perhaps the four who had gone up with him had remained to bury their comrade-somehow she was sure that the dead man at the chalk mine was one of them. He advised her to go to her room upstairs, for he was off to inform Sir Simon of this terrible crime, and then he must fetch the magistrate from town. All this made perfect sense to her, and so she left him at the back door and went to the room, where he had sent her. She was so overcome by what had happened that when she lay down upon the bed to rest, she fell asleep. When she awakened, she found that she had been locked inside. No matter how loudly she called, and no matter how fiercely she rattled the door, there was no response.
“Was that when you began to weep?” I had asked her then.
“You’d weep, too,” said she, ”if you were locked up for three or four hours.”
“It is not in my nature to weep,” said I, which was both a lie and a rather priggish thing to say.
“Well, that is just one of the many ways in which we differ.”
“It was all probably done in error, anyway. The little maid who cleaned the carpet before your door seemed most mannerly, but she may simply have been careless and turned the key by mistake.”
“Are you trying to tell me that none of this is out of the ordinary? A murdered man? His body moved from where it was discovered? The finder punished by imprisonment?”
Clarissa did have a way of putting things in the most dramatic way possible-”punished by imprisonment,” indeed!
“Well … no, of course not. It’s all most extraordinary.” I paused to give the matter some thought. Yet after turning the matter this way and that in my mind, I could but pose a question: ”Why should they have moved the body? I rode next to Will Fowler on the trip from Deal, and I daresay he was
“Well, it seems clear to me,” said she. ”Since I found the corpus practically at the entrance to the chalk mine, Sir Simon wished to keep visitors away from it. If they were to see it, they might well wonder what went on in there and might start asking questions.”
“Yes,” said I, ”Sir Simon denied to Mr. Sarton that there was anyplace in all his property where the dead man could, while alive, have managed to cover himself, his clothes, and his shoes so thoroughly with chalk dust.”
“He denied it? Well, there’s your proof right there on the floor.” She gestured to the chalk-covered carpet upon which we were standing.
“I should like to get up there and see for myself just what is in that old chalk mine.”
“So would I,” said she. ”It must be something more valuable than chalk, something worth guarding.”
“Guarding? What do you mean?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? The fellow was simply bristling with arms of every sort. The poor man was obviously guarding something. He was a sentinel, a guard. He had a pistol tucked in his belt, as well as a dagger, and a great long musket by his side.”
“You mean there beneath the bushes and the trees? I wonder whoever killed him didn’t take them as a prize of war.”
“Whoever killed him must have had a lot to carry away,” said she.
“By the bye, you said nothing of pistols and muskets when you told me all this the first time.”
“I didn’t? Just an oversight, I assure you.”
“Be sure you include it when you tell your tale to Sir John.”
As it happened, that did not take place until a good deal later. Fearing that Clarissa might suffer a relapse and begin behaving oddly once again, I made my excuses to her and slipped out of her room as swiftly as decently possible. I took a moment to listen at the door to the room shared by Sir John and me, and I satisfied myself from the sound of his snoring that he slept soundly still. Then did I make my way quietly downstairs to the library where, for over an hour, I read uninterruptedly in
“Ah, there you are,” said he, having obviously recovered his assurance. ”I’ve been looking for you. I tapped upon your door and, getting no answer, I stuck my head into your room and saw Sir John sleeping. I hope I didn’t disturb him.”
He seemed to be talking with greater animation than was necessary, and a bit more rapidly, as well. I wondered what errand had brought him up to this part of the house.
”What will you, Will?” I was not punning upon his name, reader. It simply came out so.
He cleared his throat and spoke forth in his grand manner: ”I wish to inform you and all of your party that much as Sir Simon would like to have your company upon this evening, he has been detained in Sandwich by certain affairs of business. He cannot dine with you at seven, but he trusts that Jacques will do as well for you tonight as he has ever done in the past. Will you be good enough to pass this on to Sir John and to the young miss, as well?”
“You may consider it done,” said I to him.
Then did he add in a somewhat nervous manner: ”And do please pass on to her my hope that she is well recovered from her shocking experience of this morning. Has she talked of it?”
“I shall tell her, right enough,” said I, ”but she is a brave girl and made of stronger stuff than you might suppose.”
Then, thanking me, he took his leave and made for the stairs. I watched him go, wondering what it was made him uneasy. He seemed a decent sort of man. Dissimulation did not come naturally to him.
I listened at our door, and hearing none of the sounds of sleep, entered the room. Sir John, still in bed, did rise up beneath the mound of covers, his hair tousled and his jaw set pugnaciously. He called my name.
“Yes sir, it is I, Jeremy.”
“You’re the second who has come in the last few minutes. And neither of you had the decency to knock upon the door first. I feigned sleep to find out what he might do-nothing, so far as I could tell. Yet he stayed an unconscionably long time. He seemed to be looking for something, though what it might have been I cannot suppose.”
“Nor can I,” I declared.
As I helped him dress, I informed him that Will Fowler had been the intruder, that I had encountered him in the hall, and told of the announcement he had made regarding dinner. I also let him know a bit about Clarissa, yet I did not attempt to tell her story. I did mention, though, that for some reason, someone seemed to have locked her in her room.
“Locked her in?” exclaimed Sir John.
“Yes sir.”
“All this seems to be much too mysterious and threatening. I’d thought we might enjoy some pleasant country air out here in Mongeham. Yet now we have a body turning up then moving about-not on his own, I’m sure. Clarissa is locked in her room, and somebody comes snooping about in ours. No, I don’t like this a bit.” He paused, then asked, ”Is it still light out?”
“Yes, but not for much longer.”
“As soon as you have me looking fairly presentable, go across to Clarissa’s room and see if she would like to take a stroll with us and tell us her tale. I’d like to loosen up this hip a little. We should be able to work that in before dinner.”
And that was how it was done. Perhaps intimidated by Sir John’s official manner, she restrained herself from digressing quite so often as was her usual. What had taken her half an hour to tell me, she told him in half the time. A good thing, too, for we were back in the house and seated at table by seven.
No doubt Jacques did just as well preparing the meal for us three as he had the night before when his master was present. It is simply that, because of all that had happened that day, I remember it not quite so well. Nor do I remember the same plenitude of wine-simply a good claret for the meat and a white wine of some sort for the fish: a bottle of each to share among the three of us.
So we were all sober, at least, when we climbed up the stairs, having spent no less than two hours at table. Sir John suggested we adjourn to Clarissa’s room that we might review our situation. He had been quiet through
