The Talleyrand Maxim - J. S. Fletcher (best ebook reader ubuntu txt) š
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of the house, through the shrubberies at the end of a wing, and into a
plantation by a path thickly covered with pine needles. Presently they
emerged upon a similar track, at right angles to that by which they had
come, and leading into a denser part of the woods. And at the end of a
hundred yards of it they came to a barricade, evidently of recent
construction, over which Pratt stretched a hand. āThere!ā he said.
āThatās the bridge, sir.ā Collingwood looked over the barricade. He saw
that he and Pratt were standing at the edge of one thick plantation of
fir and pine; the edge of a similar plantation stretched before them
some ten yards away. But between the two lay a deep, dark ravine, which,
immediately in front of the temporary barricade, was spanned by a narrow
rustic bridgeāa fragile-looking thing of planks, railed in by boughs of
trees. And in the middle was a jagged gap in both floor and side-rails,
showing where the rotten wood had given way.
āIāll explain, Mr. Collingwood,ā said the clerk presently. āI knew this
park, sirāI knew it well, before the late Mr. John Mallathorpe bought
the property. That path at the other end of the bridge makes a short cut
down to the station in the valleyāthrough the woods and the lower part
of the park. I came up that path, from the station, on Saturday
afternoon, intending to cross this bridge and go on to the house, where
I had private business. When I got to the other end of the bridge,
there, I saw the gap in the middle. And then I looked down into the
cutāthereās a roadāa paved roadādown there, and I sawāhim! And so I
made shift to scramble downāstiff job it was!āto get to him. But he
was dead, Mr. Collingwoodāstone dead, sir!āthough Iām certain he
hadnāt been dead five minutes. Andā-ā
āAye, anā heād never haā been dead at all, wouldnāt young Squire, if
only his ma had listened to what I telled her!ā interrupted a voice
behind them. āHeād haā been alive at this minute, he would, if his ma
had done what I said owt to be doneānow then!ā
Collingwood turned sharplyāto confront an old man, evidently one of the
woodmen on the estate who had come up behind them unheard on the thick
carpeting of pine needles. And Pratt turned, tooāwith a keen look and a
direct question.
āWhat do you mean?ā he asked. āWhat are you talking about?ā
āI know what Iām talking about, young gentleman,ā said the man doggedly.
āI aināt worked, lad and man, on this one estate nine-and-forty
yearsāand happen moreāwiāout knowinā all about it. I tellād Mrs.
Mallathorpe on Friday noon āat that there owd brig āud fall in afore
long if it wornāt mended. I met her here, at this very place where weāre
standinā, and I showed her āat it wornāt safe to cross it. I tellād her
āt she owt to have it fastened up theer anā then. Itās been rottinā for
many a year, has this owd brigāwhy, I mind when it wor last repaired,
and that wor years afore owd Mestur Mallathorpe bowt this estate!ā
āWhen do you say you told Mrs. Mallathorpe all that?ā asked Pratt.
āFriday noon it were, sir,ā answered the woodman. āWhen I were on my way
homeādinner time. āCause I met the missis here, and I made bold to tell
her what Iād noticed. That there owd brig!ālorā bless yer, gentlemen!
it were black rotten iā the middle, theer where poor young maister he
fell through it. āYe mun hevā that seen to at once, missis,ā I says.
āSartin sure, ātaināt often as itās used,ā I says, ābut surely sartin
āat if it aināt mended, or closed altogether,ā I says, āsummun āll be
going through and brekkinā their necks,ā I says. Anā reight, too,
gentlemenāforty feet it is down to that road. Anā a mortal hard road,
anā all, paved wiā granite stone all tā way to tā stable-yard.ā
āYouāre sure it was Friday noon?ā repeated Pratt.
āAs sure as that I see you,ā answered the woodman. āAnā Mrs. Mallathorpe
she said sheād hev it seen to. Dear-a-me!āit should haā been closed!ā
The old man shook his head and went off amongst the trees, and Pratt,
giving his vanishing figure a queer look, turned silently back along the
path, followed by Collingwood. At the point where the other path led to
the house, he glanced over his shoulder at the young barrister.
āIf you keep straight on, Mr. Collingwood,ā he said, āyouāll get
straight down to the village and the inn. I must go this way.ā
He went off rapidly, and Collingwood walked on through the plantation
towards the Normandale Armsāwondering, all the way, why Pratt was so
anxious to know exactly when it was that Mrs. Mallathorpe had been
warned about the old bridge.
THE PREVALENT ATMOSPHERE
Until that afternoon Collingwood had never been in the village to which
he was now bending his steps; on that and his previous visits to the
Grange he had only passed the end of its one street. Now, descending
into it from the slopes of the park, he found it to be little more than
a hamletāa church, a farmstead or two, a few cottages in their gardens,
all clustering about a narrow stream spanned by a high-arched bridge of
stone. The Normandale Arms, a roomy, old-fashioned place, stood at one
end of the bridge, and from the windows of the room into which
Collingwood was presently shown he could look out on the stream itself
and on the meadows beyond it. A peaceful, pretty, quiet placeābut the
gloom which was heavy at the big house or the hill seemed to have spread
to everybody that he encountered.
