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The Vast Abyss, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 25 |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. The church clock was striking six when Tom awoke, sprang out of bed, and looked out of the window, to find a glorious morning, with everything drenched in dew. Hastily dressing and hurrying down, he felt full of reproach for having overslept himself, his last thought having been of getting up at daybreak to continue the watch with David. There were the pears hanging in their places, and not a footprint visible upon the beds; and there too were the indentations made by two pairs of knees in the black-currant rows, while the earth was marked by the coarse fibre of the sacks. But the dew lay thickly, and had not been brushed off anywhere, and it suddenly struck Tom that the black-currant bushes would not be a favourable hiding-place when the light was coming, and that David must have selected some other. "Of course: in those laurels," thought Tom, and he went along the path; but the piece of lawn between him and the shrubs had not been crossed, and after looking about in different directions, Tom began to grin and feel triumphant, for he was, after all, the first to wake. In fact it was not till half-past seven that the gardener arrived, walking very fast till he caught sight of Tom, when he checked his speed, and came down the garden bent of back and groaning. "Morning, Master Tom, sir. Oh, my back! Tried so hard to drag myself here just afore daylight." "Only you didn't wake, David," cried Tom, interrupting him. "Why, you ought to have been up after having such a snooze last night in the garden." "I won't have you say such a word, sir," cried David angrily. "Snooze! Me snooze! Why, it was you, sir, and you're a-shoving it on to me, and--" David stopped short, for he could not stand the clear gaze of Tom's laughing eyes. His face relaxed a little, and a few puckers began to appear, commencing a smile. "Well, it warn't for many minutes, Master Tom." "An hour." "Nay, sir, nay; not a 'our." "Quite, David; and I wouldn't wake you. I say, don't be a sham. You did oversleep yourself." "Well, I s'pose I did, sir, just a little." "And now what would you say if I told you that Pete has been and carried off all the pears?" "What!" yelled David; and straightening himself he ran off as hard as he could to the Marie Louise pear-tree, but only to come back grinning. "Nay, they're all right," he said. "But you'll come and have another try to-night?" "Of course I will," said Tom; and soon after he hurried in to breakfast. That morning Tom was in the workshop, where for nearly two hours, with rests between, he had been helping the speculum grinding. Uncle Richard had been summoned into the cottage, to see one of the tradesmen about some little matter of business, and finding that the bench did not stand quite so steady as it should, the boy fetched a piece of wood from the corner, and felt in his pocket for his knife, so as to cut a wedge, but the knife was not there, and he looked about him, feeling puzzled. "When did I have it last?" he thought. "I remember: here, the day before the speculum was broken. I had it to cut a wedge to put under that stool, and left it on the bench." But there was no knife visible, and he was concluding that he must have had it since, and left it in his other trousers' pocket, when he heard steps, and looking out through the open door, he saw the Vicar coming up the slope from the gate. "Good-morning, sir," said Tom cheerily. "Good-morning, Thomas Blount," was the reply, in very grave tones, accompanied by a searching look. "Is your uncle here?" "No, sir," said Tom wonderingly; "he has just gone indoors. Shall I call him?" "Yes--no--not yet." The Vicar coughed to clear his throat, and looked curiously at Tom again, with the result that the lad felt uncomfortable, and flushed a little. "Will you sit down, sir?" said Tom, taking a pot of rough emery off a stool, and giving the top a rub. "Thank you, no." The Vicar coughed again to get rid of an unpleasant huskiness, and then, as if with an effort-- "The fact is, Thomas Blount, I am glad he is not here, for I wish to say a few words to you seriously. I did mean to speak to him, but this is better. It shall be a matter of privacy between us, and I ask you, my boy, to treat me not as your censor but as your friend--one who wishes you well." "Yes, sir, of course. Thank you, sir, I will," said Tom, who felt puzzled, and grew more and more uncomfortable as he wondered what it could all mean, and finally, as the Vicar remained silent, concluded that it must be something to do with his behaviour in church. Then no, it could not be that, for he could find no cause of offence. "I know," thought Tom suddenly. "He wants me to go and read with him, Latin and Greek, I suppose, or mathematics." The Vicar coughed again, and looked so hard at Tom that the boy felt still more uncomfortable, and hurriedly began to pull down his rolled-up shirt-sleeves and to button his cuffs. "Don't do that, Thomas Blount," said the Vicar, still more huskily; "there is nothing to be ashamed of in honest manual labour." "No, sir, of course not," said the lad, still more uncomfortable, for it was very unpleasant to be addressed as "Thomas Blount," in that formal way. "I often regret," said the Vicar, "that I have so few opportunities for genuine hard muscular work, and admire your uncle for the way in which he plunges into labour