en-de  THE BISHOP'S SECRET by FERGUS HUME - Chapter 27 Hard
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Kapitel XXVII - Was Mutter Jael wusste.
Jetzt da Baltic und sein grauer Kopf verschwunden waren, musste Sir Harry sich zu Dr. Graham begeben müssen, um seinen Geist zu beruhigen. Der Doktor kannte den jungen Mann seit er ein kleiner Junge war und bei mehr als einer Gelegenheit hatte er ihm diese praktische Art von Rat gegeben, der aus Erfahrung resultierte; deshalb, als Henry über für ihn zu unergründliche Angelegenheiten - wie er es jetzt war - verwirrt war, suchte er stets den Rat seines alten Freundes. Im vorliegenden Fall - sich selbst zuliebe, Lucy und Lucys Vater zuliebe- erzählte er Graham die ganze Geschichte von Bischof Pendeles vermuteter Schuld; von Baltic Mission sie zu widerlegen und von Cargrims hinterhältigen Taten. Graham hörte schweigend den Details zu und begnügte sich mit einem oder zwei grimmigen Lächeln wenn Cargrims Verrat erwähnt wurde. Als er im Besitz der Fakten war, kommentierte er zunächst das Verhalten des Kaplans.
"Ich fand schon immer, dass der Kerl ein Hundesohn war!" ,sagte er verächtlich. "Und jetzt bin ich mir dessen sicher."
"Hundesöhne beissen, Sir," sagte Brace salbungsvoll, "und wir müssen diesem hier einen Maulkorb anlegen, sonst wird es sich rächen.
"Zweifellos, wenn Cargrim seinen Lohn erhält. Gut, Junge, und was schlägst du vor, was wir tun sollen?
"Ich wollte Sie um Ihren Rat bitten, Doktor!"
"Hier kommt er also. Halt deinen Mund und tu gar nichts.
"Was?" Und lasse diesen Hund weiter gegen den Bischof intrigieren?
"Jemand Klügeres als du intrigiert gegen ihn, Brace," warnte der Doktor. "Solange Cargrim an Baltic glaubt und die Angelegenheit des Mordes in seinen Händen lässt, kann kein offener Skandal stattfinden."
Harry glotzte und kaute übel gelaunt auf seinem Schnäuzer. "Ich hätte nie gedacht, dass ich Sie andeuten hören würde, dass der Bischof schuldig war," brummte er.
"Und ich" , erwiderte Graham, "hätte nie gedacht, einen Mann Ihrer Intelligenz so dumm reden zu hören." Der Bischof ist unschuldig, da setze ich mein Leben drauf. Trotzdem hat er ein Geheimnis, und wenn es einen Skandal um diesen Mord gibt, könnte dieses Geheimnis, was auch immer es sein mag, publik werden.
"Hm. Das muss gewiss vermieden werden. Aber das Geheimnis kann nichts Schändliches sein.
"Wenn es das nicht wäre",erwiderte Graham trocken, "würde Pendle nicht solche Anstrengungen auf sich nehmen, um es zu bewahren." Man bezahlt keine zweihundert Pfund für etwas nicht Schändliches, mein Sohn.
"Glauben Sie, dass das Geld gezahlt wurde?"
"Ja, auf Southberry Heath, kurz vor dem Mord." "Und ausserdem", fügte Graham freundlicherweise hinzu, "glaube ich, dass der Mörder wusste, dass Jentham das Geld erhalten hatte und ihn erschossen hat, um es zu bekommen."
"Wenn das so ist", argumentierte Harry, "würde der Mörder sicherlich gerne von seiner Tat profitieren und das Geld verwenden." Wenn er das täte, würden die Scheine, da ihre Seriennummern bekannt sind, gefunden werden, wobei..."
"Wobei Baltic, der die Seriennummern von der Bank bekommen hat, noch keine Zeit hatte, sie zu suchen." Warte Brace, warte! In diesem Fall könnte die Zeit Wunder wirken.
