Read Cunning Murrell Online

Authors: Arthur Morrison

Tags: #Historical Romance

Cunning Murrell (15 page)

It was dusk when he came up with the black trees and the little point of
spire that marked Hadleigh, and the shrimp-cart had passed through the
village more than a quarter of an hour since. He turned the corner into the
lane, and rapped with his stick at Murrell’s door. He could see that a
rushlight was burning in the keeping-room; but whether that meant that
Murrell was within, and so had not gone on farther in the shrimp-cart, he
could not guess, the ways of the house being strange to him.

Ann Pett opened the door, first a little way; and then, without speaking,
she flung it wide, for she had had her orders. Murrell was sitting at his
table, the candle burning at his elbow, and his head bowed over his little
book.

“Come yow in, Master Cloyse,” he said, without raising his head. “Come yow
in, an’ soon I will answer your doubt.”

Cloyse entered, and the door was shut behind him. He had never been in
this room before, well as he knew the cunning man by repute, and now he sat
and stared; not because the room, nor even his odd reception, impressed him
particularly, but because there was nothing else to do; for Murrell not only
kept his eyes on his book, but raised his hand to enjoin silence. It was a
strange little book, Cloyse noticed; rather like a fat prayer-book sewed in a
pocket-book cover; though instead of print it seemed to be filled with small
writing and cranky figures.

There was a long pause. Ann Pett had vanished as soon as she had seen
Cloyse seated, and now he sat and stared, and wondered honestly how Murrell
had known it was he, since he had never once looked up at him. Presently
Murrell said, still with his eyes on the book: “As to your doubt, Master
Cloyse, the answer is: ‘They do not.’”

Old Sim Cloyse stared harder than ever. He had come prepared to be
uncommonly civil, and was loth to judge the other drunk.

“As to your question, I have the answer, but wait till you put it.”

Murrell shut the book, put it in the drawer among the papers, and took off
the iron-rimmed spectacles. Then he sat back in his chair, and faced his
visitor.

Cloyse stooped, and put his hat on the floor, under his chair, which was
the polite thing to do with one’s hat in those parts. His good manners were
grown somewhat rusty from disuse, as he knew, and he was anxious to forget
nothing. Then as he rose he made to wipe his forehead with his hand, an
action which becomes a habit with them that wear hard glazed hats; but he had
forgotten his sore arm, and half way he let it drop, with a twitch of the
mouth. Nothing ever escaped Cunning Murrell’s eyes that it was possible for a
man to see.

“Good evenin’. Master Murr’ll—sir,” old Sim began, with a quick
addition of the last word, which he was near missing. “Yow were kind enough
for to inform me when fust I were at the door—for to inform me ‘they do
not.’ If ‘tis no liberty, I would wish for to say I den’t quite
unnerstand.”

“Yow come to me. Master Cloyse, with doubts in your mind, as many oathers
do. Yow were troubled with this doubt, arl the way here an before: ‘Do the
coastguard know of arl my business consarns for, say, a fortnit, or any of
them?’ Troubled in your mind with these hainish an’ grievous doubts, yow come
to me for relief, as many oathers do; an’ I answer the doubts in your mind
plain on the instant. ‘They do not’ were my answer.”

Whether or not old Sim Cloyse was impressed exactly in the way that
Murrell desired—and Murrell loved his artistry for its own
sake—he took the explanation gratefully.

“I thank ‘ee, Master Murr’ll, sir,” he said; “an’ yow hev made my mind
much easier. An’ most wonnerful scientific, too, knowin’ the thoughts o’ my
head afore I had time to speak ‘em. An’ most kind, sarten to say, arter I had
treated yow that rude when yow so kindly give me a wisit. For that behaviour,
Master Murr’ll, I ask pardon. I were took that of a heap, I den’t know what
to say.”

Cunning Murrell lay back in the chair that was a deal too big for him,
watching Cloyse’s face keenly as he brought forth laboriously his
unaccustomed apologetics. But he said nothing, and Cloyse went on.

“I den’t know what to say. Master Murr’ll, sir, as well yow may guess, the
business bein’ what it were. For when a man hev business o’ that sort, Master
Murr’ll, it be nat’ral he doan’t crake ‘bout it; ben’t it?”

He looked appealingly at the little old man, but his only answer was a
calm “Go on.”

“A man doan’t crake ‘bout sich business, an’ he doan’t ‘spect anybody else
to know. Consekins when a genelman—even a genelman o’ great larnin’ as
he respects, like yourself—kims an’ plumps out with it arl to ‘s face,
‘tis nat’ral he be dunted and marthered arltogither. An’ ‘haps he sez what he
doan’t mean, bein’ took so, an’ wantin’ time to get his thotes togither.”

