Colonel Thorndyke's Secret Read online

  CHAPTER II

  Standing some two miles out of Reigate is the village of Crowswood, aquiet place and fairly well to do, thanks in no small degree to SquireThorndyke, who owned the whole of the parish, and by whom and histenants the greater portion of the village were employed. Greatly hadthe closing of the Manor House, after the death of old Squire Thorndyke,been felt. There were no more jellies, soups, and other comforts tobe looked for in time of sickness, no abatement of rent when thebreadwinner was sick or disabled, no check to the drunkards, whom theknowledge that they would be turned out of their cottage at a week'snotice kept in some sort of order. When, therefore, after ten yearsof absence of all government, John Thorndyke, after the death of hisbrother, the Colonel, came down and took possession, he found the placesadly changed from what it had been when he had left it twenty yearsbefore. His first act was to dismiss Newman; who, completely unchecked,had, he found, been sadly mismanaging affairs. It was not long, however,before his hand made itself felt. Two out of the three public houseswere shut up in six months, a score of their habitual frequenters had,weeks before, been turned out of their houses, an order had been issuedthat unless a cottage was kept in good order and the garden bright andblooming with flowers in the summer a fresh tenant would be found forit. Every child must be sent to the village school; the Squire wasready to do what there was to be done in the way of thatching andwhitewashing, repairing palings and painting doors and windows, but,as he told the people, the village had to be kept clean and decent,and anyone who would not conform to the rules was at liberty to leavewithout a day's notice.

  Many of the villagers grumbled under their breath, but public opinionwas, on the whole, favorable. There was someone to look after them now,someone who would see that the greater portion of the wages was notspent at the alehouse, who would take an interest in the people, andwould lend a helping hand in bad times. There was a feeling of regretthat the Squire was a widower, but the post of visitor and almoner waswell supplied by the lady who acted as companion and governess to theSquire's little ward and regulated the affairs of his household.

  John Thorndyke had never had much occasion for the display of energybefore, but he had an abundance of it, although hitherto latent. Hehad come into this business against his will, but he took it up witha determination to do well in it. The income was legally his until hisniece came of age, but he was determined he would take nothing out ofthe estate beyond the necessary expenses of the position, and that allsurplus should be expended in improving it in every way possible,so that he could hand it over to her in the most perfect condition.Therefore, when he came into possession he made a close inspection ofthe farms, with their houses, barns, and other tenements. Where he sawthat the men were doing their best, that the hedges and fields were ingood order, he did everything that was necessary without a word; butwhere there were slovenly farming and signs of neglect and carelessness,he spoke out his mind sharply.

  "This has all got to be amended," he said. "What must be done I willdo, but unless I see things well kept up, the fences in good order, thehedges cut, the cattle in good condition, and everything going on asit ought to be, out you go next Christmas. The estate at present is adisgrace to the county, but it shall not be so any longer if I can helpit. I shall do my share, and anyone who is not prepared to do the samehad better look out for another holding at once."

  No one rejoiced more at the coming home of the Squire than Mr. Bastow,the Rector. He had had a pleasant time of it during the life of the oldSquire. He was always a welcome guest at the house; Mr. Thorndyke hadbeen ever ready to put his hand into his pocket for any repairs neededfor the church, and bore on his shoulders almost the entire expense ofthe village school. In the latter respect there had been no falling off,he having given explicit instructions to his solicitors to pay his usualannual subscriptions to the school until his son's return from India.But with the death of the Squire the Rector had gradually lost allauthority in the village.

  For a time force of habit had had its effect, but as this wore out andthe people recognized that he had no real authority things went from badto worse. Drunken men would shout jeeringly as they passed the Rectoryon their way home from the alehouse; women no longer feared reproof forthe untidiness of their houses and children; the school was half emptiedand the church almost wholly so.

  For seven or eight years Mr. Bastow had a hard time of it. It was, then,both with pleasure as an old friend, and with renewed hopefulness forthe village, that he visited John Thorndyke on his return. The changein the state of affairs was almost instantaneous. As soon as it becameknown that the Rector was backed, heart and soul, by the Squire'sauthority, and that a complaint from him was followed the next day by anotice to quit at the end of a week, his own authority was establishedas firmly as it had been in the old Squire's time, and in a couple ofyears Crowswood became quite a model village. Every garden blossomedwith flowers; roses and eglantine clustered over the cottages, neatnessand order prevailed everywhere.

