The Pointing Man Read online

  XVIII

  THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH UNLOCKS HIS DOOR AND SHOWS WHAT LIES BEHIND

  When Coryndon made up his mind to any particular course of action andtime pressed, he left nothing to chance. Under ordinary circumstances,he was perfectly ready to wait and let things happen naturally; and sogreatly did he adhere to this belief in chance that he always hesitatedto make anything deliberately certain. Had he felt that he could allowtime to bring circumstance into his grasp, he would have preferred to doso, but, as he sat on the side of his bed, his _chota haziri_ untouchedon a table at his elbow, he knew that every minute counted, and that hemust come out of the shadow and deliberately face and force theposition.

  If he could always have worked in the dark he would have done so, and noone ever guessed how unwillingly he disclosed himself. He was a shadowin the great structure of criminal investigation, and he came and wentlike a shadow. When it was possible he vanished out of his completedcase before his agency was detected, and as he sat thinking, he wonderedif Hartley could not be trusted with the task that lay before him thatday, but even as the thought came into his mind he decided against it.Opportunity must be nailed like false coin to the counter, and therecould be no question of leaving a meeting to the last moment of chance.He had to make sure of his man; that was the first step.

  During the course of an idle morning, Coryndon wandered to the church,and saw that at 5.30 p.m. the Rev. Francis Heath was holding service.After the service there would be a choir practice, and Coryndon, havingmade a mental note of the hour, went back to luncheon with Hartley.

  The afternoon sunlight was dreaming in the garden, and the drowsy airwas full of the scent of flowers. Coryndon had something to do, and hewas wise enough to make no settled plan as to how he would do it,beforehand. He put away all thought of Absalom and the other livesconnected with the disappearance of the Christian boy, and let histhoughts drift out, drawing in the light and colour of the worldoutside.

  Yesterday has power over to-day; to-morrow even greater power, forto-morrow holds a gift or a whip, and Coryndon knew this, thinking outhis little philosophy of life. To be able to handle a situation whichmay require a strength that is above tact or diplomacy, he knew that allthose yesterdays must give their store of gathered strength andknowledge.

  As there was no running water to watch, Coryndon watched the shadows andthe light playing hide-and-go-seek through the leaves, through hishalf-closed eyes. They made a pattern on the ground, and the pattern wasfaultless in its beauty. Nature alone can do such things. He looked atthe far-off trees of the park, green now, to turn into soft blue masseslater on when the day waned, and the intrinsic value of blue as colourflitted over his fancy. The music that was part of his nature rippledand sang in obligato to his thoughts, and because he loved music heloved colour and knew the connection between sound and tint. Colour, toits lightest, least value, was music, expressing itself in another way.

  Hartley went out with his dog; went softly because he believed hisfriend slept, and Coryndon did not stir. Somewhere in the centre ofthings actual, Hartley lived his cheerful, happy life, dreaming when hewas lonely of the woman who darned his socks and smiled at him. InCoryndon's life there was no woman either visionary or real, and hewondered why he was exempt from these natural dreams of a man. He wasvery humble about himself. He knew that he was only a tracker, a brainthat carried a body, not a healthy animal body that controlled thegreater part of a brain. He was given the power to grip motives and toread hearts, and beyond that he only lived in his fingers when heplayed. He had his dreams for company when he shut the door on the otherhalf of his active brain, and he had his own thrills of excitement andintense joy when he found what he was seeking, but beyond this there wasnothing, and he asked for nothing. Blue shadows, and a drifting intopeace, that was the end. He pulled himself together abruptly, for it wasfive o'clock, and time for him to start.

  When Coryndon had drunk some tea, he started out on foot to St. Jude'sChurch. He knew that he would get there in time to find the Rev. FrancisHeath. The choir practice did not take very long, and as he walked intothe church they were singing the last verses of a hymn. Heath sat in oneof the choir pews, a sombre figure in his black cassock, listeningattentively.

  "Happy birds that sing and fly Round Thy altars, O Most High."