"Aber Doktor, trauen sie Baltic?
"Ja, mein Freund, ich traue Fanatikern in ihren eigenen besonderen Linien der Manomanie immer. Außerdem scheint Baltic, trotz all seiner religiösen Begeisterung, ein schlauer Mann zu sein; außerdem ist ein Stiller, so wenn jemand die Angelegenheit vernünftig durchführen kann, ist er die Person.
"Was ist mit Cargrim?
"Lass ihn allein, Junge; mit ausreichendem Seil wird er sich sicherlich selbst hängen.
"Sollte der Bischof nicht gewarnt werden, Doktor?
"Ich denke nicht. Wenn wir Cargrim beobachten und Baltic trauen, werden wir in der Lage sein, Pendle vor den Konsequenzen seiner Torheit zu schützen.
"Torheit! Welche Torheit?
"Der Torheit ein Geheimnis zu haben. Nur Frauen sollten Geheimnisse haben, denn sie alleine wissen sie für sich zu behalten.
"Jeder ist anderer Meinung", sagte Brace mit einem Grinsen.
"Und wie immer liegt jeder falsch", erwiderte Graham. "Glaubst du ich bin all die Jahre Doktor und weiß nichts von Sex? - das ist soweit ein Mann darüber wissen kann. Verlass dich drauf, Brace, dass ein Frau weiß, wie sie ihren Mund hält. Es ist ein weitverbreiteter Irrtum, anzunehmen, dass sie es nicht weiß. Versuch es und bekomme ein Geheimnis aus einer Frau heraus, von dem sie denkt, dass es wert ist es zu behalten, und sieh, wie es dir ergehen wird. Sie wird lachen und erzählen und lügen, und dir alles erzählen - außer dem, was du wissen willst. Was Stärke für einen Mann ist, ist Cleverness für eine Frau. Sie sind die Töpferinnen, wir sind der Lehm, und - und - und meine Rede ist so diskursiv wie die von Pfarrer Praed, erledigt den Doktor mit einem trockenen Kichern.
"Es hat uns weit weg vom Hauptargument geführt", stimmte Harry zu, "und das ist - was ist Dr. Prendles Geheimnis?
Graham schüttelte seinen Kopf und zuckte seine Achseln... "Du fragst mehr als ich dir erzählen kann", sagte er traurig. "Was auch immer es ist, Pendle beabsichtigt es für sich zu behalten. Alles, was wir tun können, ist Baltic zu vertrauen.
"Gut, Doktor", sagte Harry, widerwillig Abschied nehmend, denn er wünschte das Thema in absolute Flachserei auszusortieren, "du weißt es am besten, so sollte ich deinem Rat folgen.
„Ich bin froh darüber", lautete Grahams Antwort. „Meine Zeit ist zu kostbar, um verschwendet zu werden.
Als dieses Gespräch stattfand, lief Baltic zügig über die braune Heidelandschaft, im prallen Licht des Mittags. Eine unbarmherzige Sonne schien wie ein Schmelzofen am wolkenlosen Himmel, und über der ausgedehnten Fläche von trockenen verbranntem Gras lag ein nebliger Schleier , ängstlicher Hitze. Jedes Wasserbecken blitzte in den Sonnenstrahlen auf wie ein Spiegel; das Summen von unzähligen Insekten stieg vom Boden auf; die klare Musik der Lerche prasselte vom Himmel; und der ehemalige Seemann, der sich den weißen und staubigen Highway entlang schleppte, glaubte fast, dass er in irgendeinem tropischen Land war, weniger prächtig, aber fast so schwül, wie das, welches er verlassen hatte. Der Tag ähnelte eher Mitte Juni als dem späten September.