  The children were tidily dressed and respectful in manner, the womenbright and cheerful, and the solitary alehouse remaining had but fewcustomers, and those few were never allowed to transgress the bounds ofmoderation. The Squire had a talk with the landlord a fortnight afterhis arrival.

  "I am not going to turn you out, Peters," he said. "I hear that you makesome efforts to keep your house decently; the other two I shall sendpacking directly their terms are up. Whether you remain permanently mustdepend upon yourself. I will do up your house for you, and build a barparlor alongside, where quiet men can sit and smoke their pipes and talkand take their beer in comfort, and have liberty to enjoy themselves aslong as their enjoyment does not cause annoyance to other people or keeptheir wives and children in rags. I will do anything for you if Ifind the place well conducted; but I warn you that I will have nodrunkenness. A man who, to my knowledge, gets drunk twice, will not getdrunk a third time in this parish, and if you let men get drunk here itis your fault as much as theirs. Now we understand each other."

  Things once placed on a satisfactory footing, the Squire had but littlemore trouble, and it soon came to be understood that he was not to betrifled with, and that Crowswood was no longer a place for the idle orshiftless. Two or three of the farmers left at the termination of theiryear, but better men took their places, and John Thorndyke, havingsettled matters to his satisfaction, now began to attend more to otheraffairs. He had been, when he first came back, welcomed with greatheartiness by all the gentry of the neighborhood; his father had been apopular man, and young Thorndyke had been regarded as a pleasant youngfellow, and would in any case have been welcomed, if only becauseCrowswood had become a nuisance to the whole district. It was, indeed,a sort of rendezvous for poachers and bad characters, it was more thansuspected that gangs of thieves and burglars made it their headquarters,and that even highwaymen found it a convenient and quiet resort.

  Thus, then, the transformation effected within a few months of Mr.Thorndyke's return caused general and lively satisfaction, and a yearlater he was put on the Commission of the Peace, and became one of themost regular attendants at the Bench of Magistrates. Reluctantly ashe had taken up his present position, he found it, as time went on, apleasant one. He had not been conscious before that time hung somewhatheavily on his hands, but here he had duties to perform and ampleemployment. His nature was naturally somewhat a masterful one, andboth as a magistrate and a landlord he had scope and power of action.Occasionally he went up to London, always driving his gig, with a pairof fast trotting horses, and was known to the frequenters of thecoffee houses chiefly patronized by country gentlemen. Altogether, JohnThorndyke became quite a notable person in the district, and men wereinclined to congratulate themselves upon the fact that he, and not theIndian officer, his brother, had come into the estate.

  The idea of an old Indian officer in those days was that he was almostof necessity an invalid, and an irritable one, with a liver hopelesslyderanged, a yellow complexion, and a hatred of the English
climate. Thefact that, instead of leaving the army and coming home at his father'sdeath, George Thorndyke had chosen to remain abroad and leave the estateto the management of agents, had specially prejudiced him in the eyes ofthe people of that part, and had heightened the warmth with which theyhad received his brother. John Thorndyke had upon the occasion, of hisfirst visit to the family solicitors spoken his mind with much freedomas to the manner in which Newman had been allowed a free hand.

  "Another ten years," he said, "and there would not have been a cottagehabitable on the estate, nor a farm worth cultivating. He did absolutelynothing beyond collecting the rents. He let the whole place go to rackand ruin. The first day I arrived I sent him out of the house, with atalking to that he won't forget as long as he lives."

  "We never heard any complaints about him, Mr. Thorndyke, except that Ithink we did once hear from the Rector of the place that his conduct wasnot satisfactory. I remember that we wrote to him about it, and hesaid that the Rector was a malignant fellow, on bad terms with all hisparishioners."

  "If I had the scoundrel here," John Thorndyke said with indignation, "Iwould let him have a taste of the lash of my dog whip. You should nothave taken the fellow's word; you should have sent down someone to findout the true state of things. Why, the place has been an eyesore to thewhole neighborhood, the resort of poaching, thieving rascals; by gad,if my brother George had gone down there I don't know what wouldhave happened! It will cost a couple of years' rent to get things putstraight."

  When the Squire was at home there was scarce an evening when the Rectordid not come up to smoke a pipe and take his glass of old Jamaica orHollands with him.

  "Look here, Bastow," the latter said, some three years after his return,"what are you going to do with that boy of yours? I hear bad reports ofhim from everyone; he gets into broils at the alehouse, and I hearthat he consorts with a bad lot of fellows down at Reigate. One of mytenants--I won't mention names--complained to me that he had persecutedhis daughter with his attentions. They say, he was recognized among thatpoaching gang that had an affray with Sir James Hartrop's keepers. Thething is becoming a gross scandal."

