The Whispering Lane/Chapter 14
CHAPTER XIV
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
The news of Aileen’s arrival in Wessbury was both incredible and unwelcome, but true enough, as the young man found on entering the parlour. Here the girl was seated before the fire, looking wan and anxious and worn, as she rose tumultuously to greet him with a torrent of disjointed sentences. “Oh Dick! Dick! I do want to know things. I just had to come here. I couldn’t help myself. You ran away from Fryfeld. I am sure you are keeping something from me. I want to know the best, the worst, everything. What is it? What is it? Tell me! Tell me!” she stumbled forward to seize the lapels of his coat and shake him weakly. “Oh I shall go out of my mind if you don’t tell.”
Disengaging her hands very gently Dick replaced her in the chair, “Darling,” he coaxed, kneeling beside her with soothing caresses and persuasive words, “you are overwrought. There is nothing to fear: nothing. Everything is going on capitally. In time the truth will be known.”
“Are you sure—sure?”
“I am sure,” lied Dick bravely, to quiet the storm.
“And—and Edith will be—be safe?”
“Of course. There! There!” he dried her eyes with his pocket-handkerchief, and rose quickly as the temptation to kiss her assailed him. “You need food and rest, Aileen. I’ll tell Mrs. Webb to hurry up dinner, and”
“Dinner! As if I could eat anything, with Edith—Edith” she broke down.
“You must. Do be sensible!” and he moved towards the door.
“Now you’re leaving me, just as you left me at Fryfeld,” sobbed Aileen, who was sufficiently unstrung to be all the woman.
“My dear,” said Dick, desperately, and keeping well away from this attractive, exasperating, delightful, annoying angel, “I’m only a man.”
“Then why don’t you help me?”
“Oh, Lord, am I not doing my best?” cried the badgered lover, too amazed at this unjust question to consider woman’s protean capabilities.
“I suppose you are, though you aren’t!” wailed Aileen, twisting his handkerchief between her fingers, and continuing to contradict herself lavishly. “Oh, you are too interested in all this bother to trouble about me. It’s hard—very hard, although you’re quite right. I want it proved that Edith didn’t do what she didn’t do, poor dear, whatever you may say. So like a man, though I’m sure I don’t care. Still you might?”
“Might what?” almost shouted Dick in a maelstrom of bewilderment.
“Oh, if you don’t know, you can’t expect me to know. Father never cared for me, and I’ve never had anyone of my own to love me, but Edith, and she’s—dying”
“Darling! Darling!” Dick flung himself across the room, impetuously. “I care for you, love you, adore you, worship you.”
“So you say: but”—she rose totteringly, apparently to keep him off, really to draw him on, with the wonderful skill of Eve’s daughters.
“Aileen!” he snatched her into his arms with a caveman’s greed, “is it this?”
Woman-like, having brought him to the desired point, she denied any such scheming. “No! How dare you think that? Dick! Dick! What are you doing?” for by this time he was kissing her with all the ardour of long-starved love.
“Does it require any explanation?” he gasped, breathlessly. “You wanted”
“I didn’t! I didn’t! I’ll never speak to you again if you say I did.”
“Oh, then you didn’t! All the same”—and again she was enveloped in a whirlwind of tempestuous caresses, “oh, my dear, my dear.”
The time to yield had come, for this masterful lover had stormed her into surrender. With a long-drawn sigh of enjoyment, she gave herself to him. “Dick I’m so glad—so glad. You really love me, don’t you?”
“Certainly not!” he cried, joyously. “Would I act like this if I did?”
The answer was apparently satisfactory, for she echoed his merry laugh without withdrawing herself. “But—if you loved me, why didn’t you say so like this long ago?”
“Darling, you told me that we were to remain brother and sister until all this miserable business was settled.”
“Did I? How silly of me!” then sudden remorse seized her and she escaped from his eager arms. “How selfish I am,” cried Aileen with shamed emotion. I think of myself—of you, when we should both be thinking of Edith. Oh, Dick, do tell me all about it—set my mind at rest.”
“Not until you have had some dinner,” said Hust ings, firmly, and, silencing her protestations with a final kiss, he summoned Mrs. Webb, who entered smiling knowingly. “Will you see to Miss More’s comforts, please, and bring in dinner as soon as she is ready.”
“Yes, sir. Are you staying here for the night, Miss?”
“No,” said Dick, before Aileen could reply, “Miss More returns to London.”
