CHAPTER VI "THE CHANGELING"

While the tower at "The Pines" was being pulled down, Stephen paid frequent visits to Saxham. Sometimes Dr. Herrick went with him, and together they would go through that wonderful house. Marsh had never before been inside it, and he was amazed at the luxury. His life had been so simple, so deprived of all beauty, that his artistic temperament had been starved from lack of nutriment. Highly gifted with the imaginative faculty, possessed of a keen perception of loveliness, Stephen revelled in the beautiful things which filled every corner of the house.

"You will have to get a wife to share it all," said Herrick one day after his conversation with Mrs. Marsh. He looked keenly at the young man as he spoke.

Stephen however betrayed no emotion. "I suppose I shall have to marry some day," he said coolly. "If I were to die without children my cousin would get the property."

"I did not know you had a cousin?" said Herrick, rather astonished.

"I believe so. A distant cousin, although I have never seen him. My mother can tell you all about him. It seems that Colonel Carr's father had a younger brother who was turned out by his father. He went to America and married there. Then he died leaving a widow and a daughter. The widow died and the daughter married some one in the States. I do not know the name but my mother may. I believe there is a son, but whether he is in America or in England I cannot say."

"Humph!" said Jim, "very interesting. I must ask your mother about this. If you secure the property by complying with the conditions of the will, it will be yours entirely. Even if you do not marry, you will be able to leave it to whomsoever you please."

"I should leave it to my cousin, whatever his name is," said Stephen in a careless tone. "It seems to me that he has the right to enjoy it after me, since he is of the Carr blood."

"Always provided you do not marry and have children!"

"Of course. But there is time enough to think of marriage. I want my mother to be sole mistress of this beautiful place for a time. She has had such a dose of poverty that I should like her to taste luxury."

"You are not in love then?" asked Herrick in a jocular tone.

"I don't know!" this time Stephen flushed. "I'll tell you when I am. Meantime let me enjoy the present. I'll soon have this tower down and the house put to rights. Then my mother can come. I hope you will stay also Herrick," he added rather anxiously. "I don't want to lose my friend you know."

"It all depends," replied Jim with a flush. He was thinking of Ida. "I will remain until your mother is quite well. You may be sure of that."

Nothing more was said at the time. Herrick could not be certain that Stephen was in love with Ida or that the girl had set her heart on Marsh. They were excellent friends, but in spite of Herrick's lynx eye he could not learn if they understood one another. As a matter of fact they did; but neither of them wished to hurry matters. Both felt that Mrs. Marsh would have to be consulted before anything was settled, and therefore waited until she recovered her health and was established at "The Pines."

Mrs. Marsh slowly regained her strength, and almost dispensed with Herrick's attendance. She never recurred to the subject of Ida or of Frisco after that one interview, although Herrick several times tried to make her speak. Evidently she knew something about the man--perhaps had heard the Colonel speak of him. But whatever it was she kept her own counsel. There was no need that she should do otherwise. Perhaps if Frisco had made his appearance she might have been induced to speak out, but the ex-sailor (as Herrick learned he was) had vanished completely. He was traced to Paddington station, and after that all sign of the trail was lost. Like a rain drop he had disappeared into the mighty sea of London life, and in spite of all offers of reward not a hint could be gained of his whereabouts.

It was generally considered that he was the criminal, most people holding that he had shot the Colonel unawares. Napper's evidence went to prove that the two men were on bad terms with one another, and probably Frisco excited by rum and a sense of his wrongs, whatever these might be, had returned to "The Pines" with the intention of righting himself. No one entertained the idea of a duel having been fought. Only Mrs. Marsh gave Frisco that grace. Herrick considered her theory a feasible one, and felt that it was confirmed by the fact of the revolver found in the dead man's hand being loaded. If Frisco had fired first, the Colonel would have fallen with his weapon undischarged, and this would account for the six chambers being filled. But what it would not account for was the fact of one bullet being different to the remaining three. That was a puzzle, and Dr. Jim could in nowise arrive at the solution of the problem, although he thought over it a great deal.

Bess Endicotte was the only person who insisted on Frisco's innocence. She declared that the man was too devoted to his master to kill him, and that there could be no reason for the crime. This she explained to Herrick a week after the interview with Mrs. Marsh. Both Herrick and Marsh had come over to Biffstead to spend the afternoon, intending to return to Beorminster by the last bus, somewhere about ten o'clock. It was characteristic of Stephen's simple habits that he still went to and fro by the public vehicle, although he could now have afforded a cart, a horse, a bicycle, or even (had he so chosen) a motor-car. But before taking full advantage of his new position and of his wealth, he wanted his mother to be well enough to direct matters. She had held him in subjection for so many years, that he hesitated to do anything without her approval. So Herrick and Stephen came to Saxham by the bus, or used their legs. For the sake of his health Herrick made Marsh walk as much as possible. The man was visionary and it was necessary to shake him into something like practical life by exercise.

