When Last I Died

eyes and a twitching muscle just above her mouth, considered this more than likely, she forbore to press her, remarked that it was a pity that there was no one to exact vengeance for the murdered children, and, leaving this grim phrase to do what work it would to Cousin Muriel's conscience and such superstitious fears as she knew her to possess, went off to the Institution to find out what help the Warden could give in tracing the boys to Bella Foxley's company.

There was one hope in her mind, and one only, so far as this was concerned. The diary had named a certain Larry, and from the entry in which his name appeared, Mrs. Bradley had deduced that this Larry, if he could be found, might prove to have some knowledge of the means of escape used by Piggy and Alec, and some knowledge of where they had proposed to go. The difficulty, as she saw it, would be to get in touch with Larry. He might prove to have cut his connection with the Institution so completely, once he had left it, that it would be impossible to track him down. He might be dead, in prison, in another continent—anywhere. He might be out of touch with English newspapers, so that an advertisement would never reach him. He might be unable to read, or, even more likely (and she knew how completely illiterate some members of the criminal classes could be), he might be unwilling to come forward and expose himself voluntarily to police questioning.

The sooner all this was put to the proof, the better. She telephoned the Warden as soon as she arrived in the town nearest to the Institution, which was situated about two miles away on the slope of a treeless hill, and received an invitation to come immediately to see him.

He looked less like a frog, and a good deal more animated, than usual. He seemed, in fact, pleased to see her.

'Larry? Larry who?' he enquired, when Mrs. Bradley had stated the object of her visit.

'I don't know. He was here six years ago, with Piggy and Alec.'

'That's another thing,' said the Warden. 'Who were Piggy and Alec?'

'Alec we should be able to trace, I think, from your records. It sounds to me like a reasonable, if shortened, form of Alexander or even Alexis.'

'And it may not be short for anything. He may have been christened Alec,' argued the Warden. 'And Larry might be traceable. Yes, indeed he might.'

The records were conveniently to hand. An exploration of a stock-room, a mounting of library steps, and the records were identified and produced for inspection and research.

'Larry; Larry,' said the Warden, tracing Christian names with a patient and experienced forefinger. 'Harry?'

'Laurence? Lawrence?' suggested Mrs. Bradley.

'Got it in one, if that's it,' replied the Warden. 'And if it is it, you're in luck. Only one boy named Lawrence for the whole of that year, either Christian or surname. Here we are. Henry Nelson Lawrence. Now, I can give you the next stage in his career from this.'

He opened another register. Mrs. Bradley leaned over, and followed the zealous forefinger as it passed swiftly down the page.

'Ah! We are in luck! Here it is, look,' said the Warden. 'Lad went into the Navy. Now, granted that he continued to be respectable, you'll have little difficulty in following him up, I imagine.'

It was not quite as easy as the Warden had indicated, but, fortunately for Mrs. Bradley's plans, Henry Nelson Lawrence, A.B., proved to be one of the Institution's successes. Furthermore, he happened, by great good luck, to be on leave at Plymouth. He proved to be a large, docile young man, whose embarrassment at being brought up against the past was almost equalled by his desire to assist in tracking down the murderer of Piggy and Alec.

'Who were Piggy and Alec?' Mrs. Bradley enquired.' Can you remember their names?'

'Pegwell and Kettleborough,' the young seaman promptly responded.

'Thank you very much. And now, Mr. Lawrence, I wonder whether you have any idea of the means by which they escaped from the Institution? I ought to warn you that you may have to make this statement in court.'

'In court?' He looked doubtful, but only for a moment. 'They was good little chaps,' he remarked. 'I liked 'em. The cook-housekeeper—I forget her name—she got 'em the files, and she hid 'em in the kitchen while they was being looked for. But that's all 1 know, lady. I never cottoned on where they went, or aught else about it.'

It was good enough, if not too good, thought Mrs. Bradley. She tested the statement carefully and with finesse. There seemed no doubt that Larry fully believed that Bella Foxley had assisted the escape and had hidden the fugitives until the first hue and cry had died down.

It was not easy to decide, after that, to what extent Larry ought to be taken into her confidence. She thought she would risk it. After all, Bella Foxley was under arrest. She was not in a position to attack the witnesses.

