The Stowmarket Mystery | Page 9

it back
into the scabbard, rejoined his companion, and the two rode off,
without once looking back. I can see them now, square-shouldered,
with hair tied in a knot beneath their quaint hats, their hips absurdly
swollen by the huge pockets of their coats, their boots hanging over
their knees. They wore big brass spurs with tremendous rowels, and the
cantles of their saddles were high and brass-bound.
"Alan lay motionless. I could neither speak nor move. Whether I was
sitting or standing I cannot tell you, nor do I know how I was supposed
to be attired, A darkness came over my eyes. Then a voice--Helen's
voice--whispered to me, 'Fear not, dearest; the wrong is avenged.' I
awoke, to find the trembling butler shouting in my ear that his master
was lying dead outside the house. Now, Mr. Brett, I ask you, would you
have submitted that fairy tale to a jury? I was quite assured of a verdict
in my favour, though the first disagreement almost shook my faith in
Helen's promise, but I did not want to end my days in a criminal lunatic
asylum."
He did not appear to expect an answer. He was quite calm again, and
even his eyes had lost their intensity. The mere telling of his uncanny
experience had a soothing effect. He nonchalantly readjusted his watch
and chain, and noted the time.
"I have gone far beyond my stipulated half hour," he said, forcing a
deprecatory smile.
"Yes; far beyond, indeed. You carried me back to 1763, but Heaven

alone knows when you will end."
"Will you take up my case?"
"Can you doubt it? Do you think I would throw aside the most
remarkable criminal puzzle I have ever tackled?"
"Mr. Brett, I cannot find words to thank you. If you succeed--and you
inspire me with confidence--Helen and I will strive to merit your
lifelong friendship."
"Miss Layton knows the whole of your story, of course?"
"Yes; she and my father only. I must inform you that I had never heard
the full reason of the duel between the first Sir Alan and his nephew.
But my father knew it fairly well, and the details fitted in exactly with
my vision. I can hardly call it a dream."
"What was the nephew's name?"
"David Hume!"
Brett jumped up, and paced about the room.
"These coincidences defy analysis," he exclaimed. "Your Christian
name is David. Your surname joins both families. Why, the thing is a
romance of the wildest sort."
"Unhappily, it has a tragic side for me."
"Yes; the story cannot end here. You and your fiancée have suffered.
Miss Layton must be a very estimable young lady--one worth winning.
She will be a true and loyal wife."
"Do you think you will be able to solve the riddle? Someone murdered
my cousin."
"That is our only solid fact at present. The family tradition is passing
strange, but it will not serve in a court of law. I may fail, for the first

time, but I will try hard. When can you accompany me to
Stowmarket?"
The question disconcerted his eager auditor. The young man's
countenance clouded.
"Is it necessary that I should go there?" he asked.
"Certainly. You must throw aside all delicacy of feeling, sacrifice even
your own sentiments. That is the one locality where you don't wish to
be seen, of course?"
"It is indeed."
"I cannot help that. I must have the assistance of your local and family
knowledge to decide the knotty points sure to arise when I begin the
inquiry. Can you start this afternoon?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Come and lunch with me at my club. Then we will separate,
to meet again at Liverpool Street. Smith! Pack my traps for a week."
Brett was in the hall now, but he suddenly stopped his companion.
"By the way, Hume, you may like to wire to Miss Layton. My man will
send the telegram for you."
David Hume's barrier of proud reserve vanished from that instant. The
kindly familiarity of the barrister's words to one who, during many
weary days, suspected all men of loathing him as a murderer at large,
was directed by infinite tact.
Hume held out his hand, "You are a good chap," he said.
CHAPTER IV
THROUGH THE LIBRARY WINDOW

Hume did not send a telegram to the Sleagill Rectory. He explained
that, owing to the attitude adopted by the Rev. Wilberforce Layton,
Helen avoided friction with her father by receiving his (Hume's) letters
under cover to Mrs. Eastham.
The younger man was quick to note that Brett did not like this
arrangement. He smilingly protested that there was no deception In the
matter.
"Helen would never consent to anything that savoured of subterfuge,"
he explained. "Her father knows well that she hears from