On arriving at the Grange, the two young men, found the whole family at home. There was Ida tall and beautiful who welcomed the visitors in her usual placid way. She was of the Junoesque type, stately and maternal, moving like a large goddess amongst minor mortals. Bess, who was all alert and vivacious, was accustomed to make fun of Ida's stately ways. "The Sacred White Cow," said Bess folding her hands, and when Ida remonstrated pointed out that the term meant no disrespect. "Juno was called ox-eyed, and I'm sure the cow is a most beautiful animal," said she inconsequently. "Why should a comparison to a useful animal be taken as an insult? If I said you were like a fawn, or a stag, or a swan, you would be quite pleased. But because I call you a lovely snowy cow--you _are_ a beautiful cow," broke off Bess with a shrug, "the sacred white cow. There!"

"Really Bess, you are getting more dreadful every day," cried Ida helplessly, "please don't call me this horrid name when Stephen and Dr. Herrick come."

"Dr. Herrick would understand; he is a scholar. However I won't call you anything but Juno--will that do?"

"I should prefer to be called by my proper name!"

Bess made a mouth but yielded the point. She was devotedly fond of Ida, and always said that her beauty would raise the family into affluence once more. "My _brains_ may do something," she said, "but Ida's looks will attract all the men of wealth and position."

"I do not want any of them," protested Ida with a blush. "Do let me see after my own future, Bess darling."

Undeniably Bess was the cleverest of the family. She was so bright and quick, and possessed of such indomitable perseverance, that she easily exercised a despotic sway over the weaker vessels. Ida looked after the house, but Bess was the real head who paid the bills, and bullied the tradesmen, and saw that everything was in order. Even Frank gave way before her. But Frank was rather like Ida in the matter of bovine simplicity. He was a big handsome fellow, never out of temper. When he was not looking after the farm he strolled in the fields, and searched into the secret workings of Nature. Sometimes he wrote articles for the papers and magazines. A Gilbert White of the Parish of Saxham, that is what Frank Endicotte was. Some of his articles had even been accepted in London, and when he could be induced to write, he usually made a few guineas. But Frank was lazy, and it needed all the scolding of Bess to make him do his duty in the way of literary work. So far as the farm went he was never idle, as he loved an open air-life, and took a genuine interest in stock, top drainage and crops.

Florence, who was now home on her weekly holiday, bounced out on Dr. Jim and Stephen as they came up the avenue. She was a girl in her teens, more like Bess than any of the rest, and bubbled over with animal spirits. This was her last quarter at school, and now her hair was turned up and she had arrived at the dignity of long frocks. But at heart she was still a schoolgirl, and on this especial day had let down her long hair much to the dismay of Ida who was nothing if not conventional.

"Oh, Stephen!" she cried clasping him by the arm. "I am so glad you have come. Frank is writing, Bess is typing, and Ida is making a new dress. I have no one to amuse me."

"Where is the Changeling?" asked Stephen laughing.

"Sidney! Oh, he has a holiday, and has gone over to see 'The Pines.' You know how fond he is of going there. He was the only one of us that was not afraid of the Colonel."

"I don't think Bess was."

"No. It would take an army to frighten Bess. How are you Dr. Herrick? I am rude not to have spoken to you before. Come inside, and wake us all up. I am sure this place is like the palace of the Sleeping Beauty."

"Suppose we go over to 'The Pines' and have afternoon tea in one of the rooms," suggested Stephen. "There is no food there, but we can take what we want from here, and have a picnic."

"Jolly!" cried Flo the schoolgirl, "there are kettles and tea-pots and all the rest of the things we want at 'The Pines' I suppose?"

"The house is remarkably well furnished," said Herrick laughing. "It is a good idea; three o'clock. We had better go at once."

The others entered into the scheme with avidity, and thus it was that Herrick found himself walking beside Bess to "The Pines." Not without a pang had he relinquished Ida to his friend; but bearing in mind the confidence reposed in him by Mrs. Marsh, he desired to act as fairly as possible. Besides he was growing fond of Bess. She was such a bright companion, and so clever. At first she was disinclined to speak of the Colonel and Frisco, but gradually became more outspoken. In his quiet way Herrick had a wonderful gift of making people talk. "I wouldn't say it to any one but you Dr. Jim," said Bess--for so she now called him, "but there is something about you that makes me believe in you. I think you must have a kind of daemonic influence like Goethe."

