The Black Abbot
opposite direction by another route, shot at a fast pace from a forked
road right across his path. Dick jammed on the brakes and the big car
skidded halfway round, struck the concrete curb with a thud, but no
damage was done, and he went on, with a glare at the goggled driver of
the machine at fault that was murderous.
He did not hear the cover of the dickey snap open, nor did he see the
brown bag leap up and roll over on to the sidewalk. But the man in the
other car saw all this through his big goggles, and, restarting his
machine, brought it to the curb.
And there and then, Fabrian Gilder discovered the secret of the Black
Abbot!
LI
At nine o’clock that morning Mr. Fabrian Gilder had risen intending
to make a hurried visit to his country cottage. The newspapers had
been full of the Chelford tragedy, but no mention had been made of the
fact that Thomas had been Mr. Gilder’s guest. Such a happening, he
realized, being an intelligent man, must necessarily upset all
arrangements and plans that the girl had made.
There was a lot about Fabrian Gilder that was admirable. To his
servants he was a kind master; to all who knew him superficially, an
excellent and even a generous friend. He was in truth no worse than
the average man in point of desires, a little better in his fairness
of dealing. Arthur Gwyn had been legitimate prey, but he had, he
thought, treated him with scrupulous fairness. He had succeeded, by
the exploitation of the lawyer’s weakness, in amassing a very
considerable fortune; but then, the City of London, and, for the
matter of that, the City of New York, was filled with rich men who had
founded their houses upon the cupidity or folly of men who were now
almost penniless.
He glanced at the morning papers. There was nothing new reported from
Chelford, except the little interview that one reporter had had with
Dick, and that paragraph was, in many ways, very comforting to Gilder,
for it explained why the girl--and then his eye caught sight of a
line.
Mr. Alford said he had asked Miss Leslie Gwyn to stay at Fossaway
Manor whilst her brother was abroad.…
Abroad? He frowned. If Arthur Gwyn had gone abroad he must have left
very suddenly. He had seen him only a day or two before. But perhaps
that was one of Dick Alford’s lies to save the girl’s face. Still, it
was disquieting.
He was pondering this matter when the maid brought him his morning
letters, and the first he saw was one in a well-known hand. It was
from Leslie. He tore it open with trembling fingers, took out the half
sheet of paper and read the few lines. He read it not once but many
times. So that was that! She had changed her mind.
It did not occur to him that she had not made any promise but he was
so sure of her, so satisfied in his mind that she would agree to his
proposal, that he felt he had been tricked.
When the shock had worn off, his anger and resentment grew. Very well:
if she could not keep her promise, he at least would keep his. He
understood now, he thought. Arthur had bolted, and there was no
necessity for the girl to make her sacrifice. He had been fooled,
tricked. He pushed the chair back from the table, leaving his
breakfast untouched, and, going into his library, turned the handle of
the combination and pulled open the door of the safe with a savage
jerk. There was the letter, all ready to post, and at the sight of it
his heart grew hard and sour.
He took out the letter, made to tear it into fragments, and then
remembered that inside was a blank check. He pulled out the sheet of
notepaper and felt for the little pink slip that in his magnificence
he had signed with a complacent flourish. It was not there!
Gilder peered into the envelope with a frown. Gone! He searched the
safe: it might have fallen out, though how, he could not imagine; but
there was no sign of the check. He unlocked his drawer and took out
his check-book. There was the counterfoil, and written across it, “For
Leslie----.” He had intended to show her that counterfoil one of these
days, when she felt more kindly toward him.
With his head in his hands he tried to remember when he had last seen
the check, and then he recalled that it was on the morning Arthur Gwyn
had called to see him. At that thought he went white. Surely he had
closed the safe? Again he struggled to remember, minute by minute,
that fateful morning. He had been looking at the letter, he had put it
away, he had closed the door, and then--the telephone bell had rung
and he had forgotten to fasten the safe!
He pulled the ’phone toward him now and called furiously for a number.
It was twenty past nine; most of the staff of the bank would be there.
When the call was answered:
“I am Mr. Gilder,” he said quickly. “Is the manager there?… No? Then
the sub-manager will do. It is very urgent.”
He waited whilst the clerk went to investigate. Presently he heard the
voice of a man he knew--the manager himself.
“I just came in at this moment. Is anything wrong?”
“Fletcher, do you remember my telling you that I should be sending
down a check for fifty thousand pounds and asking you to honour it?”
“Yes; I honoured it.”
For a second Gilder was speechless.
“You honoured it? Who presented the check?”
“Arthur Gwyn--it was made out in his favour. I notified you last
night; didn’t you get my letter?”
“I haven’t opened all my post yet,” said Gilder steadily. “Thank you.”
He hung up the receiver, breathing heavily. For now he remembered
clearly every event of the morning: the coming of Arthur Gwyn, and his
seemingly absurd proposal, that Gilder should write a note expressing
his willingness to lend the money. That was the trick of it! Not only
had Arthur got the fifty thousand, but with that letter he had a
complete answer to any charge of fraud.
He sat with clasped hands, every vein on his forehead swollen, and
murder in his heart. Tricked! And she should know. She had been a
party to the fraud--unwittingly, perhaps, but nevertheless a party.
