The Trees of Pride Read online

greensummer sea. Only the great roots of the mysterious trees could be seen,the rest being far aloft, and all round it was a wood of little, livelyand happy things. They might have been two innocent naturalists, or eventwo children fishing for eels or tittlebats on that summer holiday whenPaynter pulled up something that weighed in the net more heavily thanany bone. It nearly broke the meshes, and fell against a mossy stonewith a clang.

  "Truth lies at the bottom of a well," cried the American, with lift inhis voice. "The woodman's ax."

  It lay, indeed, flat and gleaming in the grasses by the well in thewood, just as it had lain in the thicket where the woodman threw it inthe beginning of all these things. But on one corner of the bright bladewas a dull brown stain.

  "I see," said Ashe, "the woodman's ax, and therefore the Woodman. Yourdeductions are rapid."

  "My deductions are reasonable," said Paynter, "Look here, Mr. Ashe; Iknow what you're thinking. I know you distrust Treherne; but I'msure you will be just for all that. To begin with, surely the firstassumption is that the woodman's ax is used by the Woodman. What haveyou to say to it?"

  "I say 'No' to it," replied the lawyer. "The last weapon a woodman woulduse would be a woodman's ax; that is if he is a sane man."

  "He isn't," said Paynter quietly; "you said you wanted the doctor'sopinion just now. The doctor's opinion on this point is the same as myown. We both found him meandering about outside there; it's obvious thisbusiness has gone to his head, at any rate. If the murderer were aman of business like yourself, what you say might be sound. But thismurderer is a mystic. He was driven by some fanatical fad about thetrees. It's quite likely he thought there was something solemn andsacrificial about the ax, and would have liked to cut off Vane's headbefore a crowd, like Charles I's. He's looking for the ax still, andprobably thinks it a holy relic."

  "For which reason," said Ashe, smiling, "he instantly chucked it down awell."

  Paynter laughed.

  "You have me there certainly," he said. "But I think you have somethingelse in your mind. You'll say, I suppose, that we were all watching thewood; but were we? Frankly, I could almost fancy the peacock trees didstrike me with a sort of sickness--a sleeping sickness."

  "Well," admitted Ashe, "you have me there too. I'm afraid I couldn'tswear I was awake all the time; but I don't put it down to magictrees--only to a private hobby of going to bed at night. But look here,Mr. Paynter; there's another and better argument against any outsiderfrom the village or countryside having committed the crime. Granted hemight have slipped past us somehow, and gone for the Squire. But whyshould he go for him in the wood? How did he know he was in the wood?You remember how suddenly the poor old boy bolted into it, on what amomentary impulse. It's the last place where one would normally look forsuch a man, in the middle of the night. No, it's an ugly thing to say,but we, the group round that garden table, were the only people whoknew. Which brings me back to the one point in your remarks which Ihappen to think perfectly true."

  "What was that?" inquired the other.

  "That the murderer was a mystic," said Ashe. "But a cleverer mystic thanpoor old Martin."

  Paynter made a murmur of protest, and then fell silent.

  "Let us talk plainly," resumed the lawyer. "Treherne had all those madmotives you yourself admit against the woodcutter. He had the knowledgeof Vane's whereabouts, which nobody can possibly attribute to thewoodcutter. But he had much more. Who taunted and goaded the Squire togo into the wood at all? Treherne. Who practically prophesied, like aninfernal quack astrologer, that something would happen to him if he didgo into the wood? Treherne. Who was, for some reason, no matter what,obviously burning with rage and restlessness all that night, kickinghis legs impatiently to and fro on the cliff, and breaking out with wildwords about it being all over soon? Treherne. And on top of all this,when I walked closer to the wood, whom did I see slip out of it swiftlyand silently like a shadow, but turning his face once to the moon? On myoath and on my honor--Treherne."

  "It is awful," said Paynter, like a man stunned. "What you say is simplyawful."