"I am sympathetic if that is what you mean," said Jim. "I took to you immediately I saw you in the inn parlour."

Bess blushed a little through her tanned skin, and cast a keen look at the big man. Somehow Herrick was conscious of that look, and wondered what it was for. Perhaps with a woman's quickness Bess divined that he admired Ida and did not approve of it. However she was too clever to say anything if such was the case, but went on to talk of Colonel Carr and Frisco.

"I liked Frisco," she said in her quick decisive way, "he was a bad man and some of the things he told me he had done were really dreadful; but somehow he was attractive. Much better than the Colonel."

"I thought you liked the Colonel," said Jim with a side glance.

"Well you see it was this way," replied the girl laughing. "I was rather bold in introducing myself to him, and he was so kind that I forgave him his bad reputation."

"How was it you met him?"

"I wanted some copy for the Chronicle and did not know what to write about. Something had to be done, so I kept my ears open for an idea. Ida happened to mention something about 'The Pines,' so I thought it would be nice to see all the wonderful furniture that was in the house. Would you believe it," she added lightly, "I went straight to 'The Pines' and asked to see Colonel Carr? At first he refused, but I was so persistent that he let me come in. I told him frankly what I wanted and how hard up I was for an article. He was so taken back by my assurance that he said I could describe 'The Pines,' provided I did so under a fictitious name. Then he took me all over the house himself; gave me tea in the big drawing-room and sent me off. I got a good article out of what he showed me, but of course I said that it was a description of a millionaire's palace in Park Lane. Nobody believed that. I think the Colonel guessed they wouldn't. He just let me write the article to make the people's mouths water with telling about things he would not let them see."

"A nice Christian spirit!" remarked Jim grimly. "Ah! but you must remember that he was treated very badly by the country people when he came back from America."

"Oh! Then America was the place of his exile?"

"So Frisco said; Mexico and Peru. The two had many adventures and used to tell me about them. I made up several stories out of the material I got from them."

"You called to see the Colonel again then?"

"Why not! He was always polite, and I wasn't a bit afraid of him. Oh, I know he had a dreadful reputation, but he was never rude to me. Poor man," said Bess letting her eyes rest pensively on the house which they were now approaching, "I think he was very weary of living alone."

"Were the Colonel and Frisco good friends?"

"The very best. Frisco adored the Colonel, who had saved his life. Both of them seem rather afraid of---" here Bess was silent.

"Of what?"

"I hardly know. But they hinted at some enemy who would kill the pair of them if he discovered their whereabouts. That was what Frisco meant at the public-house, when he hinted about his master not living long. If Frisco had given information, the enemy would have killed the Colonel."

"I wonder if Frisco did, and then went away to escape the consequences?"

"No!" said Bess thoughtfully. "Frisco would have been killed also. I think myself that the enemy found out the Colonel and murdered him; then Frisco ran away to save his own life."

"Humph! That is one way of looking at the matter. Did you hear if any stranger was seen in the neighbourhood on the night of the murder?"

Bess looked quickly at her companion. "No," she said with some hesitation. "I never heard of anyone. Besides it would have come out in the evidence."

"You have no idea who killed the man?"

"Certainly not. If I knew I should tell. There was something--I'll tell you that later."

"Tell it to me now!"

"I can't do that until I get my facts together," said Bess firmly, "Look here Dr. Jim, I intend to find out the truth about this mystery. From something the Colonel let drop, I believe it is concerned with the money he came back with."

"From South America?"

"Or from North America," replied Miss Endicotte musingly, "I am not quite clear. But I'll ask you to help me when I get my facts together."

"You rouse my curiosity. Tell me now what you----"

"I said no and I mean no," retorted Bess setting her mouth firmly. "You will be here for some time yet. If you go away I shall write to you. I am sure we shall find out who killed the Colonel, and I am equally sure that Frisco is not the man."

"Well. Have it your own way. Tell me one thing. How is it the Colonel was so anxious about the preservation of his body?"

"Ah! Now you are asking more than I can tell you."

"You know though," said Jim looking at her sharply.

"I think--I am not sure. Wait, Dr. Jim. In good time you shall know all that I know. This is a romance in real life."

"A tragedy rather," said Herrick grimly, "mind you keep your promise."

"You can be sure I shall keep it," said Bess nodding and for the time being the matter ended. But Jim was considerably puzzled. How she could have got hold of information of which the police knew nothing was difficult to say. All the same he had more confidence in the brains of Bess than in those of Inspector Bridge.

