The Mystery Of An Old Murder Read Online Free PDF

almost incredible; but Mr. Bulteel assured us there was no mistake. The landlord had talked with him for ten minutes or so. He had told him that Robert had started for Plymouth that morning, at which Mr. Carew had seemed greatly vexed. He had stayed the night at Padstow, he said, and thus had not met his son. Mother wondered whether she ought to go up to the Manor House; she feared the effect of such a meeting on grandfather, who was very feeble. But Mr. Bulteel persuaded her not to go, and, indeed, that afternoon she was not fit for the exertion, for she had been ill for days with one of her heart attacks.
    "So we waited, expecting every moment to hear a knock at the front-door; for we felt sure that Mr. Carew would not go back to Plymouth without calling on us. Only the week before I had had a very kind letter from him. But just as the dusk had fallen Mr. Bulteel came again to startle us. Mr. Carew had gone without a word. He had gone into the courtyard of the inn and ordered his horse and ridden off at a gallop towards Padstow.
    "Marjorie, I do not know how to tell you the rest. Grandfather had sent his old servant, and the girl who had come to help him since Robert lived there, into Bodmin that afternoon for some stores. When they got back it was to find the house dark and silent, and their master lying dead in the arched passage leading from the hall to the kitchens. He had been shot through the heart."
    Marjorie's hands tightened their clasp on Aunt Nell's arm; she gave a low murmur of pity and horror, but did not speak. And it was a moment or two before Miss Lane could go on.
    "Mr. Carew was never found, Marjorie. They traced him to Padstow; his horse was brought to the inn by a boy to whom he had given it just outside the town. But nothing further was ever definitely known. People believe he escaped to France, perhaps in that vessel we saw off Blackdown Point. And there was one fact that seemed to prove that it was to France he went. He had papers of great importance with him, relating to our coast defences, and these were afterwards found in the possession of French officials. They may have been stolen from him, he may have sold them. It was said of him that he had been a spy for years in the pay of the French Government, like his friend Baroni, who had had to flee for his life from Plymouth almost directly after returning from St. Mawan. But I have never believed that of him, Marjorie, never. Robert could not have loved him so if that had been true. He was passionate, and grandfather had a bitter tongue. They quarrelled, and he became mad with rage. It was no premeditated act. I have never believed it."
    She gently loosed herself from Marjorie's clasp, and rose from her chair and moved away a few steps towards the window. Quietly as she had spoken, it had been a terrible task she had set herself, and now it was ended she felt faint and trembling.
    She leant against the window and looked out at the quiet garden, pressing her throbbing forehead against the cool glass. Marjorie sat and watched her, her heart too full to let her speak. She felt she would like to throw herself at her aunt's feet and kiss the hem of her garment. How had she been so cheerful, so loving, when all the joy of her own life had been taken away?
    Presently Miss Lane came back to her seat by Marjorie. She had something else to tell her, something Marjorie had guessed already. All the while she had been speaking she had been holding Robert Carew's miniature, but now she put it into Marjorie's hand.
    "This is my cousin Robert, dear," she said gently. "I want you to see it." And as Marjorie bent down to look at it by the firelight she added, "We were engaged, Marjorie. We were to have been married in the following year. But it was not to be."
    Marjorie hardly heard the last sadly-uttered words. She was gazing fixedly down, at the dark, handsome, vivid face of the young man in the miniature. Where had she seen that face before? She had seen it, she