  "I don't know what to do about him, Squire; the boy has always been atrouble to me. You see, before you came home, he got into bad hands inthe village here. Of course they have all gone, but several of them onlymoved as far as Reigate, and he kept up their acquaintance. I thrashedhim again and again, but he has got beyond that now, you see; he isnearly eighteen, and openly scoffs at my authority. Upon my word, Idon't know what to do in the matter."

  "He is growing up a thorough young ruffian," the Squire saidindignantly, "and one of these mornings I expect to see him brought upbefore us charged with some serious offense. We had to fine him lastweek for being drunk and making a disturbance down at Reigate. Why doyou let him have money? You may have no authority over him; but at leastyou should refuse to open your purse to him. Don't you see that thissort of thing is not only a disgrace to him, but very prejudicial tothe village? What authority can you have for speaking against vice anddrunkenness, when your son is constantly intoxicated?"

  "I see that, Squire--none better; and I have thought of resigning mycure."

  "Stuff and nonsense, Parson! If the young fellow persists in his presentcourse he must leave the village, that is clear enough; but that is noreason why you should. The question is what is to be done with him? Thebest thing he could do would be to enlist. He might be of some serviceto his country, in India or the American Colonies, but so far as I cansee he is only qualifying himself for a jail here."

  "I have told him as much, Squire," Mr. Bastow said, in a depressedvoice, "and he has simply laughed in my face, and said that he was verycomfortable where he was, and had no idea whatever of moving."

  "What time does he go out in the morning?" John Thorndyke askedabruptly.

  "He never gets up till twelve o'clock, and has his breakfast when I takemy dinner."

  "Well, I will come in tomorrow morning and have a talk with him myself."

  The next day the Squire rode up to the door of the Rectory soon afterone o'clock. Mr. Bastow had just finished his meal; his son, a youngfellow of between seventeen and eighteen, was lolling in an easy chair.

  "I have come in principally to speak to you, young sir," John Thorndykesaid quietly. "I have been asking your father what you intend to do withyourself. He says he does not know."

  The young fellow looked up with an air of insolent effrontery.

  "I don't know that it is any business of yours, Mr. Thorndyke, what I dowith myself."

  "Oh, yes, it is," the Squire replied. "This village and the people in itare mine. You are disturbing the village with your blackguard conduct;you are annoying some of the girls on the estate, and altogether you aremaking yourself a nuisance. I stopped at the alehouse as I came here,and have ordered the landlord to draw no more liquor for you, and unlessyou amend your conduct, and that quickly, I will have you out of thevillage altogether."

  "I fancy, Mr. Thorndyke, that, even as a justice of the peace, you havenot the power to dictate to my father who shall be the occupant of thishouse."

  "What you say is perfectly true; but as you make your father's life aburden to him, and he is desirous of your absence, I can and willorder the village constable to remove you from his house by force, ifnecessary."

  The young fellow cast an evil glance at his father. "He has not beencomplaining, has he?" he said, with a sneer.

  "He has not, sir," John Thorndyke said indignantly. "It is I who havebeen complaining to him, and he admits that you are altogether beyondhis authority. I have pointed out to him that he is in no way obligedto support you at your age in idleness and dissipation, and that it werebest for him and all concerned that he should close his doors to you. Idon't want to have to send the son of my old friend to prison, but I cansee well enough that that is what it will come to if you don't give upyour evil courses. I should think you know by this time that I am a manof my word. I have taken some pains to purge this village of all badcharacters, and I do not intend to have an exception made of the son ofthe clergyman, who, in his family as well as in his own person, is boundto set an example."

  "Well, Mr. Thorndyke, I utterly decline to obey your orders or to beguided by your advice."

  "Very well, sir," the magistrate said sternly. "Mr. Bastow, do Iunderstand that you desire that your son shall no longer remain aninmate of your house?"

  "I do," the clergyman said firmly; "and if he does so I have no othercourse before me but to resign my living; my position here has becomeabsolutely unbearable."

  "Very well, sir, then you will please lock your doors tonight, and if heattempts to enter, I, as a magistrate, should know how to deal withhim. Now, young sir, you understand your position; you may not take myadvice, nevertheless, I shall give it you. The best thing you can dois to take your place for town on the outside of the coach that comesthrough Reigate this afternoon, and tomorrow morning proceed either tothe recruiting officer for His Majesty's service, or to that for theEast India Company's. You have health and strength, you will get rid atonce of your bad associates, and will start afresh in a life in whichyou may redeem your past and be useful to your king and country."

