Over the fire, in the little room in Cuff Court, where you once saw him by gas-light, sits Mr. Butterby. The room is bright enough with sunlight now; the sunlight of the cold, clear day; a great deal brighter than Mr. Butterby himself, who is dull as ditch-water, and in a sulky temper.
"I've been played with; that's what I've been," said Butterby in soliloquy. "Bede Greatorex bothers me to be still, to be passive; and when I keep still and passive, and stop down at Helstonleigh, taking no steps, saying nothing to living mortal, letting the thing die away, if it will die, he makes a mull of it up in town. Why couldn't he have kept his father and Parson Ollivera quiet? Never a lawyer going, but must be sharp enough for that. Not he. He does nothing of the sort, but lets one or both of 'em work, and ferret, and worry, and discover that Godfrey Pitman has turned up, and find out that I knew of it, and go to headquarters and report me for negligence2 I get a curt3 telegram to come to town, and here's the deuce to pay."
Mr. Butterby turned round, snatched up a few papers that lay on the table, glanced over the writing, and resumed his soliloquy when he had put them down again.
"Jelf has it in hand here, and I've not yet got to see him. Not of much use my seeing him before I've heard what Bede Greatorex has to say. One thing they've not been sharp enough to discover yet--where Godfrey Pitman is to be found. Foster in Birmingham holds his tongue, Johnson shows Jelf the door when he goes to ask about Winter: and there they are, Jelf and the Parson, or Jelf and Mr. Greatorex--whichever of them two it is that's stirring--mooning up and down England after Pitman, little thinking he's close at home, right under their very noses. I and Bede Greatorex hold that secret tight; but I don't think I shall feel inclined to hold it long. 'Where is Pitman?' says the sergeant4 to me yesterday, at headquarters. 'Ah!' says I, 'that's just the problem we are some of us trying to work out.'"
Mr. Butterby stopped, cracked the coal fiercely, which sent up a blaze of sparks, and waited. Resuming after a while.
"And it is a problem; one I can't make come square just yet. There's Brown--as good call him by one alias5 as another--keeping as quiet as a mouse, knowing that he is being looked after for the murder of Counsellor Ollivera. What's his motive6 in keeping dark? The debts he left behind him in Birmingham are paid; Johnson and Teague acknowledge his innocence7 in that past transaction of young Master Samuel's; they are, so to say, his friends, and the man knows all this. Why, then, don't he come forward and reap the benefit of the acquittal, and put himself clear before the world, and say--Neither am I guilty of the other thing--the counsellor's death? Of course, when Jeff and Jeff's masters know he is hiding himself somewhere, and does not come forward, they assume that he dare not, that he was the man who did it. I'd not swear but he was, either. Looking at it in a broad point of view, one can't help seeing that he must have some urgent motive for his silence--and what that motive is, one may give a shrewd guess at: that he is screening himself or somebody else. There's only one other in the world that he would screen, I expect, and that's Alletha Rye."
A long pause. A pause of silence. Mr. Butterby's face, with all his professional craft, had as puzzled a look on it as any ordinary mortal's might wear.
"I suspected Alletha Rye more than anybody at the time. Don't suspect her now. Don't think it was her; wouldn't swear it wasn't, though. And, in spite of your injunction to be still, Mr. Bede Greatorex, I'll go into the thing a bit for my own satisfaction."
Looking over the papers on the table again, he locked them up, and sat down to write a letter or two. Somebody then came in to see him on business--which business does not concern us. And so time passed on, and when the sunlight had faded into dusk, Mr. Butterby put on a top pilot-coat of rough blue cloth, and went out. The shows were lighted, displaying their attractions for the advancing Christmas, and Mr. Butterby had leisure to glance at them with critical approval as he passed.