  The choir sang the "Amen," and sang it false, because they were in ahurry to troop out of the church; the girls were whispering andcollecting gloves and books, and the boys were already clattering offwith an air of relief. Heath spoke to the organist, making somesuggestion in his grave, quiet voice, and when he turned, Coryndon wasstanding in the chancel.

  "Can I speak to you for a moment?" he asked easily.

  "Come into the vestry," said Heath quietly. "We shall be undisturbedthere."

  He went down the chancel steps and opened a door at the side, waitingfor Coryndon to go in, and closing the door behind them. A table stoodin the middle of the room with a few books and papers on it, and asquare window lighted it from the western wall; there were only twochairs in the room, and Heath put one of them near the table for hisvisitor, and took the other himself.

  He did not know what he expected Coryndon to say; men very rarely cameto him like this, but he felt that it was possible that he was insearch of something true and definite. Truth was in his eyes, and hisdark, fine face was earnest as he bent forward and looked full at theclergyman.

  "What can I do for you?"

  Heath put the question tentatively, conscious of a sudden quick tensionin the atmosphere.

  Coryndon's eyes fixed on him, like gripping hands, and he leaned alittle over the table.

  "You can tell me how and when you got Rydal out of the country."

  For a moment, it seemed to Heath that the whole room rocked, and thatblackness descended upon him in waves, blotting out the face of the manwho asked the question, destroying his identity, and leaving him onlythe knowledge that the secret that he had guarded with all the strengthof his soul was known, inexplicably, to Hartley's friend. He tried toframe a reply, but his words faltered through dry lips, and his face waswhite and set.

  "Why should you say that I helped Rydal?"

  "Because," Coryndon's answer came quickly, "you told me so yourself lastnight at dinner."

  He heard Coryndon speak again, very slowly, so that every word cameclear into the confusion of his throbbing brain.

  "I knew from Hartley that you were in Paradise Street on the evening ofthe twenty-ninth of July, and that you saw and spoke to Absalom. I amconcerned in the case of finding that boy or his murderer, and anythingyou can tell me may be of help to me in putting my facts together. I hadto come to your confidence by a direct question. Will you pardon mewhen you consider my motive? I am not concerned with Rydal: my case iswith Absalom."

  He looked sympathetically at the worn, drawn face across the table, thatwas white and sick with recent fear.

  "Tell me the events just as they came," he said gently. "You may be ableto cast light on the matter."

  Heath looked up, and his eyes expressed his silent acceptance ofCoryndon's honesty of purpose.

  "I will tell you, Mr. Coryndon. God knows that the case of this boy hashaunted me night and day. He was my best pupil, and when Hartley accusedme by inference, of complicity, I suffered as I believe few men have hadto suffer because I could not speak. I may not be able to assist youvery far, but all I know you shall know if you will listen to mepatiently."

  Heath relapsed into silence for some little time, and when he spokeagain it was with the manner of a man who gives all his factsaccurately. He omitted no detail and he set the story of Rydal beforeCoryndon, plainly and clearly.

  Rydal had been a clerk in the Mangadone Bank, and had been in the placefor some years before he went home and returned with a wife. He was anhonest and kindly young fellow and he worked hard. There was no flaw inhis record, and Heath believed that he was under the influence of a verygenuine religious feeling. He frequently came to see Hea
th, who knew hischaracter thoroughly, and knew that he was weak in many respects. Hetalked enthusiastically of the girl he was going to marry, and Heath sawhim off on the liner when Rydal got his leave and, full of gladanticipation, went away to bring out his wife.

  When the clergyman had reached this point in his story, he got up andpaced the floor a couple of times, his monkish face sad and troubled,and his eyes full of the tragic revelations that had yet to be made.

  Coryndon did not hurry the narrative. He was engaged in calling up themental presentment of the young happy man. Heath had described him as"fresh-looking," and had said that his manner was frank and alwayskindly; he was friendly to weakness, kindly to weakness, his virtues alltagged off into inefficient lack of grip; but he was honest and he foundlife good. That was how Rydal had started, that was the Rydal who hadgripped Heath's hand as he stood on the deck of the _Worcestershire_ andthought of the girl whom he was going home to marry.

