“Then you fail to consider clearly of the matter,” I retorted. “Such a material bargain is never struck, without it is of benefit to both parties. The Penfleur family would be unlikely to part with their ward — and all the weight of their influence — for the paltry return of an estate in Kent. We must assume that Mr. Grey was to further the Penfleur interests in England.”
“A delicate business, in time of war,” Henry said.
“Perhaps he tired of his obligations,” Neddie suggested, “and thought to be rid of them with his wife.”
“But why throw the blame upon Denys Collingforth?” I objected. “Why should a man so wholly unconnected with Grey's concerns, be made to suffer for his infamy— if, indeed, he did away with his wife?”
“Perhaps because Collingforth is in no position to defend himself,” Henry said wryly. “The man is entirely to pieces, and all of Canterbury knows it. Not a tradesman for miles has been paid by the fellow in months, and they say his pockets are to let to a host of creditors in Town.”
“As bad as all that?” Lizzy murmured. “How very shocking, to be sure, to number such folk among one's acquaintance! Were Collingforth possessed of a tide, or a position of some consequence, he might weather the storm with becoming grace; but as he is of a vulgar turn, and his wife little better, there is nothing to be done for them.”
“They tell me in the Hound and Tooth that the man has run through all his wife's money, placed a mortgage on Prior's Farm, and faces certain ruin, now that Mrs. Grey is dead.”
“Was she so much his protectress?” Neddie enquired sharply.
“As to that, I cannot say — but Collingforth's creditors might have allowed him a little more room, but for the fear of a murder charge. They are presently besieging Prior's Farm, and the bailiffs cannot be far behind.” Henry hesitated, toying a little with his wineglass, then continued apologetically, “There are those who would say, brother, that you should better have clapped Col-lingforth in irons when you could. Circumstanced as he is, there is very little else for the man to contemplate than flight to the Continent. Indeed, some are asserting that he has already effected it.”
“The Devil he has!” Neddie cried, and at Lizzy's faint moue of disapproval, added, “My dear, a thousand pardons. Brother, who would have it that Collingforth is fled?”
Henry shrugged. “Everyone and no one. The intimates of the Hound and Tooth, you understand, are most liberal with their words and chary of their proofs. I only repeat what is commonly held. I must leave you to sort out the business.”
Neddie threw down his napkin, pushed back his chair, and commenced to pace the length of the dining-parlour. Lizzy sat even more upright in her chair, and regarded him with the liquid green gaze of a cat.
“It is too bad of you, Henry,” she whispered in an aside. “You have quite put him off his turbot. I will not have the mutton spoilt.”
“Tell me what you know of Collingforth's black-coated friend,” Neddie commanded. “The inscrutable Mr. Everett.”
“Ah!” Henry cried, and his countenance lightened. “There you have hit upon a malignant fellow, indeed! Everett had not been in Canterbury a day before it was generally circulated, that he is an arranger of prizefights — which, tho' quite beyond the pale of the law, are much patronised by the Quality. Everett represents the interests of a champion, a bruising mulatto by the name of Delacroix, who hails from Martinique.”
“But what can such a man have to do with Denys Collingforth?” I enquired.
“Collingforth has a passion for boxing, as he does for every game of sport, and has lost a fortune in betting around the ring. Men like Everett may always be found in the neighbourhood of such an one; for a susceptibility to the sport enslaves the purse as well as the man.”
“But there was no prize-fight at the Canterbury Races,” Neddie objected. He had ceased to pace, and now sank back into his chair. “Some other purpose must have drawn Everett hither.”
“I believe he was forced to quit his lodgings in Town for a while,” Henry replied. “A matter of some delicacy, only vaguely understood by the regulars at the Hound and Tooth. I surmised a brush with the law, and a desire to lie low; a sudden inspiration as to his friend Collingforth, and a hasty descent into Kent. I should not be surprised if an arranger of prize-fights was hardly ignorant of the coarser pursuits of his company — the fixing of cards and games of chance, and the ruin of innocent young men in gaming hells. I have seen an hundred Everetts in my time, and may now discern the type.”
“Then we must conclude that the better part of Collingforth's trouble springs from debts of honour,” I ventured. “His intimacy with Mrs. Grey is in part explained.”
“Excellent, Jane!” Henry cried. “Depend upon it, you shall always provide the elegant turn of phrase that moves a tale along. I was coming to Mrs. Grey directly.”
“Then pray do so at once,” Neddie broke in. “This wandering among the byways of the Sporting Life grows tedious.”
“Mrs. Grey, as we know, had her own affection for the Sporting Life. A certain coterie of Kentish gentlemen enjoyed the privilege of high play at her tables. It seems that as lately as the spring, Collingforth counted himself among their number — and that he lost heavily. Mrs. Grey held a fistful of Collingforth's vowels — and showed no sign of forgiving his debt.”
“Then he should hardly mourn her early death,” I said slowly. “I wonder whom else she numbered among her debtors?”
Henry shrugged. “Any amount of local bloods. The lady liked to win, and she possessed the Devil's own luck. Fully half the men of Canterbury were laying bets on the Commodore yesterday, in the hope of improving their fortunes — but to my dismay, they merely bargained further into ruin.”
“And there was Mrs. Grey, exulting in her win, while their hopes turned to dust and ashes,” Lizzy observed. “Lamentable behaviour, I must say.”
“But incitement to murder?” I protested.
“Why not?” Henry's tone was rueful. “The notion has been no stranger to my own thoughts. At least ten times this morning I have considered whether a bullet to the head might not be the kindest service I could render the Commodore, if not myself.”
“Henry!”
“It has been a purgatory merely to move about the town, Jane, I assure you. One young buck, who was far too much in wine, went so far as to suppose a collusion between myself and Mrs. Grey — with the Commodore's jockey throwing his race, and all the losses redounding somehow to my benefit. Or to Mrs. Grey's, had she lived— I cannot be entirely certain.”
“But to return to Collingforth,” Neddie urged. “Surely the death of his chief creditor must relieve his circumstances?”
“I am very much afraid that the loss of merely one among the company, can do little to repair his fortunes.”
“A desperate man might kill for revenge, in the belief he had nothing to lose,” I said.
“—particularly if he may so construct the murder scene as to divert attention from himself,” Neddie added.
“The body in the chaise?”
“Of course. Only a fool would dispose of his victim so obviously — or a very cunning fellow, indeed. From the moment of Mrs. Grey's discovery, we have been struck by the implausibility of the body's lying as it did. We have endeavoured to clear Mr. Collingforth's name, and hardly credited the notion of his guilt—”
Neddie's words were cut short at the entrance of the manservant, Russell, from the kitchen passage.
“Forgive me, sir,” he said with a bow, “but there is a constable just arrived from Canterbury. He is most insistent that he be seen. I have informed him that the second course is not yet served, but he refused—”