These past few weeks had not brought forth8 much to tell of in regard to general matters. Arthur and Charles Channing had passed through London on their way to Helstonleigh; Roland Yorke had resumed his daily and evening work, and had moreover given his confidence to Sir Vincent Yorke (nothing daunted9 by that gentleman's previous repulse) on the subject of Annabel Channing, and in his sanguine10 temperament11 was looking ever for the place Vincent was to get him; and James Channing drew nearer and nearer to another world. But this world was slow to perceive it--Hamish, the bright! Three or four times a week Roland snatched a minute to dart12 down to the second-hand13 furniture shops in Tottenham Court Road, there to inquire prices and lay in a stock of practical information as to the number and nature of articles, useful and ornamental14, indispensable for a gentleman and lady going into housekeeping.
But Mr. Butterby was on his way to Mrs. Jones's residence, and we must follow him. Halting opposite the house to take a survey of it, he saw that there was no light in Mr. Ollivera's sitting-room15; there was no light anywhere, that he could see. By which fact he gathered that the clergyman was not at home: and that was satisfactory, as he did not much care to come in contact with him just at the present uncertain state of affairs.
Crossing the street, he knocked gently at the door. Miss Rye answered it, nobody but herself being in the house. A street gas-lamp shone full on her face, and the start she gave was quite visible to Mr. Butterby. He walked straight in to Mrs. Jones's parlour, saying he had come to see her; her, Alletha Rye. Her work lay on the red table-cover by the lamp; Mr. Butterby sat down in the shade and threw back his coat; she stood by the fire and nervously16 stirred it, her hands trembling, her face blanching17.
"When that there unhappy event took place at Helstonleigh, the death of Counsellor Ollivera, now getting on for five years back, there was a good deal of doubt encompassing18 it round about, Miss Rye," he suddenly began.
"Doubt?" she rejoined, faintly, sitting down to the table and catching19 up her work.
"Yes, doubt. I mean as to how the death was caused. Some said it was a murder, and some said it was his own doing--suicide."
"Everybody said it was a suicide!" she interrupted, with trembling eagerness, her shaking fingers plying20 the needle as if she were working for very life. "The coroner and jury decided21 it to be one."
"Not quite everybody," dissented22 Mr. Butterby, listening with composure until she had finished. "You didn't. I was in the churchyard when they put him into the ground, and heard and saw you over the grave."
"But I had cause to--to--alter my opinion, later," she said, her face turning hectic23 with emotion. "Heaven alone knows how bitterly I have repented24 of that night's work! If cutting my tongue out afterwards, instead of before, could have undone25 my mistake----"
"Now look here; don't you get flurried," interposed Mr. Butterby. "I didn't come here to put you out, but just to have a rational talk on a point or two. I thought at the time it was a suicide, as you may remember: but I'm free to confess that the way in which the ball has been kept rolling since has served to alter my opinion. Counsellor Ollivera was murdered!"
She made no reply. Taking up her scissors, she began cutting away at the work at random26, and the hectic red faded away to a sickly whiteness.
"There was a stranger lodging27 at Mrs. Jones's at the time, you remember, one Godfrey Pitman. Helstonleigh said, you know, Miss Rye, that if anybody did it, it was him. That Godfrey Pitman is an uncommonly28 sharp card to have kept himself out of the way so long! Don't you think so?"
"I don't think anything about it," she answered. "What is it to me?"
"Well, Miss Rye, I've the pleasure of telling you that Godfrey Pitman's found!"
The little presence of mind left in Alletha Rye seemed to quit her at the words. Perhaps she was no longer so capable of maintaining it as she once had been: the very best of our powers wear out when the soul's burthen is continued long and long.
"Found!" she gasped29, her hands falling on her work, her wild eyes turned to Mr. Butterby.
"Leastways so near found, that it mayn't be a age afore he's took," added the detective, with professional craft. "Our friends in the blue coats have got the clue to him. I'd not lay you the worth of that silver thimble of yours, Miss Rye, that he's not standing30 in a certain dock next March assizes."
"In what dock? What for?" came from her trembling lips.
"Helstonleigh dock For what le did to Mr. Ollivera. Come, come, I did not want to frighten you like this, my good young woman. And why should it? It is not certain Pitman will be brought to trial, though he were guilty. Years have gone by since, and the Greatorexes and Parson Ollivera may hush31 it up. They are humane32 men; Mr. Bede especially."
