I SAY NO

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Emily remained true to her resolution not to let her curiosity
embarrass Alban again. But the unexpressed question was in her
thoughts--"Of what guilt does he suspect Mrs. Rook? And, when he
first felt his suspicions, was my father in his mind?"

Alban proceeded.

"I had only to consider next, whether I could hope to make any
further discoveries,
if I continued to be Sir Jervis's guest. The object of my
journey had been gained; and I had no desire to be employed as
picture-cleaner. Miss Redwood assisted me in arriving at a
decision. I was sent for to speak to her again. The success of
her prophecy had raised her spirits. She asked, with ironical
humility, if I proposed to honor them by still remaining their
guest, after the disturbance that I had provoked. I answered that
I proposed to leave by the first train the next morning. 'Will it
be convenient for you to travel to some place at a good distance
from this part of the world?' she asked. I had my own reasons for
going to London, and said so. 'Will you mention that to my
brother this evening, just before we sit down to dinner?' she
continued. 'And will you tell him plainly that you have no
intention of returning to the North? I shall make use of Mrs.
Rook's arm, as usual, to help me downstairs--and I will take care
that she hears what you say. Without venturing on another
prophecy, I will only hint to you that I have my own idea of what
will happen; and I should like you to see for yourself, sir,
whether my anticipations are realized.' Need I tell you that this
strange old woman proved to be right once more? Mr. Rook was
released; Mrs. Rook made humble apologies, and laid the whole
blame on her husband's temper: and Sir Jervis bade me remark that
his method had succeeded in bringing the housekeeper to her
senses. Such were the results produced by the announcement of my
departure for London--purposely made in Mrs. Rook's hearing. Do
you agree with me, that my journey to Northumberland has not been
taken in vain?"

Once more, Emily felt the necessity of controlling herself.

Alban had said that he had "reasons of his own for going to
London." Could she venture to ask him what those reasons were?
She could only persist in restraining her curiosity, and conclude
that he would have mentioned his motive, if it had been (as she
had at one time supposed) connected with herself. It was a wise
decision. No earthly consideration would have induced Alban to
answer her, if she had put the question to him.

All doubt of the correctness of his own first impression was now
at an end; he was convinced that Mrs. Rook had been an accomplice
in the crime committed, in 1877, at the village inn. His object
in traveling to London was to consult the newspaper narrative of
the murder. He, too, had been one of the readers at the
Museum--had examined the back numbers of the newspaper--and had
arrived at the conclusion that Emily's father had been the victim
of the crime. Unless he found means to prevent it, her course of
reading would take her from the year 1876 to the year 1877, and
under that date, she would see the fatal report, heading the top
of a column, and printed in conspicuous type.

In the meanwhile Emily had broken the silence, before it could
lead to embarrassing results, by asking if Alban had seen Mrs.
Rook again, on the morning when he left Sir Jervis's house.

"There was nothing to be gained by seeing her, "Alban replied.
"Now that she and her husband had decided to remain at Redwood
Hall, I knew where to find her in case of necessity. As it
happened I saw nobody, on the morning of my departure, but Sir
Jervis himself. He still held to his idea of having his pictures
cleaned for nothing. 'If you can't do it yourself,' he said,
'couldn't you teach my secretary?' He described the lady whom he
had engaged in your place as a 'nasty middle-aged woman with a
perpetual cold in her head.' At the same time (he remarked) he
was a friend to the women, 'because he got them cheap.' I
declined to teach the unfortunate secretary the art of
picture-cleaning. Finding me determined, Sir Jervis was quite
ready to say good-by. But he made use of me to the last. He
employed me as postman and saved a stamp. The letter addressed to
you arrived at breakfast-time. Sir Jervis said, 'You are going to
London; suppose you take it with you?'"

"Did he tell you that there was a letter of his own inclosed in
the envelope?"

"No. When he gave me the envelope it was already sealed."

Emily at once handed to him Sir Jervis's letter. "That will tell
you who employs me at the Museum, and what my work is," she said.

He looked through the letter, and at once offered--eagerly
offered--to help her.

"I have been a student in the reading-room at intervals, for
years past," he said. "Let me assist you, and I shall have
something to do in my holiday time." He was so anxious to be of
use that he interrupted her before she could thank him. "Let us
take alternate years," he suggested. "Did you not tell me you
were searching the newspapers published in eighteen hundred and
seventy-six?"

"Yes."

"Very well. I will take the next year. You will take the year
after. And so on."

