats Hardcastle; “you might better ask me, ‘do I ever think of anything else?’ for day and night no other thought ever enters my mind; hour after hour do I sit thinking over, and weighing in turn, each circumstance, however slight, which has occurred in connection with the loss of your daughter. I have looked at the matter, not only from my own point of view, and worked out my own theories threadbare, but have endeavoured to put myself, as it were, in other people’s bodies, to hear the matter with their ears, and see it with their eyes! and then have I exhausted every possible or impossible theory which they might have. Nowhere, alas, can I see any clue to the mystery. Indeed, each day that passes renders it more terrible and difficult. It is impossible she can be dead”—
He pauses abruptly; large drops of perspiration stand out upon his forehead, and his outstretched hand trembles with suppressed emotion. “Had she been lying dead anywhere in the whole land, her body would by this time have been brought to you, or at any rate news of how and where she died.”
“Hush, hush!” breaks in Mr. Warden pitifully, as, pale and tottering, he catches hold of Lord Hardcastle’s arm; “don’t speak to me in this way, Hardcastle, or you will kill me outright; this last month has made an old man of me, and a feather’s weight would knock me over now. If you can see more clearly than any of us what lies in the future, for mercy’s sake hold back the blow as long as possible.”
There is a pause of some minutes; at last, Varley jumps to his feet, impatiently—
“For Heaven’s sake, my dear fellow,” he exclaims, “don’t croak any more than you can help, but help us a little with your wisdom and advice. I have Mr. Warden’s permission to travel over the old ground again, and we are to commence this very hour; tell us what you purpose doing?”
“I shall wait and watch,” replies Hardcastle, unconsciously repeating Mr. Hill’s own words, “the clue will discover itself somewhere, somehow, when we least expect it; here, more likely, than anywhere else; and it needs a hearing ear and a seeing eye to seize and follow it up. You may wander hither and thither, if you will, I shall remain here, and wait and watch.”
“Strange,” said Mr. Warden, musingly, “your words are the echo of what was said to me yesterday, by the professional detective I employed.” Then he related to them in detail the examination of the servants by Mr. Hill, and his parting advice.
“Have the girl, Williams, in at once, Mr. Warden,” exclaims Frank, “question her as to what she has, or has not done; let me,” he adds, eagerly, “ask her one or two questions; depend upon it, they will be to the point.”
But to this the two other gentlemen object, Mr. Warden considering it an unjust thing to attach suspicion to the girl on account of the misdeeds of her brother; and Lord Hardcastle alleging that by so doing they would defeat their own object by putting the girl on her guard. “Let us wait and watch,” once more he implores. But Frank shakes his head, “Waiting and watching may suit some men,” he says, “but for me it is an impossibility. I must do something, and at once, or I shall blow my brains out; that is, if I have any,” he adds, with a grim smile, and a shrug of his shoulders.
Forthwith he departs to organize a body of volunteers once more to scour the whole county—to search commons and through woods—to cut fern and furze from shady hollows and dark corners, where, by any chance, a secret might be hidden. Once more to drag rivers and streams, and search under hedges, and in reed-grown ditches; and finally to question and re-question every man, woman, and child far or near, as to their recollection of the day’s occurrences of the 14th of August.
This was the plan of action Frank had sketched out for himself, and bravely indeed, did he carry it out. Volunteers by the score came forward, for the sympathy expressed for Mr. Warden was heartfelt, and Amy’s loss had cast a gloom over the whole county. Not a man or woman in the country side but what would have gone to the other end of the world to have lifted from the sorrowing father and mother this dark cloud of suspense. As for the young lady herself, they would have laid down their lives for her; for her kindly, pleasant ways and pretty queenly airs, had won all hearts. And thus, high and low, rich and poor joined hands with Frank Varley, and searched with a will, working early, and working late—earnest men, at earnest work.