The Wooden Hand. Hume Fergus

Hill shrugged his shoulders-"Strode can look after himself. Whosoever is killed, he will be safe enough. I never knew a man possessed of such infernal ingenuity. Well, are you satisfied? If not, ask me more, and I'll explain what I can. Ah, by the way, there's Wasp coming up the garden." Hill threw open the window and hailed the policeman. "I asked Wasp to come and see me, Allen, whenever he had an interesting case to report. I intend to write a volume on the physiology of the criminal classes. Probably Wasp, wishing to earn an honest penny, has come to tell me of some paltry crime not worth expending five shillings on-that's his price. Ah, Wasp, what is it?"

      The policeman, a stout little man, saluted. "Death, sir."

      "How interesting," said Mr. Hill, rubbing his hands; "this is indeed news worth five shillings. Death?"

      "Murder."

      Allen rose and looked wide-eyed at the policeman. "Mr. Strode?"

      "Yes, sir. Mr. Strode. Murdered-found dead at the Red Deeps."

      "Face downward in the mud?" whispered Allen. "Oh, the dream-the dream!" and he sank back in his chair quite overwhelmed.

      "You seem to know all about it, Mr. Allen," said Wasp, with sudden suspicion.

      CHAPTER V

      A STRANGE LOSS

      Wasp was a bulky little man with a great opinion of his own importance. In early years he had been in the army, and there, had imbibed stern ideas of duty. Shortly after joining the police force he was sent to Wargrove, and, with an underling, looked after the village and the surrounding district. Married while young, he now possessed a family of ten, who dwelt with Mrs. Wasp in a spick-and-span house on the verge of the common. Everything about Wasp's house was spotless. The little policeman had drilled his wife so thoroughly, that she performed her duties in quite a military way, and thought Wasp the greatest of men mentally, whatever he may have been physically. The ten children were also drilled to perfection, and life in the small house was conducted on garrison lines. The family woke early to the sound of the bugle, and retired to bed when 'Lights out' was sounded. It was quite a model household, especially as on Sunday, Wasp, a fervid churchman, walked at the head of his olive-branches with Mrs. Wasp to St. Peter's church.

      The pay was not very large, but Wasp managed to make money in many ways. Lately he had been earning stray crowns from Mr. Hill by detailing any case which he thought likely to interest his patron. Hitherto these had been concerned with thieving and drunkenness and poaching-things which Mr. Hill did not care about. But on this occasion Wasp came to 'The Arabian Nights' swelling with importance, knowing that he had a most exciting story to tell. He was therefore not at all pleased when Allen, so to speak, took the words out of his official mouth. His red face grew redder than ever, and he drew up his stiff little figure to its full height, which was not much. "You seem to know all about it, Mr. Allen," said Wasp tartly.

      "It is certainly strange that Miss Strode should dream as she did," said Hill, who had turned a trifle pale; "what do you think, Saccharissa?"

      Mrs. Hill quoted from her husband's favourite poet: "'There are more things in heaven and earth-'"

      "That's poetry, we want sense," said Hill interrupting testily; "my music mood has been banished by this news. I now feel that I am equal to being a Vidocq. Allen, henceforth I am a detective until the murderer of my friend Strode is in the dock. Where is the criminal," added Hill, turning to the policeman, "that I may see him?"

      "No one knows who did it, sir," said Wasp, eyeing Allen suspiciously.

      "What are the circumstances?"

      "Mr. Allen, your son here, seems to know all about them," said Wasp stiffly.

      Allen, who was resting his head on the white cloth of the table, looked up slowly. His face seemed old and worn, and the dark circles under his eyes were more marked than ever. "Didn't Miss Strode tell you her dream, Wasp?" he asked.

      The policeman snorted. "I've got too much to do in connection with this case to think of them rubbishy things, sir," said he; "Mrs. Merry did say something, now you mention it. But how's a man woke up to dooty at one in the morning to listen to dreams."

      "Were you woke at one o'clock, Wasp?" asked Mr. Hill, settling himself luxuriously; "tell me the details, and then I will go with you to see Miss Strode and the remains of one, whom I always regarded as a friend, whatever his shortcomings might have been. Allen, I suppose you will remain within and nurse your foot."

      "No," said Allen rising painfully. "I must see Eva."

      "Have you hurt your foot, sir?" asked Wasp, who was paying particular attention to Allen.

      "Yes; I sprained it last night," said Allen shortly.

      "Where, may I ask, sir?"

      "On Chilvers Common."

      "Ho!" Wasp stroked a ferocious moustache he wore for the sake of impressing evil-doers; "that's near the Red Deeps?"

      "About a mile from the Red Deeps, I believe," said Allen, trying to ease the pain of his foot by resting it.

      "And what were you doing there, may I ask, sir?" This time it was not Allen who replied, but his mother. The large, lean woman suddenly flushed and her stolid face became alive with anger. She turned on the little man-well named Wasp from his meddlesome disposition and desire to sting when he could-and seemed like a tigress protecting her cub. "Why do you ask?" she demanded; "do you hint that my son has anything to do with this matter?"

      "No, I don't, ma'am," replied Wasp stolidly, "but Mr. Allen talked of the corp being found face downward in the mud. We did find it so-leastways them as found the dead, saw it that way. How did Mr. All-"

      "The dream, my good Wasp," interposed Hill airily. "Miss Strode dreamed a dream two nights ago, and thought she saw her father dead in the Red Deeps, face downward. She also heard a laugh-but that's a detail. My son told us of the dream before you came. It is strange it should be verified so soon and so truly. I begin to think that Miss Strode has imagination after all. Without imagination," added the little man impressively, "no one can dream. I speak on the authority of Coleridge, a poet," he smiled pityingly on the three-"of whom you probably know nothing."

      "Poets ain't in the case," said Wasp, "and touching Mr. Allen-"

      The young engineer stood up for himself. "My story is short," he said, "and you may not believe it, Wasp."

      "Why shouldn't I?" demanded the policeman very suspiciously.

      Allen shrugged his shoulders. "You have not imagination enough," he answered, copying his father; "it seems to me that you believe I am concerned in this matter."

      "There ain't no need to incriminate yourself, sir."

      "Spare me the warning. I am not going to do so. If you want to know the truth it is this: Miss Strode dreamed the other night that her father was lying dead in the Red Deeps. After vainly endeavouring to laugh her out of the belief that the dream was true, I went last night to the Red Deeps to convince her that all was well. I struck across the moor from the high-road, and catching my foot in some bramble bushes I twisted my ankle. I could not move, and my ankle grew very painful. For hours I waited, on the chance that some one might come past, but Chilvers Common being lonely, as you know, I could not get help. Therefore, shortly before midnight-though I can hardly tell the exact time, my watch having been stopped when I fell-I managed to crawl home. I arrived about two o'clock, and my mother was waiting up for me. She bathed my ankle and I went to bed."

      "It couldn't have been very bad, sir, if you're down now," said Wasp bluntly, and only half satisfied with Allen's explanation.

      "I forced myself to come down, as my father does not like any one to be absent from meals," was the reply.

      "Right, Mr. Wasp-right," said Hill briskly, "you need not go on suspecting my son. He has nothing to do with this matter, the more so as he is engaged to Miss Strode."

      "And I certainly should end all my chances of marrying Miss Strode by killing her father," said Allen sharply; "I think you take too much upon yourself, Wasp."

      The policeman excused himself on the plea of zeal, but saw that he had gone too far, and offered an apology. "But it was your knowing