  Young Bastow smiled.

  "Thanks," he said sarcastically. "I have my own plans, and shall followthem."

  "I would think, Mr. Bastow," the Squire said quietly, "it would justbe as well for you to come home with me. I don't think that the leavetaking is likely to be an affectionate one."

  The Rector rose at once.

  "I will come with you, Squire. I may tell you now, what I have not toldyou before, that my son has more than once raised his hand against me,and that I do not care to be left alone with him."

  "I judged him capable even of that, Mr. Bastow."

  "Goodby, Arthur," his father said. "My heart is ready to break that ithas come to this; but for both our sakes it is better so. Goodby, myson, and may Heaven lead you to better ways! If ever you come to m
e andsay, 'Father, I have turned over a new leaf, and heartily repent thetrouble I have caused you,' you will receive a hearty welcome from me,and no words of reproach for the past."

  The young man paid no attention to the offered hand, but laughedscornfully.

  "You have not got rid of me yet," he said. "As for you, SquireThorndyke, I shall not forget your meddlesome interference, and someday, maybe, you will be sorry for it."

  "I think not," John Thorndyke said gravely. "I am doing my duty to thevillage, and still more I am doing my duty to an old friend, and I amnot likely ever to feel any regret that I have so acted. Now, Parson,let's be off."

  After leaving the house with the clergyman, the Squire stopped at thehouse of Knapp, the village constable; and said a few words to him,then, leading his horse, walked home with Mr. Bastow.

  "Don't be cast down, old friend," he said. "It is a terrible trial toyou; but it is one sharp wrench, and then it will be over. Anything isbetter than what you must have been suffering for some time."

  "I quite feel that, Squire; my life has indeed been intolerable of late.I had a painful time before, but always looked forward with hope to yourbrother coming home. Since you returned, and matters in the parish havebeen put straight, this trouble has come in to take the place of theother, and I have felt that I would rather resign and beg for charitythan see my son going from bad to worse, a scandal to the parish, and ahindrance to all good work."

  "It is a bad business, Bastow, and it seems to me that two or threeyears in prison would be the best thing for him, as he will not take upthe only trade open to him. At any rate, it would separate him from hisevil associates, and give you peace while he is behind the bars. Wheredoes he get his money?"

  "That I know not, Squire. He takes some from me--it used to be donesecretly, now it is done with threats, and, as I told you, withviolence--but that would not account for his always having money. Hemust get it somewhere else, for when I have paid my bills, as I alwaysdo the hour that I receive money, there is but little over for himto take. He is often away all night, sometimes for two or three daystogether, and I dare not think what he does with himself; but certainlyhe gets money somehow, and I am afraid that I cannot hope it is honestlyobtained."

  "I do not well see how it can be," the Squire agreed.

  "If I had before known as much as you tell me now, I would have takensome steps to have him watched, and to nip the matter before it went toofar. Do you think that he will take your notice, and come no more to thehouse?"

  Mr. Bastow shook his head.

  "I fear that the only effect will be to make him worse, even when he wasquite a small boy punishment only had that effect with him. He will comeback tonight probably half drunk, and certainly furious at my havingventured to lay the case before you."

  "You must lock the doors and bar the windows."

  "I did that when he first took to being out at night, but he alwaysmanaged to get in somehow."

  "Well, it must be all put a stop to, Bastow; and I will come back withyou this evening, and if this young rascal breaks into the house I willhave him down at Reigate tomorrow on the charge of house breaking; or,at any rate, I will threaten to do so if he does not give a promise thathe will in future keep away from you altogether."

  "I shall be glad, at any rate, if you will come down, Squire, for, tosay the truth, I feel uneasy as to the steps he may take in his fury atour conversation just now."

  John Thorndyke took down from a wall a heavy hunting whip, as he wentout with the parson at nine o'clock. He had in vain endeavored to cheerhis old friend as they sat over their steaming glasses of Jamaica. Theparson had never been a strong man; he was of a kindly disposition, andan unwearied worker when there was an opportunity for work, but he hadalways shrunk from unpleasantness, and was ready to yield rather thanbring about trouble. He had for a long time suffered in silence, andhad not the Squire himself approached the subject of his son'sdelinquencies, he would have never opened his mouth about it. Now,however, that he had done so, and the Squire had taken the matter inhand, and had laid down what was to be done, though he trembled at theprospect, he did not even think of opposing his plan, and indeed couldthink of no alternative for it.