“Miss More doesn’t,” retorted the girl, determinedly, “I intend to stay here, until things are settled one way or another. Mrs. Webb can act as my chaperone. Can’t you—won’t you, Mrs. Webb?”
“Of course, Miss,” beamed the landlady, her romantic heart approving of romance, “your room is quite ready, Miss. I knew you would stay.”
“Mrs. Webb knows me better than you do, Dick,” taunted Aileen, gaily, as she followed the brisk little woman.
Hustings smiled to himself, very well pleased with his unexpected good fortune, which warmed his heart and stimulated his brain. From Aileen’s own sweet lips he had learned that she would never tolerate any lover-like attentions while Miss Danby’s fate was in abeyance. But, exercising the traditional privilege of her sex, by changing her mind, the girl now wanted what she had formerly refused. Dick quite understood her impossible chatter, and why she had surrendered herself after many wordy, futile contradictions. The danger and painful absence of her dearest friend, the loneliness of the cottage, the drawn-out suspense and anxiety of the case—these things urged her insistently to seek the shelter of his protective arms. Feeling forlorn and deserted, Aileen required demonstrative love: those caressing actions, which speak louder than mere words, however sweet. And such love—any love, according to her own showing, the girl had never received, save from Edith. Yet there had been her brother, and there was her father—ah, yes, her father. Dick desired to learn more of that wanderer. So far as he could gather from a stray word or so, there did not seem to be much love lost between Mr. More and his daughter. Dick resolved to question Aileen that very evening, and learn how matters really were.
The lovers, superintended by Mrs. Webb as their guardian angel, enjoyed a good dinner, and a quiet dinner, since their happiness—a dream oasis in the midst of the woeful desert of actuality—made them little disposed to speak. Dick had demonstrated his love so very emphatically that Aileen was content to accept less pressing evidence. It was only when the meal ended, and the smiling landlady withdrew after bringing in the coffee, that Dick wished to renew earlier raptures. Aileen kept him at arm’s length. “No! We understand one another fully. I love you: you love me. Let it go at that, Dick.”
“And what then?” he asked disconsolately.
“Sit down over there!” she pointed to an arm-chair on the opposite side of the fireplace, “drink your coffee and smoke your pipe.”
He obeyed, though unwillingly. “You are going back on the love-trail.”
“We are leaving the love-trail for the more important one, which will lead to a knowledge of the truth. Now then, dear!”—she seated herself at a safe distance, “tell me everything.”
Hustings drank his coffee, lighted his pipe, and related later events: the disappearance of Jimmy Took, the appearance of Mr. Chane, and the suspicions of Inspector Trant—“who is searching that bungalow,” ended Hustings, shaking his head doubtfully, “and if he finds nothing we’re up a tree.”
“I don't see that,” expostulated Aileen, all ears and eyes, “Jimmy may come back with news.”
“It’s a forlorn hope.”
“No! I agree with you, Dick, that the boy knows more than he will admit. He wants to prove his worth, so as to realize his ambition to become a detective, and will move heaven and earth to get at the truth.”
“Heaven and earth are not easily moved,” said Dick, cynically.
“Besides,” went on Aileen, not troubling to notice the interruption, “there is Wu Ti who goes to that Whitechapel den to smoke opium. Your suggestion to the Inspector that the place should be searched is a good one. The man is sure to be caught there, and then we may learn what he and Mrs. Jerr have to do with the matter.”
“They have nothing to do with it, according to Mr. Chane.”
“By Mr. Chane’s own showing he knows next to nothing about the couple,” returned the girl, swiftly. “Mr. Trant may find something incriminating in the bungalow if he searches it thoroughly.”
“Oh, he’s bound to search it with a tooth-comb,” said Dick, confidently, “and he’ll come along later to tell me the result of his pryings and pokings.”
Aileen did not reply for a second or so, “I wish my father were here,” she said, suddenly, “he is so clever, that he would help us greatly.”
“I also wish he were here,” commented Hustings, quickly, “I don’t think very highly of your father, dear. If he was a real father he would not leave you to face all these troubles alone. And, from the newspapers, he must know how things stand.”
“Father never loved me,” said Aileen, clasping her knees and staring sadly into the fire. “Roddy was the only one he cared for. I was nothing. Oh, he was kind, in a chilly way, you know, Dick, but I always felt that he looked upon me as a nuisance.”
“Impossible!” cried Dick, indignantly.
