The Bittermeads Mystery Part 2

There was a sharp sound, like a thin, dry twig snapping beneath a careless foot.

It was one of his ribs breaking beneath the dreadful and intolerable pressure of Dunn's enormous grip. But neither of the combatants heard or knew, and with one last effort the big man put forth all his vast strength in a final attempt to bear his enemy down.

Dunn resisted still, resisted, though the veins stood out like cords on his brow, though a little trickle of blood crept from the corner of his mouth and though his heart swelled almost to bursting.

There was a sound of many waters in his ears, the darkness all around grew shot with little flames, he could hear some one breathing very noisily and he was not sure whether this were himself or his adversary till he realized that it was both of them. With one sudden, almost superhuman effort, he heaved his great adversary up, but had not strength enough left to do more than let him slip from his grasp to fall on the ground, and with the effort he himself dropped forward on his hands and knees, just as a lantern shone at a distance and a voice cried:

"This way, Tom. Master John, Master John, where are you?"

CHAPTER III. A COINCIDENCE

Another voice answered from near by and Dunn scrambled hurriedly to his feet.

He had but a moment in which to decide what to do, for these new arrivals were coming at a run and would be upon him almost instantly if he stayed where he was.

That they were friends of the man he had just overthrown and whose huge bulk lay motionless in the darkness at his feet, seemed plain, and it also seemed plain to him that the moment was not an opportune one for offering explanations.

Swiftly he decided to slip away into the darkness. What had happened might be cleared up later when he knew more and was more sure of his ground; at present he must think first, he told himself, of the success of his mission.

Physically, he was greatly exhausted and his gait was not so steady nor his progress so silent and skillful as it had been before, as now he hurried away from the scene of the combat.

But the two new-comers made no attempt to pursue him and indeed did not seem to give his possible presence in the vicinity even a thought, as with many muttered exclamations of dismay and anger, they stooped over the body of his prostrate enemy.

It was evident they recognized him at once, and that he was the "Mr.

John" whose name they had called, for so they spoke of him to each other as they busied themselves about him.

"I expect I've been a fool again," Dunn thought to himself ruefully, as from a little distance, well-sheltered in the darkness, he crouched upon the ground and listened and watched. "I may have ruined everything. Any one but a fool would have asked him what he meant when he hit out like that instead of flying into a rage and hitting back the way I did. Most likely it was some mistake when he said he knew who I was and what I wanted--at least if it wasn't--I hope I haven't killed him, anyhow."

Secure in the protection the dark night afforded him, he remained sufficiently near at hand to be able to a.s.sure himself soon that his overthrown adversary was certainly not killed, for now he began to express himself somewhat emphatically concerning the manner in which the two new-comers were ministering to him.

Presently he got to his feet and, with one of them supporting him on each side, began to limp away, and Dunn followed them, though cautiously and at a distance, for he was still greatly exhausted and in neither the mood nor the condition for running unnecessary risks.

The big man, Mr. John, as the others called him, seemed little inclined for speech, but the others talked a good deal, subsiding sometimes when he told them gruffly to be quiet but invariably soon beginning again their expressions of sympathy and vows of vengeance against his unknown a.s.sailant.

"How many of them do you think there were, Mr. John, sir?" one asked presently. "I'll lay you marked a fair sight of the villains."

"There was only one man," Mr. John answered briefly.

"Only one?" the other repeated in great surprise. "For the Lord's sake, Mr. John--only one? Why, there ain't any one man between here and Lunnon town could stand up to you, sir, in a fair tussle."

"Well, he did," Mr. John answered. "He had the advantage, he took me by surprise, but I never felt such a grip in my life."

"Lor', now, think of that," said the other in tones in which surprise seemed mingled with a certain incredulity. "It don't seem possible, but for sure, then, he don't come from these here parts, that I'll stand to."

"I knew that much before," retorted Mr. John. "I said all the time they were outsiders, a London gang very likely. You'll have to get Dr.

Rawson, Bates. I don't know what's up, but I've a beast of a pain in my side. I can hardly breathe."

Bates murmured respectful sympathy as they came out of the shelter of the trees, and crossing some open ground, reached a road along the further side of which ran a high brick wall.

In this, nearly opposite the spot where they emerged on the road, was a small door which one of the men opened and through which they pa.s.sed and locked it behind them, leaving Dunn without.

He hesitated for a moment, half-minded to scale the wall and continue on the other side of it to follow them.

Calculating the direction in which the village of Ramsdon must lie, he turned that way and had gone only a short distance when he was overtaken by a pedestrian with whom he began conversation by asking for a light for his pipe.

The man seemed inclined to be conversational, and after a few casual remarks, Dunn made an observation on the length of the wall they were pa.s.sing and to the end of which they had just come.

"Must be a goodish-sized place in there," he said. "Whose is it?"

"Oh, that there's Ramsdon Place," the other answered. "Mr. John Clive lives there now his father's dead."

Dunn stood still in the middle of the road.

"Who? What?" he stammered. "Who--who did you say?"

"Mr. John Clive," the other repeated. "Why--what's wrong about that?"

"Nothing, nothing," Dunn answered, but his voice shook a little with what seemed almost fear, and behind the darkness of the friendly night his face had become very pale. "Clive--John Clive, you say? Oh, that's impossible."

"Needn't believe it if you don't want to," grumbled the other. "Only what do you want asking questions for if you thinks folks tells lies when they answers them?"

"I didn't mean that, of course not," exclaimed Dunn hurriedly, by no means anxious to offend the other. "I'm very sorry, I only meant it was impossible it should be the same Mr. John Clive I knew once, though I think he came from about here somewhere. A little, middle-aged man, I mean, quite bald and wears gla.s.ses?"

"Oh, that ain't this 'un," answered the other, his good humour quite restored. "This is a young man and tremendous big. I ain't so small myself, but he tops me by a head and shoulders and so he does most hereabouts. Strong, too, with it, there ain't so many would care to stand up against him, I can tell you. Why, they do say he caught two poachers in the wood there last month and brought 'em out one under each arm like a pair of squealing babes."

"Did he, though?" said Dunn. "Take some doing, that, and I daresay the rest of the gang will try to get even with him for it."

"Well, they do say as there's been threats," the other agreed. "But what I says is as Mr. John can look after hisself all right. There was a tale as a man had been dodging after him at night, but all he said when they told him, was as if he caught any one after him he would thrash them within an inch of their lives."

"Serve them right, too," exclaimed Dunn warmly.

Evidently this explained, in part at least, what had recently happened.

Mr. Clive, finding himself being followed, had supposed it was one of his poaching enemies and had at once attempted to carry out his threat he had made.

Dunn told himself, at any rate, the error would have the result of turning all suspicion away from him, and yet he still seemed very disturbed and ill at ease.

"Has Mr. Clive been here long?" he asked.

"It must be four or five years since his father bought the place,"

answered his new acquaintance. "Then, when the old man was killed a year ago, Mr. John inherited everything."

"Old Mr. Clive was killed, was he?" asked Dunn, and his voice sounded very strange in the darkness. "How was that?"

"Accident to his motor-car," the other replied. "I don't hold with them things myself--give me a good horse, I say. People didn't like the old man much, and some say Mr. John's too fond of taking the high hand. But don't cross him and he won't cross you, that's his motto and there's worse."