"You are very kind," she answered--"but I should like to propose
an improvement on your plan."

"What improvement?" he asked, rather sharply.

"If you will leave the five years, from 'seventy-six to
'eighty-one, entirely to me," she resumed, "and take the next
five years, reckoning _backward_ from 'seventy-six, you will help
me to better purpose. Sir Jervis expects me to look for reports
of Central American Explorations, through the newspapers of the
last forty years; and I have taken the liberty of limiting the
heavy task imposed on me. When I report my progress to my
employer, I should like to say that I have got through ten years
of the examination, instead of five. Do you see any objection to
the arrangement I propose?"

He proved to be obstinate--incomprehensibly obstinate.

'Let us try my plan to begin with," he insisted. "While you are
looking through 'seventy-six, let me be at work on
'seventy-seven. If you still prefer your own arrangement, after
that, I will follow your suggestion with pleasure. Is it agreed?"

Her acute perception--enlightened by his tone as wall as by his
words--detected something under the surface already.

"It isn't agreed until I understand you a little better," she
quietly replied. "I fancy you have some object of your own in
view."

She spoke with her usual directness of look and manner. He was
evidently disconcerted. "What makes you think so?" he asked.

"My own experience of myself makes me think so," she answered.
"If _I_ had some object to gain, I should persist in carrying it
out--like you."

"Does that mean, Miss Emily, that you refuse to give way?"

"No, Mr. Morris. I have made myself disagreeable, but I know when
to stop. I trust you--and submit."

If he had been less deeply interested in the accomplishment of
his merciful design, he might have viewed Emily's sudden
submission with some distrust. As it was, his eagerness to
prevent her from discovering the narrative of the murder hurried
him into an act of indiscretion. He made an excuse to leave her
immediately, in the fear that she might change her mind.

"I have inexcusably prolonged my visit," he said. "If I presume
on your kindness in this way, how can I hope that you will
receive me again? We meet to-morrow in the reading-room."

He hastened away, as if he was afraid to let her say a word in
reply.

Emily reflected.

"Is there something he doesn't want me to see, in the news of the
year 'seventy-seven?" The one explanation which suggested itself
to her mind assumed that form of expression--and the one method
of satisfying her curiosity that seemed likely to succeed, was to
search the volume which Alban had reserved for his own reading.

For two days they pursued their task together, seated at opposite
desks. On the third day Emily was absent.

Was she ill?

She was at the library in the City, consulting the file of _The
Times_ for the year 1877.

CHAPTER XXIV.

MR. ROOK.

Emily's first day in the City library proved to be a day wasted.

She began reading the back numbers of the newspaper at haphazard,
without any definite idea of what she was looking for. Conscious
of the error into which her own impatience had led her, she was
at a loss how to retrace the false step that she had taken. But
two alternatives presented themselves: either to abandon the hope
of making any discovery--or to attempt to penetrate Alban 's
motives by means of pure guesswork, pursued in the dark.

How was the problem to be solved? This serious question troubled
her all through the evening, and kept her awake when she went to
bed. In despair of her capacity to remove the obstacle that stood
in her way, she decided on resuming her regular work at the
Museum--turned her pillow to get at the cool side of it--and made
up her mind to go asleep.

In the case of the wiser animals, the Person submits to Sleep. It
is only the superior human being who tries the hopeless
experiment of making Sleep submit to the Person. Wakeful on the
warm side of the pillow, Emily remained wakeful on the cool
side--thinking again and again of the interview with Alban which
had ended so strangely.

Little by little, her mind passed the limits which had restrained
it thus far. Alban's conduct in keeping his secret, in the matter
of the newspapers, now began to associate itself with Alban's
conduct in keeping that other secret, which concealed from her
his suspicions of Mrs. Rook.

She started up in bed as the next possibility occurred to her.

In speaking of the disaster which had compelled Mr. and Mrs. Rook
to close the inn, Cecilia had alluded to an inquest held on the
body of the murdered man. Had the inquest been mentioned in the
newspapers, at the time? And had Alban seen something in the
report, which concerned Mrs. Rook?

Led by the new light that had fallen on her, Emily returned to
the library the next morning with a definite idea of what she had
to look for. Incapable of giving exact dates, Cecilia had
informed her that the crime was committed "in the autumn." The
month to choose, in beginning her examination, was therefore the
month of August.

