“Stop a bit. Here’s something else,” exclaimed a keen sighted individual, as he drew forth a strip of linen from under the branch of the scrub. That also was polluted by a dark red stain; but it bore other distinguishing peculiarities. It was of fine lawn, something less than three-quarters of a yard in length, and a half-quarter in breadth; a selvedge running down one of the long sides, the other being frayed and ragged; the two ends were hemmed, and had a ribbed sort of border, the letters U.L. being marked in one corner. It was thus easy to perceive that this fragment of linen had once formed part of a pocket-handkerchief. This was also appropriated by the official and there were certain individuals in the crowd who envied him the possession of his treasures.
Chapter VII
Harry’s Misgivings
“Thee does look down-hearted. Harry lad. Come in an’ ha’ a nobbler; it’ll rouse thee,” said the man who, on a former occasion, had invited Saunders to partake of a remedy to which he himself had recourse on all occasions of excitement. Harry accepted the offer, though he did not drain his glass with his accustomed cheerfulness. His entertainer then proposed a second, but this Harry refused.
“Did thee look as glum as that when the painter made thee picture, lad?” asked his inquisitive acquaintance.
“Drat the painter! I wish I’d never seen him. I never was so dashed in all my life,” replied Harry abruptly. Then, muttering some hasty excuse about being wanted at home, he rode off from The Wild Boar.
When he had proceeded a little way, he was overtaken by Mr Silverton, who asked him if he had accompanied the other men to the spot where the body was found.
“Yes, and I wish I’d been a thousand miles off,” was the reply.
“Why? Surely nothing fresh has occurred?” asked Pierce Silverton.
“Fresh? No. But you see, Mr Silverton, a man who loves truth had better keep a close mouth these times.”
“An honest man should never be afraid to speak the truth.”
“Not about his own doings, but there’s a deal of deceit in the world.”
“Ah! I see. You are thinking of the murder; a shocking transaction, though not one usually termed deceit. It was a deed of violence and–”
“I wasn’t thinking of that altogether; but you know, Mr Silverton, a man takes fancies sometimes, and likes people without knowing why.”
“True. That species of charity we should entertain for our fellow-creatures; it is a virtue we are all commanded to practice.”
“Virtue or no virtue, it’s a thing that’s apt to get a man into a fix. Did you look into The Wild Boar and see the things that the policeman has got, Mr Silverton?”
“Ah! I understand you now, Harry. I’m afraid we’ve a great trial before us.”
“There will be a trial, then? It’s a sad world, Mr Silverton.”
“It is indeed, but let us hope that no friend of ours will be implicated in this affair. Come, cheer up. You did not put on that dismal face when Mr Lindsey took your likeness. I saw the sketch in his portfolio. Mr Lindsey and I are old acquaintances, you know.”
“And you never knew anything agin him?”
“No, not exactly, at least with the exception of his determined pursuit of Miss Flora; but love drives a man mad sometimes.”
“I don’t see that, Mr Silverton. It’s two years sin’ I fell in love with Mary, the chambermaid at The Southern Cross; and though her father’s turned me out of his house, I wouldn’t do anything agin him. I don’t mean to say that Mr Lindsey has done anything either; but I’m right down bothered, and no mistake.”
“I don’t wonder that you are confused, and I respect your feelings too much to press this painful subject farther upon you, being convinced that no consideration would ever induce you to deviate from the path of truth. And if called upon, as I am to stand prominently forward in this matter, it is a great satisfaction to know that poor McAlpin had at least one honest and honourable friend, ever ready to cherish his memory and defend his child.”
Harry Saunders did not exactly understand why Mr Silverton should think it necessary to make such a speech, but the soft low tones fell pleasantly on his ear; and though the language was vague (a critic would have called it nonsensical) it conveyed a reliance on his sense of honour and manliness. Harry at once yielded up his judgment to the gentle flattery, and with the ready frankness of a bushman, he said, “Give us your hand, Mr Silverton. It’s pleasant to know for a right-down certain truth that one is not talking to a murderer.”
“It is, indeed, Saunders, and we ought to thank Providence that she has not implanted such violent passions in our breasts,” answered Pierce Silverton, as he placed his soft white hand in the broad palm of his companion.
They proceeded for some time in silence till, on approaching the hotel of The Southern Cross, Mr Silverton said in a whisper, “If we should either of us have formed a suspicion respecting any individual, let us maintain the greatest reserve, and leave judgment to the Lord.”
“Aye, aye, we’ll bring it home to the right person; no fear of that,” returned Harry impetuously.
They alighted, and entered the hotel together – Silverton, with the intention of seeking his friend, Saunders, his sweetheart; though the object of both was frustrated.
In the first place, Lindsey – who could no longer control his impatience – had gone to make inquiries respecting Flora’s health; therefore, on ascertaining this fact, Mr Silverton hastened to overtake him.
In the second place, Saunders, hearing that Mary was engaged in arranging the sleeping apartments of some newly-arrived travellers, walked up and down the courtyard – now listening to various remarks on the all-absorbing topic, now pondering on the events of the last few days. He pondered his hastily-conceived liking for Herbert Lindsey, and his former dislike of Pierce Silverton (for such feeling he had once conceived); and the recollection of it causing him a pang of remorse. His generous disposition made him resolve to do all in his power to repair the evil he had thought.
“And it’s waiting to see Mary you are, Mr Saunders?” asked a pretty girl, who at the moment came up with a basket of linen.
“Maybe so; but I’m glad to wait in your company, my dear,” replied Harry, chucking the girl under the chin; for the sight of her laughing face, roused him out of his sombre mood.
“Arrah! and d’ye think I’d be bothering myself with another girl’s sweetheart?” said the rustic coquette, as she turned away.
“Stop a bit, Biddy; I’ve got a word to say to you about Dan,” returned Harry, endeavouring to detain his pretty companion.
“Bother Dan! Mother’s waiting for me outside, and she would go on if she knew I was talking about him. La! I wish Mary’d come, I’ve got a message for her.”
“What is it, Biddy? Can’t I tell her?”
“Oh, yes, I dare say you can. It’s only that mother couldn’t get them stains out of the bosom of the gentleman’s shirt; but she says it’ll be all right after another washing. Here’s the parcel, you may give it to Mary; I’ve ever so many more places to go to.”
Biddy tripped away; but she had no sooner gone than Harry’s curiosity led him to unpin the wrapper in which the linen was folded. He shook his head and sighed, muttering to himself, “I’m not the man to give Biddy’s message. I won’t help to put his head in a halter, unless I am bound to speak the truth.”
But he was aroused from his reverie by the sight of a man posting a large placard against a wall. Harry read the heading: ‘Wilful Murder’. He saw