CHAPTER XIX DURBAN SPEAKS AT LAST

Beatrice did not remain long with Orchard, after she had learned how Maud Paslow became possessed of the Obi necklace. She was convinced that the old shepherd was speaking the truth, as he did not appear to have sufficient brains to be inventive, and, moreover, was rapidly growing senile. But on her way down to the Weald she thought it strange that the necklace should have been discovered by the man, round the neck of a sheep. Who had placed the gems there? and why had they been attached to the animal? An attempt to solve this problem lasted Beatrice all the way to The Camp.

It was now nearly ten o'clock, but Beatrice was too excited to think about breakfast. She found the great gates of The Camp wide open, and indeed since Alpenny's death they had been rarely closed. The gardens looked as beautiful as ever, but the railway carriages appeared a little deserted and forlorn. Beatrice walked at once towards the kitchen carriage, where she hoped to find Durban preparing his morning meal. He certainly was there, and with him was a red-headed, dirty little man in whom she recognised Waterloo.

"Oh!" said Beatrice, recoiling from the door, for the mere sight of that evil face made her sick.

"Blimme!" cried Waterloo, turning his rat-like eyes on her, "if it ain't old Alpenny's gal!"

"Hold your tongue," said Durban in a low, fierce voice.--"What is it, missy?"

"I have come to ask you for some breakfast," said Beatrice, retreating still further, so as to get away from Waterloo, "and to have a chat."

"We'll all have a jaw," cried Waterloo enthusiastically; "we're all pals in the same boat."

"What does this horrible creature mean?" asked Beatrice, looking appealingly at her old servant.

"'Orrible critture!" yelped Waterloo. "Well, I likes that, I does. Oh yuss, not at all, by no means. Why, me an' your par were old pals."

"Are you talking of Colonel Hall or of Mr. Alpenny?" asked Beatrice, taking a sudden step towards the man.

The result of her remark and action surprised her not a little, and indeed seemed to surprise Durban also. "Colonel 'All!" muttered Waterloo, and his red hair rose on end over a rapidly paling face. "Oh! my stars, if you knows about him, it's time fur me to cut my lucky."

"You know something?" cried Beatrice.

"I know as old Alpenny murdered--murdered---- Here!" cried Waterloo, with a snarl, "you lemme out!" and before Beatrice could stop him--she was blocking the doorway--he had darted under her arm, and was running noiselessly out of The Camp. Apparently he was frightened out of his wits. Yet the girl wondered that so bold a thief, and a man accustomed to being in tight places, should be seized by so sudden an access of genuine terror.

"What does it mean?" she asked Durban, but making no attempt to follow the man.

"I know no more than you do, missy."

"Durban," said Beatrice, entering the kitchen and taking a seat, "you have kept me in the dark long enough. You ran away just as this man has done, when I asked you about the Obi necklace. Now you must speak out, as I am leaving Hurstable."

"Leaving this place, missy?" said Durban, startled. "Are you not to marry Mr. Paslow?"

"How can I marry him when he has a wife living?"

Durban did not seem to be so surprised at this news as she expected. "So you have found that out, missy?" he said slowly.

"You knew about it?"

"Yes, I knew; but I thought--I thought that she was dead."

"No. She pretended to die, for her own purposes. In fact she intended, in that way, to get rid of Vivian, and marry an American millionaire. But she is alive,--her double was buried."

"Miss Arthur!" cried the servant quickly.

"You know that also?"

"I know everything. But I thought that Mrs. Paslow was dead, and so I wanted you to marry Mr. Paslow and be happy."

"Durban," said the girl quietly, "the discovery of this, which you should have told me, alters the position of myself and Mr. Paslow. I can no longer remain at Convent Grange. To-morrow I go up to town to see Lady Watson."

Durban's face took on its greenish pallor. He made one stride forward and spoke to Beatrice with dry lips. "You must not; you dare not. Do not go, missy."

"Take your hand from my arm, Durban," said Beatrice sharply; and when he did so she resumed in hard tones, "Why should I not go?"

"Oh! how can I tell you?" Durban clapped his hands together in a helpless sort of way, like a great child. "She is bad: she will do you harm. She has got Alpenny's money, which ought to be yours. For all I know, she may have the Obi necklace also. I hope she has, for its possession will bring her the worst of luck."

"She has not got the necklace, Durban. Mrs. Paslow has it. Yes, you may well look surprised, Durban. Mr. Paslow and myself saw it on her neck last night, when she came to see him and prevent our marriage."

"How could she have got it?" murmured Durban, but more to himself than to his mistress.

"She obtained it from her father."

"Old Orchard the butler?"

"Old Orchard the shepherd. I saw him this morning. He recognised the necklace as having belonged to my father--to Colonel Hall; it seems the setting is peculiar."