“Oh it’s true,” Aileen nodded positively. “Mother died when I was a mere infant and I was sent to my aunt—her sister—to be looked after. When I was in my teens Aunt Amy died, and I returned home for a time. Of course, while I was with Aunt Amy I used to visit father occasionally at his office, and he called sometimes to see how I was getting along. But he never wanted me in the house, as I wasn’t in his heart, so he sent me to a boarding-school at Brighton. There I stayed until he was taken prisoner by the Germans—as was supposed—and Mr. Quick ran away with the money father had left for me. I got a situation as a clerk in London, and had a hard time, until Edith found me and took me to live with her.”
“You poor darling,” said Dick sympathetically, “but it’s all over, Aileen. You have me now, and I’ll love you for ever and ever and ever. If you weren’t so thorny a rose I would show you how much I do love you,” he half arose.
Aileen laughed and signed that he should remain where he was. “Pleasure comes after work, you silly boy. Don’t think I am not longing as much as you are for the golden hour, when all will be sunshine. I am starving for love; all my life I have wanted love. Roddy was very kind, but I was much younger than he was and he took little notice of me. Besides he was in love with Edith. As to father—he was always freezingly polite; kind enough in his cold, scientific way to me, but all his affection was given to Roddy. He idolized Roddy and tolerated me. Oh, Dick, you’ll have to give me heaps and heaps of love to make up for what I have missed.”
This was such an invitation to offer consolation that Dick jumped up, lifted Aileen clean out of her chair, and kissed her protestations into silence. Before either of the ardent young people could regain self-control, two or three sharp raps sounded on the door. “Oh!” cried Aileen, immediately returning to the safe respectability of her chair; and, “—Oh come in!” cried Dick, greatly annoyed by the interruption, as any lover would be.
Inspector Trant made his appearance, looking rather stern as he closed the door and addressed himself to Aileen: “You should not be here, young lady,” he said, reprovingly, “I told you to stay in the cottage, under the care of Jenny.”
“It was Jenny who suggested that I should come down here,” replied Aileen, defiantly, “she saw that I was worrying myself ill, and so”
“So she came to me,” Hustings picked up the girl’s speech, equally defiant. “I wonder it doesn’t strike you, Mr. Trant, how terrible it is for Aileen to remain alone in that dismal cottage under surveillance.”
“I acted for the best,” said the officer, coldly, “and in point of fact I did not do my duty. Only my debt to Aileen’s father prevented me from charging her as an accessory. Now don’t get into a rage, Mr. Hustings. As a lawyer you must know that appearances are very much against her.”
“You know, as I know, that she is perfectly innocent,” said Dick hotly, while Aileen rose to clasp his arm, going red and white, white and red by turns.
“Of course she is. I never for a single moment suspected her. All the same—but what is the use of arguing,” Trant shrugged his shoulders, “you can’t see things my way and never will, being in love. You must go back, Aileen.”
“I shan’t!” she stamped her foot, clinging desperately to her lover. “Dick and I are engaged to be married, and I want to be with him. Besides,” she went on, artfully, “you seem to have lost the trail. My woman’s intuition may find it again.”
“There is something in that,” agreed the Inspector, dryly. “I shall hold Mr. Hustings responsible for your safe keeping, all the same.”
“She couldn’t have a more careful gaoler,” said Dick, patting Aileen’s hand.
“Mr. Trant!” entreated the girl, “I appreciate your kindness and forbearance sufficiently to return to Fryfeld when you wish. But do allow me to help.”
“Oh, well,” the officer wavered, and yielded, “you can look into this ghost business, which I fancy has something to do with our affair. And visit the bungalow. Your younger and sharper ears and eyes may be of service there.”
“Did you find anything suspicious in the house?” asked Dick.
“Nothing! Only Chane’s belongings. Mrs. Jerr and Wu Ti have removed theirs.”
“And what do you think of the man, himself?”
“I don’t suspect him in any way, as he was quite a stranger to the couple. He let the bungalow without requiring references, since he accepted payment of the first quarter’s rent as a sufficient guarantee of the woman’s honesty. And she was honest to the last, as you probably gathered from that letter he received yesterday, enclosing money. Chane!” Trant spoke musingly, “I only saw him in the twilight and by the light of the candle he carried when we went through the house. But somehow he seems to be familiar to me: manner, eyes, voice—I can’t put a name to it. Still,” he threw back his memory over a score of years, but finally shook his head. “I can’t remember. Old age! It is time I retired.”
“You’re not old,” Aileen assured him gently, “no older than my father. By the way, I heard from him.”