  "I still see him as I saw him then," said Heath, with a catch in hisvoice. "He was so sure of all the good things of life, and he hadmanaged to save enough to furnish the bungalow by the river. I had goneover it with him the day before he sailed, and his pride in it all wasvery touching."

  Coryndon nodded his head, and Heath took up the story again, standingwith his hands on the back of the chair.

  "Rydal came back at the end of three months, his wife with him. She wasa pretty, silly creature, and her ideas of her social importance wereout of all keeping with Rydal's humble position in the Bank. She dressedherself extravagantly, and began to entertain on a scale that wasridiculous considering their poverty. Before their marriage, Rydal hadtold me that it was a love match, and that she was as poor as he, as allher own people could do for her was to make a small allowance sufficientfor her clothes."

  Coryndon sat very still. Heath had come to the point where the realinterest began: he could see this on the sad face that turned towardsthe western window.

  "In the early hours of one morning towards the end of July," went onHeath wearily, "I was awakened by Rydal coming into my room. I could seeat once that he was in desperate trouble, and he sat down near me andhid his face in his hands and cried like a child. There was enough inhis story to account for his tears, God knows. His wife was ill, perhapsdying; he told me that first, but that I already knew, and then he madehis confession to me. He had embezzled money from the bank and it couldonly be a matter of hours before a warrant was issued for his arrest. Imust not dwell too long on these details, but they are all part of thestory, and without them you could not understand my own place in whatfollows. It is sufficient to tell you that I returned at once with him,and his wife added her appeal to mine to make her husband agree to leavethe country. If she lived, she could join him later, but if he wasarrested before she died, she could only feel double torment andremorse. In the end we prevailed upon him to agree to go. The sin wasnot his morally"--Heath's voice rose in passionate vindication of hisact--"in my eyes, and, I believe, in the eyes of God, the man was notresponsible. I grant you his criminal weakness, I grant you his fallfrom honour and honesty, but then and now I know that I did right. Theone chance for his soul's welfare was the chance of escape. Prison wouldhave broken and destroyed him. A white man among native criminals. Hislife had been a good life, and an open, honest life up to the time thathis wife's constant demand for what he could not give broke down thebarriers and made him a felon."

  He wiped his face with his handkerchief and drew a deep breath. This washow he had argued the point with himself, and he still held to thevalidity of his argument.

  "That was early on the morning of July the twenty-ninth?" askedCoryndon.

  "Yes, that was the date. There was a small tramp in port, going to SouthAmerica. I had once been of some little assistance to the captain, and Iknew that he would do much to serve me. I went on board her at once, andsaw him, disguising none of the facts or the risk it entailed, and heagreed willingly to assist Rydal. He was to be at a certain point belowthe wharves that evening, and the _Lady Helen_ was to send a boat in topick him up."

  "I understand," said Coryndon, "the warrant was issued about noon thesame day?"

  "As far as I know, Joicey gave information against him just about then,but he had already left the bungalow. I went down Paradise Street tomake my way out along the river bank at a little after six o'clock. Ipassed Absalom in the street and spoke a word to the boy, but time waspressing and I did not dare to be late. It was of the utmost importancethat there should be no hitch in any part of the plan, for the _LadyHelen_ could not delay over an hour. I got to the appointed place by theriver just after twilight had come on--"

  "Were you seen by anyone?"

  Heath paused and thought for a moment.

  "I would like to deal entirely candidly with you, Mr. Coryndon, but,with your permission, I must avoid any mention of names. As it happened,I _was_ seen, but I believe that the person who saw me has no connectionwith either my own place in this story or the story itself so far as itaffects Absalom. I saw Rydal go. He went in silence, an utterlybroken-hearted and ruined man, and only ten months divided that day fromthe day that he stood on the deck of the _Worcestershire_ filled withevery hope the heart of a man knows. Behind him, his wife lying neardeath in the little house his love had provided for her, and nothing laybefore him but utter desolation. I watched the boat take him away intothe darkness, and I saw the lights of the _Lady Helen_ quite clearly,and then I saw her move slowly off, and I knew that Rydal was safe."