āBad job, this, sir!ā said the landlord, an elderly, serious-faced man,
to whom Collingwood had made known his wants, and who had quickly formed
the opinion that his guest was of the legal profession. āAnd a queer
one, too! Odd thing, sir, that our old squire, and now the young one,
should both have met their deaths in what you might term violent
fashion.ā
āAccidentāin both cases,ā remarked Collingwood.
The landlord nodded his headāand then shook it in a manner which seemed
to indicate that while he agreed with this proposition in one respect he
entertained some sort of doubt about it in others.
āAy, well!ā he answered. āOf course, a mill chimney falling, without
notice, as it were, and a bridge giving wayāthemās accidents, to be
sure. But itās a very strange thing about this footbridge, up yonder at
the Grangeāvery strange indeed! Thereās queer talk about it, already.ā
āWhat sort of talk?ā asked Collingwood. Ever since the old woodman had
come up to him and Pratt, as they stood looking at the footbridge, he
had been aware of a curious sense of mystery, and the landlordās remark
tended to deepen it. āWhat are people talking about?ā
āNayāitās only one or two,ā replied the landlord. āThereās been two men
in here since the affair happened that crossed that bridge Friday
afternoonāand both of āem big, heavy men. According to what one can
learn that there bridge wasnāt used much by the Grange peopleāit led to
nowhere in particular for them. But there is a right of way across that
part of the park, and these two men as Iām speaking ofāthey made use of
it on Fridayāgetting towards dark. I know āem wellātheyād both of āem
weigh four times as muchātogetherāas young Squire Mallathorpe, and yet
it didnāt give way under them. And thenāonly a few hours later, as you
might say, down it goes with him!ā
āI donāt think you can form any opinion from that!ā said Collingwood.
āThese things, these old structures, often give way quite suddenly and
unexpectedly.ā
āAy, well, they did admit, these men too, that it seemed a bit tottery,
like,ā remarked the landlord. āTalking it over, between themselves, in
here, they agreed, to be sure, that it felt to give a bit. All the same,
thereās them as says that itās a queer thing it should haā given
altogether when young squire walked on it.ā
Collingwood clinched matters with a straight question.
āYou donāt mean to say that people are suggesting that the footbridge
had been tampered with?ā he asked.
āThere is them about as wouldnāt be slow to say as much,ā answered the
landlord. āFolks will talk! You see, sirānobody saw what happened. And
when country folk doesnāt see what takes place, with their own eyes,
then theyā-ā
āMake mysteries out of it,ā interrupted Collingwood, a little
impatiently. āI donāt think thereās any mystery here, landlordāI
understood that this footbridge was in a very unsafe condition. No! Iām
afraid the whole affair was only too simple.ā
But he was conscious, as he said this, that he was not precisely voicing
his own sentiments. He himself was mystified. He was still wondering why
Pratt had been so pertinacious in asking the old woodman when,
precisely, he had told Mrs. Mallathorpe about the unsafe condition of
the bridgeāstill wondering about a certain expression which had come
into Prattās face when the old man told them what he didāstill
wondering at the queer look which Pratt had given the information as he
went off into the plantation. Was there, then, somethingāsome secret
which was being kept back byāsomebody?
He was still pondering over these things when he went back to the
Grange, later in the eveningābut he was resolved not to say anything
about them to Nesta. And he saw Nesta only for a few minutes. Her
mother, she said, was very ill indeedāthe doctor was with her then, and
she must go back to them. Since her sonās death, Mrs. Mallathorpe had
scarcely spoken, and the doctor, knowing that her heart was not strong,
was somewhat afraid of a collapse.
āIf there is anything that I can do,āor if you should want me, during
the night,ā said Collingwood, earnestly, āpromise me that youāll send at
once to the inn!ā
āYes,ā answered Nesta. āI will. ButāI donāt think there will be any
need. We have two nurses here, and the doctor will stop. There is
something I should be glad if you would do tomorrow,ā she went on,
looking at him a little wistfully, āYou know aboutāthe inquest?ā
āYes,ā said Collingwood.
āThey say weāthat is I, because, of course, my mother couldnātāthat I
need not be present,ā she continued. āMr. Robsonāour solicitorāsays it
will be a very short, formal affair. He will be there, of
course,ābutāwould you mind being there, too!āso that you
canāafterwardsātell me all about it?ā
āWill you tell me somethingāstraight out?ā answered Collingwood,
looking intently at her. āHave you any doubt of any description about
the accepted story of your brotherās death? Be plain with me!ā
Nesta hesitated for awhile before answering.
āNot of the actual circumstances,ā she replied at last,āānone at all of
what you call the accepted story. The fact is, Iām not a good hand at
explaining anything, and perhaps I canāt convey to you what I mean. But
Iāve a feelingāan impressionāthat there isāor was some mystery on
Saturday which might haveāand might not haveāoh, I canāt make it
clear, even to myself.
āIf you would be at the inquest tomorrow, and listen carefully to
everythingāand then tell me afterwardsādo you understand?ā
āI understand,ā answered Collingwood. āLeave it to me.ā
Whether he expected to hear anything unusual at the inquest, whether he
thought any stray word, hint, or suggestion would come up during the
proceedings, Collingwood was no more aware
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