'I ought to tell you, Mr. Lawrence,' she said, 'that we suspect Miss Foxley of having used the two boys for her own ends, and that, when they were of no further use to her, she murdered them by shutting them up in a cellar and starving them to death.'

The simple face of the young man hardened.

'I wouldn't put it past her, mam,' he said.

'And you would be willing to give evidence?' Mrs. Bradley enquired.

'Yes, I reckon so. I've gone straight since I joined the Navy. I've got my record. There's nothing again' it. I don't see why I shouldn't speak up, and tell what I know. 'Twasn't nothing to do with me they made their getaway.'

'All right,' said Mrs. Bradley. 'Tell me all you know.'

'Well, I know she got 'em the files and I know she done some of the filing through the window bars, because Piggy told me. He said she could get in the dormitories without being questioned, being, like, the housekeeper, and able to go where she wanted.'

'Why did they think she was willing to help them?'

'She never said. Only spilt 'em some dope about she knew they'd go straight if they got the chance, and she was going to see they got it.'

'Where were they to go when they had escaped?'

'I dunno.'

'Had they any money?'

'No, I don't reckon they had, but we didn't let on to one another about that. Next thing you knowed, somebody had swiped it off of you, and you couldn't complain because we wasn't supposed to have no dough. Them that had it swiped it off of the instructors.'

'How long before they went did Piggy tell you they were going?'

'About a week, I reckon.'

'Do you think they had any plans?'

'No, barring getting some work. The cook-lady, she put 'em on to that, because Piggy said so.'

'He didn't say what sort of work?'

'I don't reckon he knowed. All he said was she was going to hide 'em up till the police 'ad done lookin' for 'em, and then she was going to find 'em some work. Then, when they got jobs, see, they was going to look out for something to suit 'em better.'

'And get them into trouble with the police?'

'I don't know. I couldn't say what ideas they got. Racing stables, more like, from what they said. I reckon they was the kind to go straight all right, give 'em a chance, so long as it wasn't too dull.'

'Were they obedient boys?'

'Never got into much trouble that I remember. The beaks was a bit surprised they lit out. Didn't think they was the sort, the Warden said.'

'He questioned you at the time, I believe, Mr. Lawrence?'

'Oh, he dickered me a bit, but I never let nothing come out. If ever you get in a jam, lady, stick to Don't Know. I've never found nothing to touch it.'

'Thank you,' said Mrs. Bradley gravely. She had had exasperating evidence from Muriel Turney of the impenetrability of this simplest of defences.

The interview with Larry, however, although very unsatisfactory from the point of view of actual information, had outlined clearly the path she had to follow. Whatever her fears and objections, however tiresomely obstinate she had made up her weak little mind to be, Cousin Tom's relict would have to be browbeaten into acknowledging that she had known of the boys' presence in the haunted house.

Before she could return to Muriel's lodgings, however, a message from Ferdinand informed her that he had precise information from the police that Muriel had 'skipped.' As it was in their own interests to find her in order to produce her as one of the chief witnesses at the trial, they were 'on her track, baying like hounds,' Ferdinand's letter continued.

Mrs. Bradley did not believe that Muriel, whatever her state of mind, would acknowledge complicity in Bella Foxley's crimes by running away, so she sought her straightway in the most likely place—the house which Aunt Flora had left to Eliza Hodge. From there she telephoned to Ferdinand.

'She's in that state,' said Miss Hodge, 'poor thing, that I don't know what to do, and that's a fact. She says she'll go out of her mind, and, upon my word, madam, I almost believe she will, she's that worried and upset with it all. And no wonder, either, if the half of what she's been telling me is true.'

'Look here,' said Mrs. Bradley. 'I've got to see her. I haven't come to frighten her, but I've got to know what she knows about those boys.'

Muriel, however, had locked the bedroom door and was at the window, threatening, in high, hysterical tones, to throw herself out if Mrs. Bradley did not go away at once and stop worrying her.

Mrs. Bradley, standing on the lawn, said clearly :

'Now don't be silly, Mrs. Turney. Come down at once, and tell me what you know. I have just telephoned the police that you are here. Your best chance is to tell me the truth before they arrive. Come, now. Don't waste time.'

Whether this appeal or Muriel's own common-sense won the day Mrs.