  He paused and stared into the darkness of the room, seeing the wholepicture again, and feeling the awful misery of the broken man who hadgone by the way of transgressors. The man who had once beenlight-hearted and happy, who had sung in his choir, and who had read thelessons for the Rev. Francis Heath and helped him with his boys.

  Coryndon's face showed his tense, close interest as the clergyman spokeagain.

  "I was standing there for some time, how long I do not know, when I sawthat I was not alone, and that I was being watched by a Chinaman. I knewthe boy by sight, and must have seen him before somewhere else. He was alarge, repulsive creature, and appeared to have come from one of thehouses near the river, where there are Coringyhis and low-caste nativesof India. At the time I remarked nothing, but when the boy saw that hehad attracted my attention, he started into a run, and left me withoutspeaking. The incident was so trifling that it hardly made me uneasy. Noone had seen me actually with Rydal--"

  "You are quite clear on that point? Not even the other person youalluded to?"

  "I can be perfectly clear. I passed the other person going in theopposite direction, before I joined Rydal. On the way back I saw Absalomagain, and he was with the Chinaman whom I already mentioned; they didnot notice me, and they were talking eagerly; my mind was overful ofother things, and you will understand that I did not think of them then,but, as far as I remember, they went towards the fishermen's quarter onthe river bank. I cannot be sure of this."

  Coryndon did not stir; the gloom was deep now, and yet neither of themen thought of calling for lights.

  "And the Chinaman?"

  Heath flung out his arms with a violent gesture.

  "He had seen and recognized Rydal, and he had the craftiness to realizethat his knowledge was of value. Next day everyone in Mangadone knewthat the hue and cry was out after the absconded clerk. He had betrayedhis trust, cheated and defrauded his employers, and left his wife to diealone, for she died that night, and I was with her. That was the storyin Mangadone. It was known in the Bazaar, and how or when it came to theears of the Chinaman I cannot tell you, but out of his knowledge he cameto me, and I paid him to keep silence. He has come several times oflate, and I will give him no more money. Rydal is safe. I have heardfrom him, and the law will hardly catch him now. I know my complicity, Iknow my own danger, but I have never regretted it." Again the surgingflood of passion swept into Heath's voice. "What is my life or myreputation set against the value of one living soul? Rydal is workinghonestl
y, his penitence is no mere matter of protestation, his wholenature has been strengthened by the awful experience he has passedthrough. How it may appear to others I cannot say, and do not greatlycare. In the eyes of God I am vindicated, and stand clear of blame."

  He towered gaunt against the light from the window behind him, andthough Coryndon could not see his face, he knew that it was lighted witha great rapture of self-denial and spiritual glory.

  "You need fear no further trouble from the boy," he said, rising to hisfeet. "I can tell you that definitely. I am neither a judge nor abishop, Mr. Heath, but I can tell you honestly from my heart that Ithink you were justified."

  He went out into the darkness that had come black over the eveningduring the hour he had sat with Heath, and as he walked back to thebungalow he thought of the man he had just left. There had been no needfor Coryndon to question him about Mrs. Wilder: her secret mission tothe river interested him no further. Heath had protected her and hadkept silence where her name was concerned, and yet she chose to belittlehim in her idle, insolent fashion.

  He thought of Heath sitting by the bed of the dying woman, and hethought of him following the wake of the _Lady Helen_ down the darkriver with sad, sorrowful eyes, and through the thought there came astrange thrill to his own soul, because he touched the hem of thegarment of the Everlasting Mercy, hidden away, pushed out of life, andforgotten in garrulous hours full of idle chatter.

  Yet Mrs. Wilder had announced with her regal finality no less than threetimes in the hearing of Coryndon the previous evening that the Rev.Francis Heath was "a bore."