No discovery rewarded her. She tried September, next--with the
same unsatisfactory results. On Monday the first of October she
met with some encouragement at last. At the top of a column
appeared a telegraphic summary of all that was then known of the
crime. In the number for the Wednesday following, she found a
full report of the proceedings at the inquest.

Passing over the preliminary remarks, Emily read the evidence
with the closest attention.

-------------

The jury having viewed the body, and having visited an outhouse
in which the murder had been committed, the first witness called
was Mr. Benjamin Rook, landlord of the Hand-in-Hand inn.

On the evening of Sunday, September 30th, 1877, two gentlemen
presented themselves at Mr. Rook's house, under circumstances
which especially excited his attention.

The youngest of the two was short, and of fair complexion. He
carried a knapsack, like a gentleman on a pedestrian excursion;
his manners were pleasant; and he was decidedly good-looking. His
companion, older, taller, and darker--and a finer man
altogether--leaned on his arm and seemed to be exhausted. In
every respect they were singularly unlike each other. The younger
stranger (excepting little half-whiskers) was clean shaved. The
elder wore his whole beard. Not knowing their names, the landlord
distinguished them, at the coroner's suggestion, as the fair
gentleman, and the dark gentleman.

It was raining when the two arrived at the inn. There were signs
in the heavens of a stormy night.

On accosting the landlord, the fair gentleman volunteered the
following statement:

Approaching the village, he had been startled by seeing the dark
gentleman (a total stranger to him) stretched prostrate on the
grass at the roadside--so far as he could judge, in a swoon.
Having a flask with brandy in it, he revived the fainting man,
and led him to the inn.

This statement was confirmed by a laborer, who was on his way to
the village at the time.

The dark gentleman endeavored to explain what had happened to
him. He had, as he supposed, allowed too long a time to pass
(after an early breakfast that morning), without taking food: he
could only attribute the fainting fit to that cause. He was not
liable to fainting fits. What purpose (if any) had brought him
into the neighborhood of Zeeland, he did not state. He had no
intention of remaining at the inn, except for refreshment; and he
asked for a carriage to take him to the railway station.

The fair gentleman, seeing the signs of bad weather, desired to
remain in Mr. Rook's house for the night, and proposed to resume
his walking tour the next day.

Excepting the case of supper, which could be easily provided, the
landlord had no choice but to disappoint both his guests. In his
small way of business, none of his customers wanted to hire a
carriage--even if he could have afforded to keep one. As for
beds, the few rooms which the inn contained were all engaged;
including even the room occupied by himself and his wife. An
exhibition of agricultural implements had been opened in the
neighborhood, only two days since; and a public competition
between rival machines was to be decided on the coming Monday.
Not only was the Hand-in-Hand inn crowded, but even the
accommodation offered by the nearest town had proved barely
sufficient to meet the public demand.

The gentlemen looked at each other and agreed that there was no
help for it but to hurry the supper, and walk to the railway
station--a distance of between five and six miles--in time to
catch the last train.

While the meal was being prepared, the rain held off for a while.
The dark man asked his way to the post-office and went out by
himself.

He came back in about ten minutes, and sat down afterward to
supper with his companion. Neither the landlord, nor any other
person in the public room, noticed any change in him on his
return. He was a grave, quiet sort of person, and (unlike the
other one) not much of a talker.

As the darkness came on, the rain fell again heavily; and the
heavens were black.

A flash of lightning startled the gentlemen when they went to the
window to look out: the thunderstorm began. It was simply
impossible that two strangers to the neighborhood could find
their way to the station, through storm and darkness, in time to
catch the train. With or without bedrooms, they must remain at
the inn for the night. Having already given up their own room to
their lodgers, the landlord and landlady had no other place to
sleep in than the kitchen. Next to the kitchen, and communicating
with it by a door, was an outhouse; used, partly as a scullery,
partly as a lumber-room. There was an old truckle-bed among the
lumber, on which one of the gentlemen might rest. A mattress on
the floor could be provided for the other. After adding a table
and a basin, for the purposes of the toilet, the accommodation
which Mr. Rook was able to offer came to an end.

The travelers agreed to occupy this makeshift bed-chamber.

The thunderstorm passed away; but the rain continued to fall
heavily. Soon after eleven the guests at the inn retired for the
night. There was some little discussion between the two
travelers, as to which of them should take possession of the
truckle-bed. It was put an end to by the fair gentleman, in his
own pleasant way. He proposed to "toss up for it"--and he lost.
The dark gentleman went to bed first; the fair gentleman
followed, after waiting a while. Mr. Rook took his knapsack into
the outhouse; and arranged on the table his appliances for the
toilet--contained in a leather roll, and including a razor--ready
for use in the morning.