  "I have told John Knapp to be here," the Squire said, as they reachedthe house. "It is just as well that he should be present if your soncomes back again. He is a quiet, trustworthy fellow, and will keep hismouth shut if I tell him."

  Mr. Bastow made no reply. It was terrible to him that there should beanother witness to his son's conduct, but he saw that the Squire wasright. An old woman opened the door.

  "Are all the shutters closed and barred?" John Thorndyke asked her.

  "Yes, sir; I always sees to that as soon as it gets dark."

  "Very well; you can go to bed now, Elisa," her master said. "Is JohnKnapp here?"

  "Yes, he came an hour ago, and is sitting in the kitchen."

  "I will call him in myself when I want to speak to him."

  As soon as the old servant had gone upstairs the Squire went into thekitchen, Mr. Bastow having gone to the cellar to fetch up a bottle ofold brandy that was part of a two dozen case given to him by the oldSquire fifteen years before.

  "Do you go round the house, John, and see that everything is properlyfastened up. I see that you have got a jug of beer there. You had betterget a couple of hours' sleep on that settle. I shall keep watch, till Iam sleepy, and then I will call you. Let me know if you find any of thedoors or windows unbarred."

  Five minutes later the constable knocked at the door of the parlor. "Thedoor opening into the stable yard was unbarred, Squire."

  "I thought it likely that it would be so, Knapp. You have made it fastnow, I suppose? That is right. Now lie down and get an hour or two ofsleep; it is scarce likely that he will be back until late.

  "That was the old woman, of course," he went on to his companion, whenthe door closed behind the constable. "I thought it likely enough thathe might tell her to leave a way for him to come in. You told me thatshe had been with you a good many years. I dare say she has left thatdoor unbarred for him many a time. I should advise you to get a man tosleep in the house regularly; there are plenty of fellows who will beglad to do it for a shilling or two a week, and I do not think that itis safe for you to be here alone."

  An hour later he said to the Rector: "Now, Bastow, you had best goto bed. I have taken the matter into my own hands, and will carryit through. However, I won't have him taken away without your beingpresent, and will call you when we want you. Of course, if he will givea solemn promise not to molest you, and, even if he won't enlist, toleave this part of the country altogether, I shall let him off."

  "There is one thing, Mr. Thorndyke, that I have not told you," theRector said hesitatingly. "Sometimes, when he comes home late, he bringssomeone with him; I have heard voices downstairs. I have never seen whoit was--for what could I have done if I went down?--but I have heardhorses brought round to the stable yard, and heard them ride away:"

  "It is just as well you told me," the Squire said dryly. "If you hadtold me this evening at the house, I would have dropped a brace ofpistols into my pocket. However, this hunting crop is a good weapon;but I don't suppose they will show fight, even if anyone is with him.Besides, Knapp has a stout oaken cudgel with him--I noticed it standingagainst his chair as I went in--and as he is a strong active fellow, andwe shall have the advantage of a surprise, I fancy we should be a matcheven for three or four of them."

  At one o'clock the Squire roused John Knapp. "It is one o'clock, John;now take off your boots. I don't want him to know that there is anyonein the house till we get hold of him. I am going to lie down on the sofain the parlor. The moment you hear footsteps you come and wake me."

  The clock in the kitchen had just struck two when the constable shookJohn Thorndyke. "There are two horses just coming into the yard."

  "All right. I opened a window in the room looking down into the yardbefore I lay down. I will go up and see what they are g
oing to do. Ifthey try to break in anywhere down here, do you come at once quietly upto me."

  The Squire had taken off his boots before he lay down, and, holding hisheavy hunting crop in his hand, he went quietly upstairs. As he went tothe window he heard Arthur Bastow say angrily:

  "Confound the old woman! she has locked the door; she has never playedme that trick before. There is a ladder in the stable, and I will get inat that window up there and open it for you. Or you may as well come upthat way, too, and then you can stow the things away in my room at once,and have done with it."

  The Squire went hastily down.