“From your father,” Trant was surprised and pleased. “He is alive then?”
“Yes! He wrote from Paris, saying that he had returned from Germany and would explain his long silence when he came to see me.”
“Odd!” commented the Inspector, pinching his chin, “very odd. If taken prisoner during the war, he could have returned immediately hostilities ceased. And should have done, my dear, to look after you.”
“My father never cared for me,” said Aileen, sadly.
“Oh, you must not say that,” he protested, “your father is a scientist, you know, thinking much, speaking little. Such a man rarely reveals his innermost feelings. I have not seen him for close upon twenty years. How old are you?”
“Twenty-one!”
Trant nodded. “It must be quite twenty years then, since I nursed you on my knee. I remember your father quite clearly. A stout, brown-haired man, with a thin brown beard, of no great stature and extremely reticent. He was a staunch friend to me when I greatly needed one, so I am sure, with such a nature, that he loved you, Aileen, although he did not show his feelings.”
“He showed them to my brother,” she retorted, bitterly.
“Well, well, well. Let us hope you are mistaken. When you meet him again, things may turn out better than you expect,” he strode towards the door. “Good night, young people. I am going to listen for the voice of that foolish ghost.”
“You won’t hear it,” Dick assured him, promptly.
“Why not?”
“Because I believe the whole business to be a trick on the part of Mrs. Jerr or Wu Ti—maybe of both. And with their going, goes this ghostly voice.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” Trant shook his head, doubtfully.
“I can’t be sure of anything. Is Jimmy back?”
“Not a sign of him. However, since you suggested the other string to my bow, I am communicating with Scotland Yard with regard to watching Old Wung’s opium den. Wu Ti may be found there. It is a difficult case, Mr. Hustings, and the further we go into it the more difficult it becomes,” the Inspector finished with a weary sigh and departed on his ghost-hunt.
Dick returned to find Aileen making ready to retire and remonstrated, “Oh don’t go. I want to talk.”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
“Our love”
“That must wait until things are more settled. Besides, I am tired after my long day in the train. Good night, Dick! And—and—there!” she kissed him in an amazing hurry, after a momentary pause, blushing delightfully at her boldness. He would gladly have returned that kiss with another—maybe with a round dozen or so, but that she laughingly evaded his embrace and flitted lightly out of the parlour.
“I wish this infernal case was at Jericho,” growled the disappointed lover, naturally exasperated by this thwarting of romance by realism. And, not greatly caring to smoke a lonely pipe by a dying fire, in his turn, he went to bed.
But not to sleep. Throughout the long, long night, he tossed and turned, got up and lay down, times without number: his nerves all on edge with the perplexity of the outlook. The trail was lost, he gloomily assured himself, unless Jimmy and his dog, casting about, could pick it up by happy chance. The boy might possibly return with useful information, since he must have some good reason to act so boldly, yet secretively. Anyhow, in this direction there was a hope—albeit a forlorn one—of a prosperous issue, and that was something comfortable to dwell upon. But, towards the small hours of the morning, Dick assured himself, after much cogitation, that the best way of arriving at helpful results was to speed up the arrest of Wu Ti. That mysterious personage, and Slanton’s enemy, according to Jenny Walton, would certainly return like a homing pigeon to the Whitechapel opium den. When discovered there, helpless in the fumes of the black smoke, he could easily be captured and forced to speak. Then there would be revelations. On this more of less satisfactory conclusion, the young man slept, shortly before the dawn, worn out with the mill-wheel monotony of recurrent thoughts.
The morning found him less haggard than might have been expected after so sleepless a night. This was owing to Nature exacting her dues, for he did not open his eyes until a late hour. It was eleven o’clock before he was up and bathed and shaved and dressed and seated at a solitary breakfast. Mrs. Webb brought this in with a message that Miss More had left the inn an hour earlier to visit the bungalow, and desired Mr. Hustings to follow. Irritated by his lethargy, Dick dispatched a hurried meal and obeyed. His long strides soon took him through the sunken lane, up to the bungalow, and into the neat garden. The door of the house stood wide open, so the young man had no hesitation in entering forthwith. Aileen was in the house, and as Aileen’s lover he did not intend to stand upon ceremony. Along the passage he strode masterfully and into the room, wherein he had interviewed Mrs. Jerr. There was the girl, pale and shaken: there was Chane, cold, aloof, watchful.
“Dick!” said Aileen, and her voice trembled, “this is my father.”