Old Sim Cloyse was suffering for his politeness, for he felt sore need of
his hat to turn about in his hands while he approached the real business.

“But when you’d a-gone,” he went on, “I thote, an’ I thote, an’ I see I’d
a-bin wrong to mistrust yow. Master Murr’ll, sir—no, I doan’t say to
mistrust you, ‘cause I den’t do that, so celebrated a genelman as yow be; but
I mean I see I’d a-bin wrong, to make, to—to—to fare, to seem, to
mistrust you, Master Murr’ll.” Old Sim was sure nobody could get it down any
finer than that. “An’ so, thinks I, I’ll ask pardon o’ Master Murr’ll, and
prove I doan’t hev any mistrust by a-tellin’ him arl the business to the
bottom, open an’ ‘boveboard.”

Cunning Murrell was all alert, but his vanity was indulged, nevertheless,
by these respectful amends, and he so far relaxed as to nod complacently.

Old Sim Cloyse was commonly a man of few words, and he felt that his
resources in that respect were nearing exhaustion. So he went to
business.

“Yow kim to me. Master Murr’ll, sir,” he said, “on the part of a—a
Consulter: name yow den’t mention. I, likewise, now kim to you, as yow knowed
so wonnerful scientific before I spoke, as a Consulter. I dunno if it be an
offence to a genelman o’ your larned celebrity to ask if that ‘ere first
Consulter behaved so proper as to offer what might be called compensation, or
a fee, in adwance? Beggin’ humble pardon if it be.”

“No,” Murrell answered frankly, “he den’t pay a farden.”

“Ah,” Cloyse replied with the tone of a man who plays a trump, for now he
began to be confident; “then ‘tis my dooty fust to prove that there be a
difference in Consulters, Master Murr’ll, sir, an’ that the more respeckful
an’ proper-minded sort o’ Consulters do value your larned knowledge an’
scientific powers as they ote to should. There, Master Murr’ll, sir, be a fi’
pound note, as a small compensation in adwance, afore I say anoather
word.”

Murrell bent his head graciously in acceptance; but he was mindful of his
dignity, and let the note lie on the table.

“Well, Master Murr’ll, sir,” Cloyse went on, after a pause, rubbing his
forehead, but this time being careful to employ his left hand; “so much done,
I count we stand that one Consulter as kims to you ‘bout his bit o’ business,
an’ pays nothen, is done with. The oather Consulter kims about
his
bit
o’ business, an’ pays in adwance, an’ ready to pay agen, as is proper an’
fair. To say nothen o’ the rediklus little as is give by the officers for
information, an’ the harm as sich would do in the neighbourhood to any
respected public genelman…Well, sir, fust, where be Golden Adams?”

“No, Master Cloyse; since yow’ve come to make me offers so han’some an’
lib’ral,
fust
I ask of your health. How’s your arm?”

“My arm, Master Murr’ll, sir?”

“Ay—your right arm, up there. Yow han’t no outside bandages nor
nothen to show, ‘tis true; but yow den’t think I could fail to know ‘bout it
did yow?”

Cloyse passed his left hand gently over the place, and stared. “Why,” he
said, “I den’t think he knowed he hit me at arl, let alone where.”

“Right. He den’t know. An’ he dunno yet.”

Cloyse transferred the rubbing to the back of his head. Then he asked
slyly: “Who?”

“I might answer, ‘him that fired the pistols.’ But you hev paid a han’some
fee, an’ must hev arl I can give for it. I mean Golden Adams.”

“Ah,” said Cloyse, “I guessed as much.” Plainly he had played the right
game, and Murrell was bought wholly. “An’ where be he now?”

“The sarten and exact sput at this moment o’ time,” Murrell answered
deliberately, “I might discover by exercise of the curis an’ lawful arts I
hev, though it would take a little time; an’ by then he might ha’ moved a
yard or two. But I take it yow doan’t wish to employ my secret arts, but to
know what I know now, in the common human way, o’ where Golden Adams be?”

“Ay,” Cloyse replied, and nodded energetically.

“At this moment,” Murrell answered, with a quick twist of his head toward
the wooden clock, “as near as I can judge it, Golden Adams be about hafe a
mile off. That bein’ to say on Castle Hill, watchin’, with two large pistols
an’ a cudgel.”

“An’ do he go every night?”

“Ay, every night; an’ keeps pretty nigh, too, every day.”

“An’ what do he say he’ll do?”

“Says he’ll stand over the property till he drops dead, or has his
dues.”

Old Sim Cloyse shut his jaws with a snap, and the veins thickened on his
forehead. “Master Murr’ll, he shan’t hev a farden! A murderin’ gallows
villain! He shan’t hev a farden, Master Murr’ll; we’ll give him his
dues!”