  "Come upstairs, Knapp," he whispered to the constable. "There are threeof them, and I fancy the two mounted men are highwaymen. Let them allget in, keeping yourself well back from the window. The moon is round onthe other side of the house, but it will be light enough for us to seethem as they get in. I will take the last fellow, and I will warrantthat he will give no trouble; then I will fall upon the second, and doyou spring on young Bastow. The two highwaymen are sure to have pistols,and he may have some also. Give him a clip with that cudgel of yoursfirst, then spring on him, and hold his arms tightly by his side. If Icall you give him a back heel and throw him smartly, and then come tomy aid. I don't think I shall want it, but it is as well to prepare foreverything."

  They went upstairs and took their places, one on each side of thewindow, standing three or four feet back. Just as they took up theirpositions the top of the stable ladder appeared above the sill of thewindow. Half a minute later young Bastow's head appeared, and he threwup the sash still higher, and stepped into the room; then he turned andhelped two men in, one after the other.

  "Follow me," he said, "then you won't tumble over the furniture."

  As they turned, the heavy handle of John's Thorndyke's whip fell withtremendous force on the head of the last man.

  "What the devil is that?" the other exclaimed, snatching out a pistoland turning round, as the falling body struck him, but he got nofurther. Again the heavy whip descended, this time on his right arm;it dropped useless by his side, and the pistol fell from his hand. ThenJohn Thorndyke fell upon him and bore him to the ground, snatched theother pistol from his belt, and held it to his head.

  "Now, my man," he said quietly, "if you don't surrender I will blow outyour brains."

  "I surrender," the man moaned. "I believe that you have broken my arm.Curse you, whoever you are."

  The struggle between John Knapp and young Bastow was soon over.The young fellow was lithe and sinewy, but he was no match for theconstable, who, indeed, had almost overpowered him before he was awarewhat had happened.

  "Has he got pistols, Knapp?" the Squire asked.

  "Yes, sir, a brace of them; I have got them both safely in my pocket.There," he went on, as a sharp click was heard, "I have got the darbyson him. Now shall I help you, sir?"

  "You had better run downstairs first and light a couple of candles atthe kitchen fire: you will find a pair standing on the parlor table.Don't be long about it; the first fellow I hit was stunned, and he maycome round any moment."

  "I will make sure of him before I go, Squire. I have got another pair ofdarbys in my pocket."

  As soon as he had fastened these upon the wrists of the insensible manhe ran downstairs, and in a minute returned with the candles.

  "I am glad that you are back," the Squire said. "I was afraid that youngrascal would try to escape."

  "I took good care of that, Squire; you see I put one of his arms roundthe bedpost before I slipped the darbys on, and he cannot get awayunless he takes the whole bed with him; and as I don't think he wouldget it out either by the window or the door, he is as safe here as hewould be in Newgate. What is the next thing to do, Squire?"

  "You had better tie this fellow's legs. I will leave you a candle here,and you can keep guard over them while I go and wake Mr. Bastow."

  The Rector needed no waking; he was walking up and down his room ingreat distress. He had not undressed, but had thrown himself upon hisbed.

  "What has happened, Thorndyke?" he asked as the Squire entered. "I heardtwo heavy falls, and I felt that something terrible had taken place."

  "Well, it has been a serious matter--very serious. That unfortunateson of yours is not hurt, but I don't know but that the best thing thatcould have happened would have been for him to have got a bullet throughhis head. He brought home with him two men who are, I have little doubt,highwaymen; anyhow, they each had a brace of pistols in their belt, andfrom what he said I think they have been stopping a coach. At any rate,they have something with them that they were going to hide here, andI fancy it is not the first time that it has been done. I don't expectyour son had anything to do with the robbery, though he was carrying abrace of pistols, too; however, we have got them all three.

  "Now, you see, Bastow, this takes the affair altogether out of ourhands. I had hoped that when we caught your son in the act of breakinginto your house after you had ordered him from it, we should be able tofrighten him into enlisting, or, at any rate, into promising to disturbyou no more, for even if we had taken him before the bench, nothingcould have been done to him, for under such circumstances hisre-entering the house could not be looked upon as an act of burglary. Asit is, the affair is altogether changed. Even if I wished to do so, as amagistrate I could not release those two highwaymen; they must appear asprisoners in court. I shall hear down in the town tomorrow morning whatcoach has been stopped, and I have no doubt that they have on them theproceeds of the robbery. Your son was consorting with and aiding them,and acting as a receiver of stolen goods, and as you have heard horseshere before it is probable that when his room is thoroughly searched weshall come upon a number of articles of the same sort. I am sorry thatI ever meddled in the matter; but it is too late for that now. You hadbetter come downstairs with me, and we will take a turn in the garden,and try to see what had best be done."