"But how did it come into his possession, missy?"

"He found it on the neck of a sheep."

Durban did not look at all surprised. "I thought he would," was his strange reply.

"You thought he would what?"

"I thought he would find it there."

"Durban, did you know it was on a sheep's neck?"

"Yes. I--well, missy, I may as well make a clean breast of it--I placed it on the sheep's neck myself."

"You? And where did you get it?"

"Come with me, missy, and I'll show you."

In silent amazement Beatrice followed the stout man out of the kitchen. He led the way across the lawn to the counting-house, and opened the door with a key which he took from the pocket of his white suit. She beheld the counting-house in exactly the same state as she had seen it when Alpenny had insisted on the marriage with Major Ruck. But much water had flowed under Westminster Bridge since that time, which now seemed so far away.

"Missy," said Durban, pointing to the seat in front of the mahogany desk, "sit down and let us talk. I have much to tell you, for the time has come when you must know what I know."

"Why have you kept information from me all this time?" said Beatrice, sitting down, while Durban stood at the door, his bulky form blocking up all exit.

"Why? Missy, I ask you, would it have been right for me, who love you, to overshadow your young life by telling you of the murder of your father, of the rascality of Alpenny, and of the terrible position in which Mr. Paslow was placed?" Durban spoke vehemently, and with the very greatest earnestness.

"I am not a child," said Beatrice. "I should have been told."

"You were a child for a long time, and I loved you," said Durban with exquisite sadness. "I wished to keep you in ignorance of the evil that surrounded you. I wished you to marry Mr. Paslow, and go away, never to learn what the evil was. But, I knew--for I learned it from Major Ruck, who wished to marry you and get the Obi necklace--that Mr. Paslow had married Maud Orchard (or Maud Carr, as she calls herself in town). When she died--or pretended to die--I thought that all would be well, and so kept silence. But you were determined to search out these matters for yourself. I placed no bar in the way of your doing so, as I thought that perhaps you were the chosen instrument to put all right. Since, unaided, you have found out so much, I think you are that instrument, so I am now going to make much plain, which has hitherto puzzled you."

Beatrice crossed her feet and hands. "I shall be glad to hear what you have to say," she said coldly.

"Ah, missy, do not be angry," said Durban caressingly; "it was love that made me keep you in the dark."

He was so genuinely moved that a large tear rolled down his dark face, and a profound emotion stirred him to the depths of his being. Beatrice was annoyed at the way in which she had been treated, but she was just enough to recognise that the man had kept silence out of pure affection. Impulsively stretching out her hand, she caught his, which hung listlessly by his side, and shook it heartily. "I believe you love me, Durban, and that you acted for the best."

"Oh! missy--missy!"

"Hush! Be quiet, and tell me what you know."

Durban wiped his face with the duster which he carried, and, leaning against the door, spoke slowly and to the point. Indeed, he seemed glad that after his years of silence he was at last able to confess freely, and to a sympathetic listener.

"I was born in the West Indies, missy," he said, "and knew your mother and father----"

"You told me that you were born on my mother's estate. Begin from the time you came to Convent Grange."

"Very well, missy. I came to Convent Grange with my master to see Mr. Paslow's father, who was an old friend of the Colonel's. Master and your mother had quarrelled. He was severe, and kept your mother too quiet. She liked gaiety and pleasure, yet so severely had he trained her that she was always silent and demure. She came down with you and your nurse for one night. Then my master was murdered, as you know."

"Can you tell who murdered him?"

"No, missy." Durban spoke very earnestly. "I swear that I do not know who did that. But your mother was suspected. She cleared herself; but people still looked at her askance, so she changed her name to Hedge and married Mr. Alpenny. Here"--Durban glanced out of doors"--in this quiet place she was safe, and here she lived until she died, worn out with grief, a few months later. Mr. Alpenny then sent you to Miss Shallow at Brighton, and you know all your life since then."

"Why did my mother marry Mr. Alpenny?"

"Because she had the Obi necklace. Your father gave it to her, she told me."

"And Major Ruck said the same thing."

"It must be true, then," muttered Durban, half to himself, "although I was never sure. But Alpenny said that he would accuse your mother of the murder unless she married him. She did so, and then died. Alpenny kept the necklace, and, being fond of jewels, he could not make up his mind to part with it even for money, of which he was equally fond. He kept it by him in this place."

"In the safe?"

"No, missy. The safe--as Mr. Alpenny, an associate of thieves, knew very well--was the first place where thieves would look. See here, missy"--Durban advanced to the wall, and pulled aside the faded red rep which hung there as a kind of arras--"here is a pocket behind this, made in the rep. The necklace was kept here, for no one would think of feeling the hangings. It was safer here than in the safe."