of different kinds. For such work is purifying, Thomas Blount, and ennobling." This was all very strange, and seemed like the beginning of a lecture, but Tom felt better, and he liked the Vicar--at least at other times, but not now. "Will you be honest with me, my lad?" said the visitor at last. "Oh yes, sir," was the reply, for "my lad" sounded so much better than formal Thomas Blount. "That's right. Ahem!" Another cough. A pause, and Tom coloured a little more beneath the searching gaze that met his. "Were you out last night?" came at last, to break a most embarrassing silence. "Yes, sir." "Out late?" "Yes, sir; quite late." "Humph!" ejaculated the Vicar, who looked now very hard and stern. "One moment--would you mind lending me your knife?" "My knife!" faltered Tom, astounded at such a request; and then, in a quick, hurried way--"I'm so sorry, sir, I cannot. I was looking for it just now, but I've lost it." "Lost it? Dear me! Was it a valuable knife?" "Oh no, sir, only an old one, with the small blade broken." "Would you mind describing it to me?" "Describing it, sir? Of course not. It had a big pointed blade, and a black and white bone handle." "And the small blade broken, you say?" "Yes, sir." "Had it any other mark by which you would know it? Knives with small blades broken are very general." "No, sir, no other mark. Oh yes, it had. I filed a T and a B in it one day, but it was very badly done." "Very, Thomas Blount," said the Vicar, taking something from his breast-pocket. "Is that your knife?" "Yes," cried Tom eagerly, "that's it! Where did you find it, sir? I know; you must have taken it off that bench by mistake when uncle showed you round." "No, Thomas Blount," said the Vicar, shaking his head, and keeping his eyes fixed upon the lad; "I found it this morning in my garden." "You couldn't, sir," cried Tom bluntly. "How could it get there?" The Vicar gazed at him without replying, and Tom added hastily-- "I beg your pardon, sir. I meant that it is impossible." "The knife asserts that it is possible, sir. Take it. A few pence would have bought those plums." The hand Tom had extended dropped to his side. "What plums, sir?" he said, feeling more and more puzzled. "Bah! I detest pitiful prevarication, sir," cried the Vicar warmly. "The knife was dropped by whoever it was stripped the wall of my golden drops last night. There, take your knife, sir, I have altered my intentions. I did mean to speak to your uncle." "What about?" said Uncle Richard, who had come up unheard in the excitement. "Good-morning, Maxted. Any one's cow dead? Subscription wanted?" "Oh no," said the Vicar. "It must out now. I suppose some one's honour has gone a little astray." "Then we must fetch it back. Whose? Not yours, Tom?" "I don't know, uncle," said the boy, with his forehead all wrinkled up. "Yes, I do. Mr Maxted thinks I went to his garden last night to steal plums. Tell him I didn't, uncle, please." "Tell him yourself, Tom." "I can't," said Tom bluntly, and a curiously stubborn look came over his countenance. Then angrily--"Mr Maxted oughtn't to think I'd do such a thing." The Vicar compressed his lips and wrinkled up his forehead. "Well, I can," said Uncle Richard. "No, Maxted, he couldn't have stolen your plums, because he was out quite late stealing pears--the other way on." "Uncle!" cried Tom, as the Vicar now looked puzzled. "We apprehended a visit from a fruit burglar, and Tom here and my gardener were watching, but he did not come. Then he visited you instead?" "Yes, and dropped this knife on the bed beneath the wall." "Let me look," said Uncle Richard. "Why, that's your knife, Tom." "Yes, uncle." "How do you account for that? Policemen don't turn burglars." "It seems I lost it, uncle. I haven't seen it, I think, since I had it to put a wedge under that leg of the stool." "And when was that?" "As far as I can remember, uncle, it was the day or the day before the speculum was broken. I fancy I left it on the window-sill or bench." "Plain as a pike-staff, my dear Maxted," said Uncle Richard, clapping the Vicar on the shoulder. "You have had a visit from the gentleman who broke my new speculum." "You suspected your nephew of breaking the speculum," said the Vicar. "Oh!" cried Tom excitedly: "Yes, but I know better now. You're wrong, my dear sir, quite wrong. We can prove such an alibi as would satisfy the most exacting jury. Tom was with me in my room until half-past eight, and from that hour to ten I can answer for his being in the garden with my man David." "Then I humbly beg your nephew's pardon for my unjust suspicions," cried the Vicar warmly. "Will you forgive me--Tom?" "Of course, sir," cried the boy, seizing the extended hand. "But you are convinced now, sir?" "Perfectly; but I want to know who is the culprit. Can you help me?" "We're trying to catch him, sir," said Tom. "I'm afraid I know," said Uncle Richard. "Yes, and I'm afraid that I know," said the Vicar, rather angrily. "I'll name no names, but I fancy you suspect the same body that I did till I found our young friend's knife." "And if we or you catch him," said Uncle Richard, "what would you do-- police?" "No," said the Vicar firmly, "not for every scrap of fruit I have in the garden. I don't hold with imprisoning a boy, except as the very last resort." "Give him a severe talking to then?" said Uncle Richard dryly. "First; and then I'm afraid that I should behave in a very illegal way. But he is not caught yet." _ |
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