Miss Ellingham saw my start of surprise and astonishment at sight of this unexpected apparition, for when the man had taken some order from her and relieved the room of his multi-coloured presence, she turned to me with a laugh.
“Something new for you, that, eh?” she said, “Never seen anything like that before, have you?”
“Not out of a picture, ma’am,” said I.
“Oh, well, he’s real enough, poor Mandhu Khan!” she remarked. “A very good and faithful servant!—I brought him with me from India, where I lived a great many years—most of my life, in fact. He feels the English climate, though, and so do I, up to now. We have to keep good fires going, in spite of the Spring warmth. But here’s the port, and you shall have a glass—when I was young, and people had been ill, they always had port, and I don’t see any reason why that custom should change, though most customs have changed, I’m sorry to say, since I left England.”
The Hindu had come back with a tray on which was a decanter and glasses, and a jar of biscuits: Miss Ellingham helped me to one glass of port and herself to another, and putting the biscuits at my elbow bade me serve myself. She nodded smilingly at me over the rim of her glass.
“Here’s wishing you a speedy return to your usual health, Ben Heckitt,” she said. “The parson was telling me about you, yesterday. Your illness caught you on the very brink of a legal career, didn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered. “I was just going to be articled to Mr. Philbrick, in Kingshaven. I’ve been intended for the law ever since I was twelve years old, ma’am. I’ve lost six months through my illness.”
“Oh, well, you’ll soon make that up!” she remarked cheerfully. “Got to be articled five years, haven’t you? You see, I know something about it—my father was a famous London solicitor—attorneys they used to call them in those days. He made a big fortune out of the law—let’s hope you will.”
“Yes, ma’am—thank you,” said I. “What branch of the profession did your father go in for, ma’am?”
She laughed at that, as if my obvious eagerness contrasted with some recollection.
“Oh, I’m afraid he was a dull and prosaic commercial lawyer, my father,” she replied. “Conveyancing, and Companies, and all that sort of thing, you know. Which branch are you going in for?”
“I incline to criminal practice, ma’am,” said I, with a grave assurance that she no doubt found amusing. “I’ve read a lot of criminal law and practice already. Mr. Philbrick, he’s the best police-court practice in Kingshaven.”
“Well, that’s an interesting line!” she remarked, with another laugh. “More fun about police-courts than county-courts, no doubt. I suppose you’re well up in what they call leading cases—murder trials and so on, eh? That’s a deeply interesting”
Just then the door burst open, and in rushed Miss Ellingham’s nephew, Bryce, evidently in a state of high excitement, followed by Pepita Marigold. Bryce was an aggressively healthy youngster, about my own age, whom I secretly hated because since his arrival at the Grange he was for ever persuading Pepita to go boating or fishing or birds-nesting with him, and so getting more of her company than I liked. But he was not thinking of Pepita just then; the blaze in his eyes rose out of sheer delight at something utterly unusual.
“Aunt Kittie!—Aunt Kittie!” he vociferated, at the top of his voice. “Have you heard?—do you know what’s happened? There’s been a murder!—a real, proper, awful murder, just close by—last night—a man! Captain Marigold”
He broke off, suddenly catching sight of me, and his eyes grew as big as saucers, and his mouth opened wider and wider. Then he pointed straight at my face.
“Why!—why!—why!” he exclaimed. “He saw it!—you did see it, didn’t you, Ben Heckitt? Pepita says”
Pepita, too, was gazing at me as with an awful fascination, and I was quick to see that for that train at least Master Bryce would have to take a back seat. I was the man who knew!—the firsthand informant! I played up to the part, affecting an almost cynical indifference.
“Oh, yes!” I said, picking a crumb or two of biscuit off the table. “Oh, yes!—I was there! Yes!”
“Where?” demanded Miss Ellingham, looking from one to the other. “What is all this? A murder? A man murdered? What man? When? And why didn’t you tell me, Ben?” she went on, turning in my direction. “We’ve not heard of it here!”
“I thought you’d know all about it, ma’am,” I replied. “It’s known all over the neighbourhood, I should think.”
“No one has been out from here this morning,” she said quickly. “Except Bryce. But tell me about it, Ben!—do I understand that you were there?—that you saw—whatever was done—you? Tell me!”