As it was Saturday afternoon, the workmen had knocked off for the day. By this time the tower was half demolished, and curious it looked in its dilapidated state, with the pile of débris round about its base. The visitors looked at it for some time, then went into the house. In the kitchen off the dining-room they found an old woman who agreed to boil the kettle for them. After some deliberation they fixed on the library as the best place for the meal. On entering they found a boy reading in the corner under the window.

"You here Sidney?" said Ida amazed. "How can you come here without asking Stephen's permission?"

"Stephen doesn't mind I'm sure," replied Sidney with a smile, and Stephen assured him that he was welcome. While the others were talking and admiring the place Dr. Jim stood looking at the boy who was leaning back on the sofa taken up with his own thoughts. There was something peculiar about Sidney Endicotte, which procured him the name of the Changeling. This was given to him in fun by Bess; but many people in the village really believed that he was half a fairy if not a whole one. This reputation rose from the fact that the lad possessed that gift which in Scotland is called the second sight. No one in Saxham who saw Master Sidney's large blue eyes fixed upon him or her but turned pale. In Italy he would have been credited with the Evil eye, and indeed old Petronella always crossed herself when she chanced to meet him. Once or twice Sidney had foretold the death of those who had afterwards died. Thus he had an uncanny reputation.

He was a small thin boy looking much older than his years. Although he was but sixteen, yet on occasions he looked quite twenty. Pale, thin-faced, with large blue eyes, and a curious insistent gaze, he sometimes made even his own family feel uncomfortable. Then he had such peculiar habits. At night he was generally wakeful, and he slept much in the day-time particularly in cold weather. Sometimes he would slip out of his bedroom by the window and remain away for hours. When questioned where he had been he used vaguely to answer "In the wood." The doctors who had seen him could make nothing of him. He was healthy in his own way, his head was clear, and Corn reported that he learned rapidly. But about him hung a glamour not of this world. He might have been a male Kilmeny who had returned from fairy-land. Bess sometimes called him Thomas the Rhymer. When she did so Sidney would nod and laugh in so strange a way, that Bess herself grew frightened, and dropped the name.

"How do you feel to-day Sidney?" asked Jim sitting down beside the boy.

"Not very well," he replied vaguely. "I feel that I am not myself. I came here to read myself to sleep."

"Why did you want to do that?"

"Because I could go away then. I always do when I feel like this."

"Like what?" Jim was puzzled. The boy was by no means mad, yet he talked in a manner quite beyond the comprehension of a sane person. Jim had never met anyone like him before and was much taken up with the oddity of the case from a medical point of view.

"I can't explain; you would not understand," said Sidney. "Please leave me alone, Dr. Herrick."

At this moment Bess called to Jim from the other side of the room and he hurried across to her. Sidney remained vaguely staring into nothingness. After a time his eyes closed and he looked as though he were fast asleep. The others gathered round the tea table, and prepared to eat. Bess would not allow her brother to be awakened.

"It makes him ill if he is roused suddenly," she said. "He will wake up himself and be all right."

"It doesn't look to me like a natural sleep," said Jim anxiously. "How pale he is! Don't you think----"

"No," said Ida sharply, "I agree with Bess. Sidney had better be left alone. He gets into these states at times. Let us have tea. I am so hungry, and it's past five."

"A quarter past," said Stephen glancing at his watch.

They began to eat and drink, laughing and enjoying themselves. No one took any notice of Sidney, and even Jim's attention was distracted. The boy remained on the sofa, leaning back, white as snow, and drawing long deep breaths. He looked like a dead person.

After a time the conversation languished. The tea was done, the food was finished, and they talked about packing up to go. "Poor Sidney's tea is quite cold," said Ida. "I really think we might wake him now. Oh, he is coming to himself. Wake up Sidney, and have some tea. It is nearly six and we must be getting home."

The boy's face had now a delicate pink tinge on it, and he seemed more himself than he had been when he fell asleep. For a moment he was silent. Then he looked slowly round at those who were present, until his blue eyes fixed themselves calmly on Stephen.

"Mr. Marsh!" he said quietly, "you had better go home. Your mother is dead."

Ida gave a cry and Stephen turned pale. Bess alone retained sufficient presence of mind to cross over to the boy and shake him, "Sidney, what do you mean by saying such a horrible thing."

"It is true," replied the boy quietly, "Mrs. Marsh is dead. I have just seen her. She died at half-past five. Go home Stephen."

Without a word Marsh rushed from the room. He knew of Sidney's prophecies, and dreaded lest this one should be true. He made for Beorminster as fast as he could go, and was met by Petronella.

"My padrona is dead!" said the old woman.