Baltic machte dem ungewöhnlichen Wetter so viele Konzessionen, wie sein rotes Taschentuch über seinen Kopf zu hüllen und seinen Panama Hut darüber zu platzieren, aber er trug noch den dicken Pilotenanzug, fest zugeknöpft und trat klug heraus, als ob er ein Salamander wäre, unempfindlich gegenüber der Hitze. Mit seinen seitlich schlänkernden langen Armen beobachteten seine gleichmäßigen grauen Augen alles um ihn herum, er walzte weiter in echtem seemännischem Stil in Richtung des Zigeunerlagers. Das war nicht schwer zu entdecken, weil es nur eine Meile oder so von Southberry Junction entfernt lag, etwas abseits von der Hauptstraße. Der Missionar sah einen Haufen Wohnwagen, ein paar streunende Pferde, eine Ansammlung gelbbrauner, halb bekleideter Kinder, die im Sonnenschein randalierten, und wusste, dass dies seine Anlaufstelle war, er trat von der Straße auf das Gras und machte sich direkt auf ins Lager. Er hatte einen Haftbefehl für Mutter Jael in seiner Tasche, aber außer sich selbst gab es niemanden, der ihn begleitete, und es könnte schwierig sein, die alte Frau in die Verantwortung zu nehmen, wenn sie sozusagen im Herzen ihres Königreichs sicher war. Aber Baltic betrachtete den Haftbefehl nur ein Mittel zu Zweck und beabsichtigte nicht ihn zu nutzen, außer als ein Schreckgespenst um Mutter Jael zu einem Geständnis zu bringen. Er vertraute seinen religiösen und überzeugenden Fähigkeiten mehr als der Macht des Gesetztes. Trotzdem als praktischer und sentimentaler Mensch war er erfreut den Haftbefehl im Bedarfsfall zu haben, denn es war möglich, dass eine heidnische Hexe wie Mutter Jael einen Mann mehr fürchten würde als Gott. Schließlich hatte Baltic etwas Erfahrung darin religiöse Perlen vor Heiden zu werfen und war deshalb diskret in seinem Gebrauch spiritueller Heilmittel.
Hunde bellten und Kinder kreischten als Baltic in den von Wohnwagen und Zelten gebildeten Kreis trat, und mehrere schwarze, kräftige Zigeuner warfen drohende Blicke auf ihn als einen aufdringlichen Fremden. Neben einem der Wohnwagen brannte ein Feuer, über dem eine Kette geschlungen war, die an einem Dreifuß aus Eisen schwang, und dieser war mit etwas herzhaftem Eintopf gefüllt, der appetitanregende Gerüche aussandte. Ein dunkles, hübsches Mädchen mit goldenen Ohrringen und einem gelben Halstuch, das malerisch um ihr schwarzes Haar gewunden war, war der Koch und sie drehte sich um, um Baltic mit einem finsteren blick anzusehen, als er nach Mutter Jael fragte. Offenbar waren die Heiden keine Favoriten im Lager dieser Ausgestoßenen, denn die herumlaufenden Männer murmelten, die Frauen kicherten und grinsten und die Kinder spuckten böse Worte in der Zigeunersprache aus. Aber Baltic, gewöhnt an schwarze Haut und schwarze Blicke, war von diesem unwirtlichen Empfang nicht eingeschüchtert und wiederholte mit ernster Stimme seine Frage nach der Hexe.
"Wie geht es Ihnen, alter Freund?" (Siehe Diskussion) fragte ein finster-dreinblickender Hercules.
"Ich bin jemand, der Mutter Jael sehen möchte" antwortete Baltic mit seiner tiefen Stimme.
'Arromali!' (2 siehe Diskussion) höhnte der Kleopatra-ähnliche Koch. "Sie hat mehr zu tun als jeden betrügerischen, heranschleichenden Heiden zu sehen.
"Gib mir Geld, mein fürstlicher Herr", quakte ein fürchterlicher Krüppel. "Mein eigener kleiner Geldbeutel ist leer.