  "Yes," said Ashe seriously, "very awful, but very simple. Treherne knewwhere the ax was originally thrown. I saw him, on that day he lunchedhere first, watching it like a wolf, while Miss Vane was talking to him.On that dreadful night he could easily have picked it up as he went intothe wood. He knew about the well, no doubt; who was so likely to knowany old traditions about the peacock trees? He hid the hat in the trees,where perhaps he hoped (though the point is unimportant) that nobodywould dare to look. Anyhow, he hid it, simply because it was the onething that would not sink in the well. Mr. Paynter, do you think I wouldsay this of any man in mere mean dislike? Could any man say it of anyman unless the case was complete, as this is complete?"

  "It is complete," said Paynter, very pale. "I have nothing left againstit but a faint, irrational feeling; a feeling that, somehow or other, ifpoor Vane could stand alive before us at this moment he might tell someother and even more incredible tale."

  Ashe made a mournful gesture.

  "Can these dry bones live?" he said.

  "Lord Thou knowest," answered the other mechanically. "Even these drybones--"

  And he stopped suddenly with his mouth open, a blinding light of wonderin his pale eyes.

  "See here," he said hoarsely and hastily. "You have said the word. Whatdoes it mean? What can it mean? Dry? Why are these bones dry?"

  The lawyer started and stared down at the heap.

  "Your case complete!" cried Paynter, in mounting excitement. "Where isthe water in the well? The water I saw leap like a flame? Why did itleap? Where is it gone to? Complete! We are buried under riddles."

  Ashe stooped, picked up a bone and looked at it.

  "You are right," he said, in a low and shaken voice: "this bone is asdry--as a bone."

  "Yes, I am right," replied Cyprian. "And your mystic is still asmysterious as a mystic."

  There was a long silence. Ashe laid down the bone, picked up the axand studied it more closely. Beyond the dull stain at the corner of thesteel there was nothing unusual about it save a broad white rag wrappedround the handle, perhaps to give a better grip. The lawyer thought itworth noting, however, that the rag was certainly newer and cleaner thanthe chopper. But both were quite dry.

  "Mr. Paynter," he said at last, "I admit you have scored, in the spiritif not in the letter. In strict logic, this greater puzzle is not areply to my case. If this ax has not been dipped in water, it hasbeen dipped in blood; and the water jumping out of the well is notan explanation of the poet jumping out of the wood. But I admit thatmorally and practically it does make a vital difference. We are notfaced with a colossal contradiction, and we don't know how far itextends. The body might have been broken up or boiled down to its bonesby the murderer, though it may be hard to connect it with the conditionsof the murder. It might conceivably have been so reduced by someproperty in the water and soil, for decomposition varies vastly withthese things. I should not dismiss my strong prima facie case againstthe likely person because of these difficulties. But here we havesomething entirely different. That the bones themselves should remaindry in a well full of water, or a well that yesterday was full ofwater--that brings us to the edge of something beyond which we can makeno guess. There is a new factor, enormous and quite unknown. While wecan't fit together such prodigious facts, we can't fit together a caseagainst Treherne or against anybody. No; there is only one thing to bedone now. Since we can't accuse Treherne, we must appeal to him. Wemust put the case against him frankly before him, and trust he has anexplanation--and will give it. I suggest we go back and do it now."

  Paynter, beginning to follow, hesitated a moment, and then said:"Forgive me for a kind of liberty; as you say, you are an older friendof the family. I entirely agree with your suggestion, but before you acton your present suspicions, do you know, I think Miss Vane ought to bewarned a little? I rather fear all this will be a new shock to her."

  "Very well," said Ashe, after looking
at him steadily for an instant."Let us go across to her first."

  From the opening of the wood they could see Barbara Vane writing at thegarden table, which was littered with correspondence, and the butlerwith his yellow face waiting behind her chair. As the lengths of grasslessened between them, and the little group at the table grew larger andclearer in the sunlight, Paynter had a painful sense of being part of anembassy of doom. It sharpened when the girl looked up from the table andsmiled on seeing them.

  "I should like to speak to you rather particularly if I may," said