got to be stopped!"
Wroxdale shifted the papers before him with a gesture which signified helplessness.
"How, Mark?" he asked quietly. "How?"
"That's for you," replied Taffendale brusquely.
You re a lawyer. Isn't there any law for me? Isn't there any for this poor woman? D'ye think we're both made of stone? I tell you the air's full of this poison. God—I seem to smell the very stink of it wherever I go!"
"You can't go to law with a rumour, Mark. You can't tackle suspicion as you'd tackle a man in the flesh," said Wroxdale.
"D'ye mean to tell me the law won't help me to make some of these lying scoundrels eat their own words?" demanded Taffendale. "Won't the law help me to crush down a damned lie?"
"Let anybody make a definite libel or slander on you, Mark, and the law will be there," answered Wroxdale. "But you can't put law into action against whisperings, gossipings, abstract things. As you say, the whole air is charged with this. Very well—you can't fight the air. This thing, Mark, is like all things of the same nature—it will have to pursue its natural course until its natural event is reached."
"And that?" growled Mark. "That?"
"The truth will come out," answered Wroxdale. "That's all."
Taffendale smote the desk at his side.
"Will? Aye, but when?" he exclaimed. "When? Are we to be under this vile suspicion for ever? I'm conscious that there's something going on all round us that I don't know of, that
Wroxdale lifted a finger.
"Stop, Mark," he said. "I'll tell you all I know. I get to hear things, you understand. I believe matters are coming to a head. Mark, you needn't be surprised if Mrs. Perris is arrested before long."
Taffendale's anger suddenly cooled. He made an effort to keep himself within strict control, and after a moment's thought he spoke quietly.
"Now, then, Wroxdale," he said, "just tell me, between ourselves, what, in your mind, they can have against her? Speak straight. Straight!"
The solicitor looked searchingly at his old schoolmate.
"Very well, Mark," he answered. "Quite straight, mind. Nothing, then, I think, that is direct. But try to be dispassionate and to consider plain facts. It is matter of common knowledge that Mrs. Perris did not care for her husband. They had frequent scenesquarrels—or, perhaps, one should say, she, to use countryside parlance, often let him hear her tongue. She was ill-advised enough, foolish enough, to let other people know that she despised him—she said more than she should have said about him to the woman who went to work there—Mrs. Graddige. She came across you—she made your acquaintance. She was known to spend some time with you in your house when the rest of your household had retired—this happened on two occasions. It is known that on the second of these occasions you left the house with her late at night, and were absent nearly two hours. It is known—by the curious piecing together of things by that gamekeeper, Justice—that you and she used to meet in Badger's Hollow, and that the man Pippany Webster became cognisant of the fact. Now, consider—Pippany Webster is seen to enter the premises at Cherry-trees and he is never seen again. Shortly afterwards Perris leaves his house one day, tells his wife he is coming here to town to sell his spring wheat. He does that, and he also sells some stock. He tells the people to whom he sells these things that he may not be at home next day, and gives them written authority to take away their purchases. Next day his wife sends for you and shows surprise, genuine or affected—"
"It was real!" exclaimed Taffendale. "Real, I say!"
"Genuine or affected," continued Wroxdale coolly, "that her husband has not returned home. But it is now established, on the testimony of two good witnesses, that Perris was seen near Cherry-trees at twelve o'clock that night, and the presumption is that he did return home, to a house in which there was no one but his wife. From that day to this Perris has never been seen or heard of. Rumours begin to spread—the conduct of Mrs. Perris and yourself is discussed, and the village tongues wag. Mrs. Perris's position becomes painful, and she feels that she must leave the place. Here you make a foolish step. Instead of insisting on her returning to her friends, her relations, you arrange that she shall go to a seaside place and you furnish her with funds. Mrs. Perris is again so ill-advised as to make a confidante of Mrs. Graddige, to whom she tells this—"
"She trusted the damned old harridan!" growled Taffendale. "She'd no one else to confide in."
"—and, who, woman-like, was quick to remember what she had been told when the time came for remembering it to some purpose," continued Wroxdale. "Now, before Mrs. Perris could leave, the affair of the stang-riding took place. That, through a series of events into which we need not go, led to the discovery of the body of Pippany Webster. And it is impossible to deny, Mark, that here is a body of evidence which must needs make Mrs. Perris an object of suspicion. All sorts of theories might be evolved out of it. Pippany Webster might have threatened her with exposure—she is a strong, muscular young woman, and she could kill him easily. She might have quarrelled with her husband on his return the night he sold that stock—he was probably the worse for liquor—and killed him, possibly accidentally, in the course of the quarrel."
Tatfendale threw up his head and laughed sneeringly.
"Where's the man's body, then?" he asked.
"I said I would tell you plain facts," said Wroxdale. "Well, one plain fact is that there is a theory abroad that she concealed Perris's body somewhere on the premises, and that it was burned in the course of that fire. A wild theory, you may say—but a possible one, Mark, a very possible one. Remember, in all cases like this, cases of mystery, everybody will theorise. I dare say the wildest, the most extravagant theories have been made in the various bar-parlours, and round the inn kitchen fires. Folks will talk."
Taffendale picked up his gloves and his riding-whip.
"I wish it was all over," he said "I wish something would bring it to a head. It's like fighting something in the dark, a shadow, something that you can't get hold of. It's—awful!"
He rose to his feet, turning to the door, and Wroxdale rose, too. The solicitor trifled with the papers on his desk for a while before speaking again.
"Well, Mark," he said, at last, "perhaps it may come to a head sooner than you think. Between you and me, I've heard that there's been a Scotland Yard man down here for a week or two. My information may be wrong, but I have heard that he's working disguised as a labourer at Cherry-trees, on the cottages you're building If he and the local police get anything like a decent clue, a line to follow, they 'll act. And then—well, then a great deal of suspense will be over. At any rate, Mrs. Perris will know what she's called upon to face."
"Man, she's as innocent as a child!" exclaimed Taffendale. "Whatever her faults are or may have been, I'd stake all I've got in the world and whatever I hope for in whatever there is to come on her innocence. She knows no more of the death of that man Webster, nor where Perris is, dead or alive, than you do! By God!—I'm sure she doesn't. And see here, Wroxdale—supposing she is tried, and found innocent, as she must be—there's lots of 'em round here 'll go on saying she's guilty. Bah!—I wish I could shoot most of 'em—a pack of canting hypocrites!"
"Human nature, Mark, human nature! But you're right," said Wroxdale, "you're quite right. Nothing will make this matter clear, white, plain again until two things can definitely be proved—who killed Pippany Webster, and where is Abel Perris, dead or alive? That's the truth."