"Oh was für ein hübscher Gorgio!" wimmerte eine Hexe, ihre Rede mit Flüchen einstreuend. "(Möge das böse ihn ereilen!) Viel Glück für Gold, Schätzchen. (Ich spucke auf deine Leiche, Heide!) Barmherzigkeit! Barmherzigkeit!
Ein auf den Stufen eines Wohnwagens sitzendes Mädchen knackte mit ihren Fingern und spuckte dreimal für das böse Auge und brach in ein Lied aus: "Mit meinen Küssen und Liebkosungen kann ich Gold von den Heiden gewinnen, aber das Böse ändernt meine Segnungen."
All dieses Poltern und Lärmen von barschen Stimmen und daherreden im ungezügelten Zigeuner Jargon hatte keinen Einfluss auf Baltic. Da er nichts von der spöttischen Menge erringen konnte, drängte er ein oder zwei, die gesinnt schienen mit einem schmeichelnden Blick seine Taschen auszurauben, und rief laut: "Mutter Jael!" Mutter Jae"! bis der Platz mit seinem Gebrüll erschallte.
Bevor die Zigeuner sich von ihrem Erstaunen von diesem plötzlichen Frontwechsel erholen konnten, wurde ein zerzauster grauer Kopf aus einem der schwarzen Zelte gestreckt und eine dünne hohe Stimme pfiff: "Schätzchen! Liebling! Mutter Jael ist hier!
"ich dachte, dass ich sie aus ihrem Bau herausholen würde", sagte Baltic grimmig, als er in ihre Richtung schritt, "hinein mit dir alte Hexe von Endor und lass mich folgen.
'Hindity-Mush! '[3 see discussion] growled one or two, but the appearance of Mother Jael, and a few words from her, sent the whole gang back to their idling and working; while Baltic, quite undisturbed, dropped on all fours and crawled into the black tent, at the tail of the hag. She croaked out a welcome to her visitor, and squatting on a tumbled mattress, leered at him like a foul old toad. Baltic setzte sich in die Nähe der Zeltöffnung, um möglichst viel frische Luft zu bekommen und auch um Mutter Jaels Gesicht beim schwachen Lichtschein, der hereinkam, zu beobachten. Er breitete sein hübsches Taschentuch auf seinen Knieen aus und platzierte, gemäß der Sitte, seinen Hut darauf, er schaute direkt auf das alte Weib und sprach langsam.
" Wissen Sie, warum ich hier bin, alte Frau?" fragte er nach.
"Ja, Lieber, ja! Ist es nicht dein Schicksal, das du gesagt haben willst? Oh, mein Hübscher, du fragst die alte Mutter nach der hellen Zukunft! Ich weiß!" Ich weiß!"
" Sie wissen es dann verkehrt!" entgegnete Baltic kühl. "Ich bin einer, der keinen Umgang mit Hexen und Wahrsagerinnen pflegt. Ich bitte Sie nun, mir, nicht meine Zukunft zu erzählen -- was in der Hand des Allmächtigen liegt--aber den Namen des Mannes, der das Geschöpf Jentham mordete.
Mutter Jael gab einen merkwürdigen Pfeifton von sich und ihr listiges, altes Gesicht wurde so ausdruckslos wie eine Maske. Innerhalb einer Sekunde wurde sie zu einem Abbild der Dummheit und Senilität, wenn man von ihren bösartigen schwarzen Augen absah, die wie zwei Funken des Feuers unter ihren hängenden Lidern glühten. "Sei gesegnet, mein hübscher Meister, ich weiß nichts; alles, was ich weiß, habe ich den Heiden dort drüben gesagt", und die Hexe deutete mit einem krummen Finger in Richtung Beorminster.
"Mutter der Hexen, Sie lügen !" schrie Baltic, im sehr gutem Roma.
Die Augen von Mutter Jael flammten wie Fackeln auf bei dem Klang der ihr bekannten Sprache, und sie musterte das Gesicht des wettergegerbten Baltic mit Verwunderung, zu aufrichtig, um vorgetäuscht zu sein. "Teufel!" sagte sie in der hohen Tonlage des Erstaunens, " wer ist dieser Gorgio, der mit dem Mundwerk eines sanften Romanis schwatzt?
