The Solitary Farm Part 23

"However, in spite of all, Edwin Lister is my father, so I shall speak as respectfully of him as I possibly can." He threw away a blade of gra.s.s he was chewing, and laughed ironically. Bella looked pained.

"Cyril! Cyril! your own father!"

"Quite so, dear. He is my father. I can say no more, and no less. As to what I know relative to this mystery, you shall hear."

The sky had clouded over, and the sun no longer shone. The lark was silent, and a chill wind seemed to breathe over the golden broom and the yellow blossoms of the gorze. Bella s.h.i.+vered, as the change of temperature seemed to suit with cruel exact.i.tude the cynical tones of her lover. She had never heard him talk in this way before, but then she knew very little about him, and absolutely nothing of his past life. Now she was about to hear it, and, from the hard expression of his face, she judged that the story he had to tell was not a pleasant one. As for Durgo, he waited silently, and nothing could be read of his feelings from the dark mask of his face. Edwin Lister had saved his life, and no matter what was said, Durgo did not intend to change his opinion of his master, as the finest man in the wide world.

"My mother died when I was young," said Cyril, after a pause, "and I was brought up by a maiden aunt. My father I rarely saw, as he was always travelling round the world in search of a fortune which he never seemed to find. Sometimes he returned to England, and treated me with careless affection, but I saw very little of him. But for my aunt I should have been utterly neglected. Bless her! she is dead," and he raised his hat.

"Poor Cyril!" murmured Bella affected by this picture of a dull childhood.

"Thank you, dear!" he said, taking her hand. "My aunt did everything for me out of her small income, and I don't think my father gave one penny towards my education."

"But surely----"

"No, dear!" said Cyril, interrupting her; "my aunt told me, on her death-bed, that she had done everything, so you can see that my father was only one to me in name."

"He was working to make your fortune in Nigeria," said Durgo quickly.

"So he said when he came home, but I have not seen that fortune yet.

Well, to continue; my aunt sent me to a public school, and afterwards to Oxford. I then became a journalist, and my aunt died, leaving me a trifle of money on which to live. My father came to London and borrowed that money--the princ.i.p.al of my small income--for one of his wild schemes, and I was left without one penny."

"It was your duty to a.s.sist your father," said Durgo uneasily.

"'Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings,'" quoted Cyril, with a side glance--"the missionaries have taught you well, Durgo."

"I am a Christian," said the negro proudly.

"So am I, in a way. However, I must get on with my confession. I saw my father at various intervals, and meanwhile earned my bread by reporting and writing articles, and all the rest of it. My father appeared at intervals, like the rolling stone which gathers no moss, and always borrowed. I did not grudge him the money, and he always said that he was about to make his fortune, which he never did."

"He will make it this time," said Durgo vigorously; "the treasure is certainly hidden in the Hinterland of Nigeria, and when we reach it----"

"Yes, when!" scoffed Cyril. "I don't believe in my father's schemes, I tell you. The last time he came home was five months ago."

"With me," said Durgo gravely; "but I remained near the docks, and my master, Edwin Lister, went to the grand part of the town, coming down to see me when he required my services."

Cyril nodded. "That sounds like my father," he said, with a shrug; "however, on this occasion he told me that he intended to hunt for buried treasure in Nigeria, and wanted money. He did not mention Captain Huxham, so I expect that he intended to keep that part of his business secret. But"--Cyril hesitated--"well, my father--that is, he--he--never mind," he broke off abruptly, "I can't tell you just now. But he wanted the sum of one thousand pounds, which I tried to get for him."

"Oh, Cyril! was that the money you mentioned?" asked Bella in dismay.

"Yes. The sum for which you thought I had killed your father," said Cyril, nodding; then seeing that she looked pained, he hastily added, "Never mind, dear, that is all over, and we understand one another thoroughly. I went to Paris, as you know, to get the money. When I returned I heard of the murder, and when I called at my father's lodgings in the West End could learn nothing of his whereabouts. When you mentioned the double, Bella, it was forced on my mind that my father must have been that person. But, as I could see no connection between my father and Captain Huxham, I refused to believe this. However, from what Durgo says, there seems to be no doubt but that my father did come by stealth to the Manor on that night, with the idea of getting the loan of money. Perhaps he and Captain Huxham quarreled, but it seems clear that my father did commit the murder with that sacrificial knife, since it came, as he did, from Nigeria."

