Bertram Atkey

“ He loved the forest—he had never slept under a roof—he loved the forest and he loved me. But they did not understand his spirit. One week in prison was to him more than five years would be to many men. They kept him there inside the walls. He could not come to the forest and to me, and so he died—my boy, my companion of the forest, who had been so kind to me—who had been so gay!”
The Princess paused for a moment. The forest was all gray now, and under the firs it was full of shadow. The lights in the eyes of the wolves were plainer and all the brutes were standing up, their heads hung low. ”

“ IF YOU go through the glades and green tree-tunnels round about that triangular iron monument erected to commemorate the spot in the New Forest where the Red King was killed by an arrow glancing from a tree, and from that place proceed westerly—leaning perhaps a little south—you will open up a region of wide bleak spaces, where there are no oak and beech and elm, but only sparse heather and fir, with patches of plentifully-spined gorse. ”

“ HE HATES the forest. It is strange country to him. He did well at the patch of cut turf for a town-bred man, but he will not get much farther. It would be child’s play to a black tracker, but to any ordinary detective the secrets of the forest are not easily learned from the trails. And daily the signs that the black tracker would look for are disappearing. Every blade of grass, dead leaf or twisted heather sprig is gradually slipping back into its place. In two days’ time any clue which the ground may offer now at that spot will be gone as though it had never existed. ”

“ The rusty heather lay still and silent, there was no motion nor sound from the lonely clump of naked, bark-flaking firs, and the hardening turf rang under our boot-heels like iron.
“The forest in Winter,” I said, “is uninteresting until one gets accustomed to it.” ”

“ He found a turf-spade in Gregg’s room—Gregg slept soundly and Lovell moves like a cat. And I knew who had cut the turf, because it was torn and blood-stained, and I feared, as I fear now, that you had believed I——”
Torrance spoke suddenly.
“Yes, I saw it all, from my window, Princess. I saw your hand go up, and how the wolves followed it. But I did not see the locket thrown—how could I at such distance? I hated having seen—and I would not believe what I thought I had seen. Any man might have believed that you urged your wolves to attack him—any man but me. ”

“ I suppose Torrance had taken courage to reproach her. “They have no faith, no trust. ‘Explain the smile for that man—the look for that,’ they say. Ah, jealous! How jealous they are! It is cruel, because of the unhappiness for us. I know—do I not know if any woman ever knew! Have I not paid for my knowledge in the last few months?
“Why did you not wait—and trust, too? I prayed that you would not think ill, that you would be kind and patient. Why, it has been to me as if the sun had never shone since that man came!” Her arm swept out toward the valley of No-Man’s Bog. ”

“ I heard myself say, in a small, scared voice. “They’re not safe, you know. First Stark, then Waynill, then you——” One was kicking a bit still and I put another bullet through him. I hated the brutes so that I could have riddled them. Then my fear suddenly left me and I turned. The disgraceful taste of the thing I had said struck me then,—‘First Stark’—and I turned, very humbly, to the Princess. But she smiled wanly through the twilight. Her hand was in Torrance’s. ”

“ I wanted to keep running, and I did, but I couldn’t have gone another yard when I struck your casement——”
Waynill ceased, breathing rather quickly. That sudden wolf-leap and the slash of those long jaws were too vivid in his memory to allow him, as yet, to tell his tale without emotion. Then he looked at us with a pale glare in his eyes.
“I’ll arrest Lovell to-morrow if I have to shoot every wolf the Princess owns!” he swore.
There was a momentary pause.
“But perhaps Lovell was not responsible,” said Torrance, “I believe the wolves are as tame as dogs. It may have been an accident.” ”

“ Years and years ago, so long it seems, when I was only Mary Morant, a little wild forest creature, I met another of the forest—a Gipsy, a boy. To me he was beautiful, wonderful, a companion sent me by the forest. And his people roamed the South of England, but I remained with my father always in the forest.
“My father was a snake-catcher. My companion was called Boy Lovell. He would not tell me his Romany name, for he said that as I was not Romany he would leave the tents for my sake when the time came. We were young; young and so happy. We planned our future. What did we know of the future? ”