"You don't believe Godfrey Pitman was guilty?" she exclaimed, and her eyes began to take a hard look, her voice a defiant33 tone.
"Oh, don't I!" returned Butterby. "What's more to the purpose, Miss Rye, the London officers and their principals, who have got it in hand, believe it."
"And what if I tell you that Godfrey Pitman never was guilty; that he never raised his hand against Mr. Ollivera?" she broke forth in passionate34 accents, rising to confront him. "What if I tell you that it was I?"
Standing there before him, her eyes ablaze35 with light, her cheeks crimson36, her voice ringing with power, it was nearly impossible to disbelieve her. For once, the experienced, cool man was taken aback.
"You, Miss Rye!"
"Yes, I. I, Alletha Rye. What, I say, if I tell you it was I did that terrible deed? Not Godfrey Pitman. Now then! you must make the most of it, and do your best and worst."
The avowal38, together with the various ideas that came crowding as its accompaniment, struck Mr. Butterby dumb. He sat there gazing at her, his speech utterly39 failing him.
"Is this true?" he whispered, when he had found his tongue.
"Should I avow37 such a thing if it were not? Oh, Mr. Butterby! hush the matter up if it be in your power," she implored40, clasping her hands in an attitude of beseeching41 supplication42, and her breath came in great gasps43, so that the words were jerked out, rather than spoken. "In pity to me, hush it; it has lain at rest all these years. Let Godfrey Pitman be! For my sake, let him be! I pray you in Heaven's name!"
She sat down in her chair, tottering44 back to it, and burst into a flood of hysterical45 tears. Mr. Butterby waited in silence till they were over, and then buttoned his coat to go out. Putting out her timid hand, she caught his arm and held it with a nervous grasp.
"You will promise me Mr. Butterby?"
"I can't promise anything on the spur of the moment," said he in a grave, but not unkind tone. "You must let me turn things over in my mind. For one thing, neither the hushing of the matter up, nor the pursuing of it, may lie with me. I told you others had got it in hand, Miss Rye, and I told you truth. Now there's no need for you to come to the door; I can let myself out."
And Mr. Butterby let himself out accordingly, making no noise over the exit.
"I'm blest if I can see daylight," he exclaimed with energy, as he went down the street at a brisk pace. "Did she do it herself?--or is she trying to screen Master George Winter? It's one of the two; and I'm inclined to think it is the last. Anyway, she's a brave and a bold woman. Whether she did it, or whether she didn't, it's no light matter to accuse herself of mur----"
Mr. Butterby came to a full stop: both in words and steps. It was but for a second of time; and he laughed a little silent laugh at his own obtuseness46 as he passed on.
"I forgot her avowal at the grave. If she had done it herself, she'd never have gone in for that public display, lest it should turn attention on her. Yes, yes; she is screening Winter. Perhaps the man, hiding in that top floor, with nothing to do but torment47 his wits, got jealous of the counsellor below, fancying she favoured him, and so----"
The break in Mr. Butterby's sentence this time was occasioned by his shooting into an entry. Approaching towards him came Mrs. Jones, attended by her servant with a huge market-basket: and as he had neither time nor wish for an encounter with that lady at the present moment, he let her go by.
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1
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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2
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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3
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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4
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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5
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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6
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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7
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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8
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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9
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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12
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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13
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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14
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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15
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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16
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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17
blanching
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| adj.漂白的n.热烫v.使变白( blanch的现在分词 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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18
encompassing
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| v.围绕( encompass的现在分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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19
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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20
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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21
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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22
dissented
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| 不同意，持异议( dissent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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24
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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26
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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27
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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28
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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29
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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30
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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31
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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32
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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33
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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34
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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35
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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36
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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37
avow
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| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
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38
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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39
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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40
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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42
supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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43
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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44
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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45
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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46
obtuseness
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| 感觉迟钝 | |
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47
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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