She must have told him of this money.…
Whatever else he was, Fabrian Gilder had the gift of clear thinking.
Five minutes’ riotous fury, and he was his cold self again. Of course
she couldn’t have helped in the fraud. It was the accident of leaving
the safe unlocked, and Arthur Gwyn’s known inquisitiveness--he could
never resist reading even Gilder’s private letters; Arthur had no
sense of other people’s privacy.
What could he do now? He thought the matter out. He must tell the
girl, and perhaps she would regard herself as being under an
obligation to him. If she had any sense of honour she must fulfil her
promise, whatever she had written in her letter that morning.
He telephoned for his car to be brought round from the garage, and
came back to his breakfast table and made an attempt to eat.
He would try Leslie first, telling her nothing about the letter he had
given to her brother, and threaten him with a warrant for fraud.
Perhaps this strengthened rather than weakened his position. He grew
cheerful as the thought took shape.
He passed slowly out of London, for all the streets in the metropolis
seemed to be “up,” and at last struck the open country, avoiding the
main roads and taking a more circuitous route which would bring him to
the main Sussex road between Dorking and Horsham. With a clear road
before him, he sent his car at full speed. He was not well acquainted
with the road, but he knew that he joined the old Roman “street” at a
gentle angle, and he did not slow down as he approached the principal
thoroughfare.
Left of him, on the London side, the road was clear; to the right, the
view was a little obstructed. He sounded his klaxon and came out on to
the main thoroughfare at thirty miles an hour.
He saw the car just in time, jammed on his brakes, and threw the
machine into reverse. The big car ahead of him skidded round; he
caught one malevolent gleam from Dick Alford’s eyes, and then he saw
the bag and, driving to the side of the road, picked it up. His first
inclination was to leave it; he had no particular desire to help the
Second Son; but there are certain innate decencies to be observed by
motorists, even though they loathe each other, and he picked the
little grip from the sidewalk and threw it into the back of his car.
As he did so, it opened, and, turning to fasten it, he saw something
that made him change his mind. Getting out of the car, he lifted the
bag to the sidewalk, opened it wide and pulled out--the sombre habit
and cowl of the Black Abbot!
LII
So Dick Alford was the Black Abbot! It was unbelievable; he could
hardly credit the importance of his find. Here, then, was the greatest
lever of all. Beside this, the threat of a charge against Leslie
Gwyn’s brother faded to unimportance. He snapped the lock, put the bag
carefully back in the car, and, restarting his engine, moved at a
slower pace toward Chelfordbury.
He stopped in the village, where he was recognized, and heard at first
hand from the innkeeper the story of the strange happenings at the
“big house.”
“They do say that something’s happened to the young lady from Willow
House.”
“What!” Gilder almost shouted the word. “You don’t mean Miss Gwyn?”
“Yes, Miss Gwyn,” nodded the landlord. “I haven’t got the rights of it
yet, it’s only a rumour down here, but, Lord bless your heart, Mr.
Gilder, there’s never been so many rumours in this village since I
came to live here forty-eight years ago. Some say that his lordship’s
been murdered”--he lowered his voice and looked round--“by his
brother! Mr. Alford is a very hard man, though the people who work for
him have got nothing to say against him, but that doesn’t seem
possible to me.”
Gilder’s mind was in a whirl. He did not want to know anything about
Dick Alford or his reputation.
“Who told you this story about Miss Gwyn?” he asked, and the landlord,
looking round the group that had formed outside the Red Lion, pointed
to a man.
“He’s a carter up at the big house,” he said.
“Fetch him here,” said Gilder.
When the carter arrived:
“What is this story about Miss Gwyn?” Gilder asked.
The man looked a little sheepish to find himself the centre of
interest.
“I don’t know nowt about it,” he said. “It’s only what I heerd that
monkey-faced gentleman saying to Mr. Richard. He says, ‘I don’t think
any harm’s come to her.’ And one of the maids says that that young
lady who used to be his lordship’s secretary----”
“Miss Wenner? Is she there?” asked Gilder quickly.
“Yes, she come up last night.”
“What about her?” asked Gilder.
“They say she’s been crying her eyes out all the morning. That’s all I
know about it. They do say something bad happened to the young lady
early this morning, and the way Mr. Richard has been running about and
him looking as ill as death----”
“I hope something’s going to be done about this Black Abbot,”
interjected the innkeeper. “My womenfolk are so frightened they want
to sit up half the night.”
Gilder looked at him with a queer expression.
“You needn’t be afraid of the Black Abbot,” he said. “I am going to
lay that ghost to-day.”
“You, Mr. Gilder?” said the man, in surprise.
But it was not the occasion for confidences, and Gilder, getting back
into his car, turned it about and went up the road till he came to the
lodge gates. Here a policeman on duty would have barred his progress,
but fortunately he was a local man who knew the lawyer.
“Mr. Alford’s away, sir. Do you want to see Sergeant Puttler?”
“Is that the man who has been staying at the hall? What is he--a
policeman?”
“A Scotland Yard man, sir,” said the Sussex policeman, with a certain
pride. “Though I don’t know they’re much better than our own