“ Gregg will see to you,” said Torrance cordially.
Waynill hesitated, and even as he considered the invitation, a long, low howl, inexpressibly eery, floated across the forest, filtering through the casement into the room.
“Yes,” said Waynill, all the color suddenly stricken from his face, “I think I’d better stay—and I’ll get to bed now. It’s just possible that the bloodhounds will provide us a long day’s work to-morrow.” ”

“ I went back to my house, not daring to think. Remember what I was mad enough to fear I had seen—— That night Gregg and I cut the turf. Took it and dropped it in the bog. I could trust Gregg. I did not come to No-Man’s Court, but I hoped you might send for me. Then Waynill, the detective, chanced along, and since then I have never lost sight of him. I watched him come near the truth—for he found the locket but did not recognize you from it—but I think he will learn no more.
“For my own peace I made inquiries, too. I had heard the story of Boy Lovell once, vaguely. ”

“ Lovell, it seems, is the kennel-man and wolf-keeper at No-Man’s Court. Madame does not like him. Once or twice, it appears, she has noticed him staring too familiarly at the Princess. She told me he was always quiet, willing, deferential, and very capable in his line. But Madame dislikes him. She thinks he’s a Gipsy. Well, there wasn’t much in that—women are curious about men staring; sometimes it’s right, some times it’s wrong—but I thought I’d take a look at Mr. Lovell on my way home. ”

“ It is desolate in that place and you may go many miles without encountering anything living other than forest ponies, a few yellowhammers, an occasional hurrying pigeon, here and there a lonely lark fleeing from under your feet, and, not infrequently, vipers in and about the marshy places. ”

“ Lovell knows the Forest to an inch, and Waynill’s a townman.”
He had no more than finished speaking when Waynill came in.
“He’s gone of course,” said Torrance.
The detective nodded.
“Yes, gone from No-Man’s Court. But he’s still inside our wire fence,” he replied.
“Wire fence?”
“Telegraph wires—oh, I shall get him all right. It’s ‘Mary’ of the locket I want to find.” He drank off a cup of scalding hot coffee and became more human.
“It’s beastly cold out here,” he said. “I don’t think Colonel Shafto’s bloodhounds will do any good at all. It’s frozen again and the ground’s like iron. ”

“ For a second the old man be came flaccid. The wineglass slid out of his hand and cracked softly on the thick car pet. He recovered himself instantly, muttered an apology to Torrance’s “Gregg! Gregg! You weren’t looking, you know!” and went quietly out. But I saw the keen old eyes flash doubtfully at the broad back of the Inspector as Gregg left the room.
“That’s it—whose been cutting turf and why? It’s rotten bad turf, anyhow,” repeated Waynill, looking up.
“The first thing I did this morning was to follow the tracks of Major Stark’s horse from your gate, Mr. Torrance. ”

“ I hate the New Forest; it’s the bleakest place in England.” But, nevertheless, he began to eat expensively procured red mullet with an appetite that was a compliment to the forest air.
“You know, Waynill,” said Torrance composedly, “speaking as a student of logic, or say a theoretical detective, in this case, it seems to me you are starting on the wrong side of the locket. You have two photos, one of which you have identified, one of which is entirely unknown. Surely the simple way would be to follow up the clue you have instead of hunting for the clue you merely suspect. ”

“ I had grown beautiful, and he always pursued a beautiful woman. So I took his house—he did not know me, of course—and waited to see what would happen. Then you, my neighbor, came to see me——” her voice faltered and the wolves stirred uneasily “—and—and my heart was no longer empty.”
I heard a muffled inarticulate cry from Torrance and he stepped forward to her. The wolves rumbled softly in their throats. The Princess signed to him to stand still and listen.
“I WAS happy with you in the forest. Then Stark came, and he loved me, he said. I think he believed he spoke the truth. ”

“ Was anything spilt on the turf that made it necessary to remove it—blood, for in stance? Or was anything buried at that spot and the turf cut to hide the traces of digging?”
Waynill paused again, brooding. Mentally, I unreservedly withdrew the whole of my opinion as to the Inspector’s intelligence.
“Well,” he roused himself once more, “whatever happened, the horse galloped away either with or without his rider. So I followed his tracks—they were the only fresh tracks about the place—I had a thorough look round for them. But I only found your cigar-case, Mr. Torrance.” ”