“I’m willin’ to do my part thereunto,” Murrell responded; but his gaze on
old Sim Cloyse was none the less keen. “What might you think o’ doin’?”

“Master Murr’ll, we can afford to wait, an’ he can’t. Hev he got any
money?”

“None at arl; not to say money. A few shilluns, mayhap.”

“Then he can’t get the property away. Now, Master Murr’ll, sir, I hev
gladly paid yow five pound for adwice an’ information, an’ I will be open
with yow as yow with me. I must get that property away; but stands to reason
I can’t while that deadly rapscallion stands agin it with hoss-pistols and
cudgels, desprit rip as he be. One man like that can keep off fifty, to say
nothen o’ the noise o’ shootin’ bein’ heard. Now, Master Murr’ll, I’m ready
to pay agen, an’ pay more, to get Golden Adams off Castle Hill. Yow can easy
find a way o’ persuading’ him off, an’ then let me know when arl’s clear.
Will yow do that?”

Murrell put his head aside sagaciously. “‘Tis no doubt,” he said, “I can
find ways o’ gettin’ him off Castle Hill, an’ leavin’ your lawful property
for yow to take.” He paused and smiled shrewdly. “Master Cloyse!” he went on,
“come, I’ll be open about myself as well as about Golden Adams. I were in
Leigh but an hour or two back.”

“Yes?”

“To see yow.”

“‘Bout this?”

“About this. I thought to hint yow might clear Golden Adams from Castle
Hill and get your property by—well, by makin’ an arrangement with me.
But it were brote to me that yow were seen to go out; an’ I came on in the
shrimp-cart…Well, yow be ready to make sich an arrangement. Name your
offer.”

Old Sim Cloyse looked hard at Murrell. “Master Murr’ll, sir, get that man
out o’ the way, an’ when I’ve got the stuff I’ll pay yow—twenty
pound.”

Cunning Murrell rubbed his chin. “That be very handsome, Master Cloyse,
very handsome, sarten to say,” he said, blandly. “The bargain be that I get
Golden Adams away from Castle Hill, one night, or arltogither, an’ give yow
notice, that yow may move your property. When yow’ve got your property, an’
not before, yow pay me twenty pound. Very good. I make that bargain.”

“Good indeed then, Master Murr’ll. We unnerstand one anoather.” Old Sim
Cloyse grinned and winked, and slapped his knee. “Twill be as well, ‘haps,
that yow den’t be seen comin’ to Leigh to see me, nor I here to see yow, till
the job’s settled. An’ now, how d’ ye think yow’ll manage it?”

“That I shall consider. Master Cloyse. Mayhap one way, mayhap
anoather—pretty sartenly in a way yow won’t be expectin’. But leave
that to me.”

“Master Murr’ll, sir, I hev showed my respeck for your larnin’ an’ my
trust in your wisdom that be so scientific. I
will
leave it to
yow—arl. We unnerstand one anoather, Master Murr’ll, an’ arter what’s
passed there be no need for me to bespeak yow to keep it close.”

“No need at arl. Master Cloyse.” Murrell pushed back his chair. “No need
at arl. Secrecy I must keep, both for your sake an’ mine. An’ when I send yow
a message, or what not, that yow may find your property at your disposal,
‘twill be in sich terms as we hev spoke this evenin’.
Property
we carl
it, without bein’ more partic’lar.”

Cloyse rose, but stood and scratched behind his ear, as though some
lingering doubt remained. Then he bent toward Murrell and said: “Hev he told
anybody else?”

“Not a soul but me,”

Cloyse nodded, thought and scratched a little more, and asked: “There be
no chance, be there, Master Murr’ll, that he get movin’ it unbeknown to
yow?”

“Master Cloyse, I assure yow there be none. Not a—well, not a piece
o’ that property can be moved unbeknown to me. ‘Tis arl at my fingers’ ends.
The fee yow offer. Master Cloyse, the very handsome fee yow offer, be greater
by far, I confess, than any I hev ever taken. If in any way I fail yow, I
shall lose it, that’s arl. But I will go so far as to promise yow shall have
your property, every—every bit of it.”

He said it with a confident assurance that was very welcome to old Sim
Cloyse; who groped for his hat, found it, and presently was gone, after
Murrell had first cautiously peered forth and found nobody near.

Cunning Murrell shut the door quietly. He turned, looked round the
herb-hung walls, and burst into a wide grin—such a grin as nobody, not
even Ann Pett, was ever allowed to see on his face. Then he raised his hands
over his shoulders, letting the fingers hang near his ears, and slowly danced
on tiptoe round the table; and the dance was as silent as the grin.

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