"I never saw that knife," said Durgo abruptly.

"You did not see many things," said Cyril, rising, for he felt somewhat cramped. "My father was probably as secretive with you as he was with me. You are well educated, Durgo, and have your wits about you. Ask yourself if it is possible for two men to have come, on this particular occasion, from Nigeria, and----"

"Two did come," interrupted the negro--"myself and my master."

"Quite so; but if you are innocent, my father must be guilty."

Durgo shrugged his great shoulders. "For myself I think very little of killing anyone," said he gruffly, "but you white men think differently, so you should not believe your father guilty, unless----"

"Oh!" Cyril clenched his hand and grew pale. "Do you not think that I would give the world to believe him innocent? I love Miss Huxham, and this murder by my father places a barrier between us. If you knew all"--here Cyril broke off hastily, as he remembered that he was speaking to a black man. Already he regretted that he had said so much, but he had been carried away by the tide of his emotion. "The matter stands like this," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "My father has killed Captain Huxham, and has disappeared with one hundred pounds."

"But I thought that Mr. Pence----" began Bella, only to be interrupted.

"He is innocent," said Cyril hastily. "On the face of it, he is innocent. I go by the evidence of the knife from Nigeria, where Pence has never been, and by the fact that you saw my father, whom you mistook for me, enter the Manor about the time the crime was committed."

"I dare say you are right," said Bella vaguely, and regretted that she had so hastily condemned the preacher. After all, the truth of the legacy left by his aunt was not a fiction. "But what will you do now?"

"I ask the same question," remarked Durgo, sharply. "We are no nearer the truth than we have been."

Cyril looked in astonishment at the negro who spoke such excellent English, and so much to the point. Durgo, undoubtedly, in intellect was equal to, if not superior to, many Englishmen, and Lister saw in him a helpful coadjutor in solving the mystery. "We must work together to learn the whereabouts of my father," he said wearily, pa.s.sing his hand across his forehead. "It will be necessary to get him out of the country, if what we believe is correct. But it may be, that my father has crossed the Channel."

"If that is so, he will write to me," commented the negro; he paused, and then asked abruptly, "If you learn that your father is guilty?"

"I shall do my best to get him away from England. Why do you ask?"

Durgo turned away, after a piercing glance. "I thought, from what you hinted, that you would not be sorry to see your father hanged."

"Don't talk rubbish, man," said Lister sharply. "My father is my father, when all is said and done. I only trust that we are mistaken, and that he is not guilty of this brutal crime."

Durgo shrugged his ma.s.sive shoulders. "As to that, I care very little.

From what I have heard of Captain Huxham in my own country, he was not a good man. He is better out of the world than in it."

Bella grew crimson. "You speak of my father," she said angrily.

The man bowed politely. "I ask your pardon, missy!" Then he turned to Cyril ceremoniously. "I am stopping at 'The Chequers Inn,' at Marshely,"

he informed him; "so if you will call there we can speak about this matter. Women should have nothing to do with such affairs. They are for men."

Lister frowned, as he did not approve of the superior way in which the negro talked. However, Durgo gave him no chance of making a remark, but swung off with a noiseless jungle step. Cyril watched him pa.s.s out of sight, and confessed that the man puzzled him. In spite of his barbaric origin and black skin and rough dress, Durgo spoke and acted like a gentleman, though he certainly had been somewhat rude regarding the feminine s.e.x. "Yet I like him," commented Cyril half to himself; "he seems to be a square chap, and to have brains. He is not the usual Christy minstrel of Africa. Humph! After all, I dare say that if you scratched him you would find the savage. His devotion to my father does him credit. I wonder"--here he was interrupted by a low sob at his elbow, and turned to find Bella in tears. "My dearest, what is the matter?" he asked in dismay.

"Can you ask?" she moaned despairingly. "If what you think is true, we must part for ever."

"Don't look at the worst, but hope for the best," he entreated; "we can't be sure that my father is guilty!"

"You contradict yourself," she said, wiping her eyes.

"I wish I could; I am trying to think that my father is innocent. But I do not know. My father has been my evil genius all my life."

A thought occurred to Bella. "Why did your father require one thousand pounds?"

Cyril looked at her sideways. "I did not like to speak out before Durgo," he said hesitatingly, "but the fact is, my father forged a cheque for that sum."

CHAPTER XIII