Beatrice examined the pocket, and admired the ingenuity of the hiding-place, which--so to speak--was so public that even the most expert thief would never think of looking here for a valuable necklace of gems. An ordinary man would have kept the jewels in the safe; but Mr. Alpenny, who must have got the hint from Poe's story of "The Purloined Letter," chose the least likely place to be searched.

"And you found the necklace here, Durban?"

"Yes, missy. I will tell you how I did. Mr. Alpenny was a member, and the chief one, of the Black Patch Gang."

"Durban! Then you wrote that paper which was on Mr. Paslow's desk?"

"I did, missy," he admitted quietly. "Mr. Alpenny, wanting all the money to himself, had several times played the Gang false. Twice he was warned, and was told that at the third warning he would be killed."

"I remember how Mr. Alpenny shivered when Vivian spoke," said Beatrice, recalling the scene; "and he spoke of the third warning."

"I was told to give him the warning," said Durban calmly; "and I wanted to make Mr. Paslow use it, in the hope that Mr. Alpenny would be frightened into consenting to your marriage with Mr. Paslow."

"But you knew that Maud Paslow was alive?"

"She pretended to die twice," said Durban, "and I was equally deceived along with Mr. Paslow. He did not know what the warning of the Black Patch Gang meant; but I did, and made Mr. Paslow unconsciously use it. But it proved useless."

"Not to Mr. Alpenny. He was murdered."

"Yes, missy, and I believe by a member of the Black Patch Gang; but I do not know who. Listen, missy. I am about to place my life in your hands!" and the man looked cautiously round.

"Durban!" she exclaimed, frightened, "are you going to tell me that you were a member of the Gang?"

"No, missy, I was not. They tried to get me to join, but being an honest man, I refused. But I held my tongue for your sake. I loved you, and the Gang declared if I told the police about them, that they would kidnap you. Therefore I was silent."

"Kidnap me!" cried Beatrice indignantly. "How could they?"

"The Gang are very clever, and could do what they wanted to," said Durban drily; "and as Alpenny hated you, he certainly would have put no bar in the way of your being carried off. It was only I who stood between you and this danger."

"Oh, Durban, how much I owe you!"

"Missy"--he kissed her hand--"you do not owe me so much as I owed your good father, who saved me from being lynched in the States. But we can talk of that afterwards," he added hastily. "Let me go on. I was here on the night of the murder."

"You! Why, you went to town?"

"I pretended to. But after the warning, Mr. Alpenny intended to bolt, as he feared for his life--that was why he left the note on your table. But I came back here before you returned in the wind and the rain, and looked through the window of the counting-house, in which a light burned. I saw Alpenny lying dead, and knew that the Black Patch Gang had accomplished their vengeance."

"Did you meet any one?"

"No, I saw no one. Then I entered the counting-house by the secret way, missy."

"Is there a secret way, Durban?"

"Yes. I found it by chance. See!" Durban advanced to the end of the carriage and touched a spring which was concealed behind the rep hangings. At once there was a creaking noise, and the sheet of galvanised tin, upon which rested the stove, swung aside, to reveal a narrow flight of stone steps. "These," said Durban, "lead along an underground passage into the shrubbery, and from there one can go out by the great gates, or the small one. I entered by this way, as I had a duplicate key of the great gates. I searched for the Obi necklace, and found it by looking everywhere for it. I felt the hangings, and so discovered the pocket. Then I left The Camp and climbed the Downs. On to the neck of the first sheep I could catch, I tied the necklace, and let it stray away."

"But why did you do that?" asked Beatrice, astonished.

"Because there was a curse on the necklace," said Durban with all the intensity of his negro nature. "And I did not want that curse to come upon you. You might have got the necklace, and then you would have had nothing but misery. Therefore, instead of throwing it away, for there was always the chance that it might be found, I bound it on the neck of the sheep, and lightly, thinking that the animal might lose it on the pathless Downs. I did it, missy, to save you from the curse. Well," said Durban, throwing out his hands, "old Orchard found it, and has given it to his daughter. She will be unlucky for evermore, unless she gives it to another person. And I hope," finished the half-caste vindictively, "that she will give it to Major Ruck in order that he may come to the gallows, as he has long deserved them."

"What a strange story! And you do not know who killed Alpenny?"

"No more than I know who killed Colonel Hall. But, missy, now that I have told you this, you will not go to Lady Watson?"

"I must, Durban. I have to earn my living."

"Then go to any one, but not to that woman"; and Durban fell on his knees. "I implore you!"

But the more he implored the more Beatrice was determined to go, and learn, if possible, why Durban feared Lady Watson so much. "I go to-morrow," she said quietly, and twitched her dress from his grasp.

"It is Fate! Fate! Fate!" muttered Durban gloomily.