Having previously barred the second door of the outhouse, which
led into the yard, Mr. Rook fastened the other door, the lock and
bolts of which were on the side of the kitchen. He then secured
the house door, and the shutters over the lower windows.
Returning to the kitchen, he noticed that the time was ten
minutes short of midnight. Soon afterward, he and his wife went
to bed.

Nothing happened to disturb Mr. and Mrs. Rook during the night.

At a quarter to seven the next morning, he got up; his wife being
still asleep. He had been instructed to wake the gentlemen early;
and he knocked at their door. Receiving no answer, after
repeatedly knocking, he opened the door and stepped into the
outhouse.

At this point in his evidence, the witness's recollections
appeared to overpow er him. "Give me a moment, gentlemen," he
said to the jury. "I have had a dreadful fright; and I don't
believe I shall get over it for the rest of my life."

The coroner helped him by a question: "What did you see when you
opened the door?"

Mr. Rook answered: "I saw the dark man stretched out on his
bed--dead, with a frightful wound in his throat. I saw an open
razor, stained with smears of blood, at his side."

"Did you notice the door, leading into the yard?"

"It was wide open, sir. When I was able to look round me, the
other traveler--I mean the man with the fair complexion, who
carried the knapsack--was nowhere to be seen."

"What did you do, after making these discoveries?"

"I closed the yard door. Then I locked the other door, and put
the key in my pocket. After that I roused the servant, and sent
him to the constable--who lived near to us--while I ran for the
doctor, whose house was at the other end of our village. The
doctor sent his groom, on horseback, to the police-office in the
town. When I returned to the inn, the constable was there--and he
and the police took the matter into their own hands."

"You have nothing more to tell us?"

"Nothing more."

CHAPTER XXV

"J. B."

Mr. Rook having completed his evidence, the police authorities
were the next witnesses examined.

They had not found the slightest trace of any attempt to break
into the house in the night. The murdered man's gold watch and
chain were discovered under his pillow. On examining his clothes
the money was found in his purse, and the gold studs and sleeve
buttons were left in his shirt. But his pocketbook (seen by
witnesses who had not yet been examined) was missing. The search
for visiting cards and letters had proved to be fruitless. Only
the initials, "J. B.," were marked on his linen. He had brought
no luggage with him to the inn. Nothing could be found which led
to the discovery of his name or of the purpose which had taken
him into that part of the country.

The police examined the outhouse next, in search of
circumstantial evidence against the missing man.

He must have carried away his knapsack, when he took to flight,
but he had been (probably) in too great a hurry to look for his
razor--or perhaps too terrified to touch it, if it had attracted
his notice. The leather roll, and the other articles used for his
toilet, had been taken away. Mr. Rook identified the
blood-stained razor. He had noticed overnight the name of the
Belgian city, "Liege," engraved on it.

The yard was the next place inspected. Foot-steps were found on
the muddy earth up to the wall. But the road on the other side
had been recently mended with stones, and the trace of the
fugitive was lost. Casts had been taken of the footsteps; and no
other means of discovery had been left untried. The authorities
in London had also been communicated with by telegraph.

The doctor being called, described a personal peculiarity, which
he had noticed at the post-mortem examination, and which might
lead to the identification of the murdered man.

As to the cause of death, the witness said it could be stated in
two words. The internal jugular vein had been cut through, with
such violence, judging by the appearances, that the wound could
not have been inflicted, in the act of suicide, by the hand of
the deceased person. No other injuries, and no sign of disease,
was found on the body. The one cause of death had been
Hemorrhage; and the one peculiarity which called for notice had
been discovered in the mouth. Two of the front teeth, in the
upper jaw, were false. They had been so admirably made to
resemble the natural teeth on either side of them, in form and
color, that the witness had only hit on the discovery by
accidentally touching the inner side of the gum with one of his
fingers.

The landlady was examined, when the doctor had retired. Mrs. Rook
was able, in answering questions put to her, to give important
information, in reference to the missing pocketbook.

Before retiring to rest, the two gentlemen had paid the
bill--intending to leave the inn the first thing in the morning.
The traveler with the knapsack paid his share in money. The other
unfortunate gentleman looked into his purse, and found only a
shilling and a sixpence in it. He asked Mrs. Rook if she could
change a bank-note. She told him it could be done, provided the
note was for no considerable sum of money. Upon that he opened
his pocketbook (which the witness described minutely) and turned
out the contents on the table. After searching among many Bank of
England notes, some in one pocket of the book and some in
another, he found a note of the value of five pounds. He
thereupon settled his bill, and received the change from Mrs.
Rook--her husband being in another part of the room, attending to
the guests. She noticed a letter in an envelope, and a few cards
which looked (to her judgment) like visiting cards, among the
bank-notes which he had turned out on the table. When she
returned to him with the change, he had just put them back, and
was closing the pocketbook. She saw him place it in one of the
breast pockets of his coat.

The fellow-traveler who had accompanied him to the inn was
present all the time, sitting on the opposite side of the table.
He made a remark when he saw the notes produced. He said, "Put
all that money back--don't tempt a poor man like me!" It was said
laughing, as if by way of a joke.

Mrs. Rook had observed nothing more that night; had slept as
soundly as usual; and had been awakened when her husband knocked
at the outhouse door, according to instructions received from the
gentlemen, overnight.

Three of the guests in the public room corroborated Mrs. Rook's
evidence. They were respectable persons, well and widely known in
that part of Hampshire. Besides these, there were two strangers
staying in the house. They referred the coroner to their
employers--eminent manufacturers at Sheffield and
Wolverhampton--whose testimony spoke for itself.

The last witness called was a grocer in the village, who kept the
post-office.

On the evening of the 30th, a dark gentleman, wearing his beard,
knocked at the door, and asked for a letter addressed to "J. B.,
Post-office, Zeeland." The letter had arrived by that morning's
post; but, being Sunday evening, the grocer requested that
application might be made for it the next morning. The stranger
said the letter contained news, which it was of importance to him
to receive without delay. Upon this, the grocer made an exception
to customary rules and gave him the letter. He read it by the
light of the lamp in the passage. It must have been short, for
the reading was done in a moment. He seemed to think over it for
a while; and then he turned round to go out. There was nothing to
notice in his look or in his manner. The witness offered a remark
on the weather; and the gentleman said, "Yes, it looks like a bad
night"--and so went away.

The postmaster's evidence was of importance in one respect: it
suggested the motive which had brought the deceased to Zeeland.
The letter addressed to "J. B." was, in all probability, the
letter seen by Mrs. Rook among the contents of the pocketbook,
spread out on the table.

The inquiry being, so far, at an end, the inquest was
adjourned--on the chance of obtaining additional evidence, when
the reported proceedings were read by the public.

. . . . . . . .

Consulting a later number of the newspaper Emily discovered that
the deceased person had been identified by a witness from London.

Henry Forth, gentleman's valet, being examined, made the
following statement:

He had read the medical evidence contained in the report of the
inquest; and, believing that he could identify the deceased, had
been sent by his present master to assist the object of the
inquiry. Ten days since, being then out of place, he had answered
an advertisement. The next day, he was instructed to call at
Tracey's Hotel, London, at six o'clock in the evening, and to ask
for Mr. James Brown. Arriving at the hotel he saw the gentleman
for a few minutes only. Mr. Brown had a friend with him. After
glancing over the valet's references, he said, "I haven't time
enough to speak to you this evening. Call here to-morrow morning
at nine o'clock." The gentleman who was present laughed, and
said, "You won't be up!" Mr. Brown answered, "That won't matter;
the man can come to my bedroom, and let me see how he understands
his duties, on trial." At nine the next morning, Mr. Brown was
reported to be still in bed; and the witness was informed of the
number of the room. He knocked at the door. A drowsy voice inside
said something, which he interpreted as meaning "Come in." He
went in. The toilet-table was on his left hand, and the bed (with
the lower curtain drawn) was on his right. He saw on the table a
tumbler with a little water in it, and with two false teeth in
the water. Mr. Brown started up in bed--looked at him
furiously--abused him for daring to enter the room--and shouted
to him to "get out." The witness, not accustomed to be treated in
that way, felt naturally indignant, and at once withdrew--but not
before he had plainly seen the vacant place which the false teeth
had been made to fill. Perhaps Mr. Brown had forgotten that he
had left his teeth on the table. Or perhaps he (the valet) had
misunderstood what had been said to him when he knocked at the
door. Either way, it seemed to be plain enough that the gentleman
resented the discovery of his false teeth by a stranger.

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