"Ich bin ein Bruder des Stammes, meine Schwester.
" Obwohl kein Zigeuner", sagte die alte Frau in der schwarzen Sprache. " Du hast nicht die glänzebden Augen eines wahren Römers."
"Ich bin kein Römer, meine Schwester, außer durch Adoption." As a lad I left the Gentiles' roof for the merry tent of Egypt, and for many years I called Lovels and Stanleys my blood-brothers.
"Warum bist du dann so scheinheilig, kleines Kind?“ krächzte die Hexe, die wusste, dass Baltic die Wahrheit sagte, aus seinem Wissen über die Zigeunersprache. "Als Heidin würde ich kein Wort sagen, aber du bist mein Bruder und als mein Bruder sollst du es wissen."
"Wissen, wer Jentham getötet hat!" sagte Baltic, rasch.
"Wahrlich, Bruder. Aber nenne ihn nicht Jentham, da er von Pharaos Geblüt war.
"Ein Zigeuner, Mutter oder nur ein Romanigewächs?
"Vom alten Blut, vom wahren Blut, von unserer Religion wahrlich, mein Bruder. Er war einer der Lovels, der unser lustiges Leben mit Gorgios zu essen und Gold aus ihren Taschen zu fummeln, aufgab.
"Er nannte sich dann Amaru, nicht wahr?" sagte Baltic, der dies oft von Cargrim gehört hatte, zu dem es von Miss Whichello durch Tinkler durchgesickert war.
"Es ist wahr, Bruder. Er nannte sich Amaru, Jentham und Creagth und gab sich ein Dutzend andere Namen, wenn er die Ungläubigen betrog und jagte. Aber er wurde als Bosvile geboren und als Bosvile starb er.
"Das ist es ja gerade!" , sagte Baltic, auf Englisch, denn er wurde überdrüssig, die Zigeunersprache zu verwenden, in der er nicht sehr versiert war, weil er sie nicht mehr verwendete hatte. "Wie starb er?"
"Er wurde erschossen, Schatz", antwortete Mutter Jael, die auch in die vulgäre Sprache zurückfiel; "erschossen, Schätzchen, auf diese gesegnete Allmende."
"Wer erschoss ihn?"
"Hiob! my noble rye, I can't say. Jentham, er kam hierher, um mit uns auf Caló zu quatschen und zu trinken. Er sagte, dass er in dieser Nacht irgendeinen Heiden sehen musste! La! la! la!" pfiff sie dünn,"eine schlimme Nacht für ihn!"
"Sonntagnacht - in der Nacht, in der er ermordet wurde?"
"Ja, Hübscher. Der Gorgio sollte ihm für etwas Geld geben, was er wusste."
"Wer war der Gorgio?"
"Ich weiß es nicht, Schätzchen! Ich weiß es nicht!"
"Was war dann das Geheimnis?" fragte Baltic, auf der Suche nach Information.
"Sei gesegnet, mein Kleiner! Jentham hat mir nie gesagt. Und ich war neugierig, es zu wissen, mein Täubchen, daher gehe ich auch, als er beduselt geht. Ich folge, Schätzchen, ich folge, aber ich holte ihn nie ein, weil der schauderhafteste Regen und Sturm kam."
"Haben Sie ihn danach in dieser Nacht gesehen?"
"Ich sah ihn tot in Sichtweite meiner Augen. Ich hörte einen Schuss und renne und renne, Liebling, weil ich wusste, dass er keine Pistole hatte; aber ich wurde langsamer, mein königlicher Roggen, und erst als der Sturm nachließ, fand ich ihn. Er lag in einem Graben. So war sein Grab", fuhr Mutter Jael in ihrer eigenen Sprache fort," Wasser und Gras und darüber Sturmwolken, Bruder. Ich scheute mich, ihn zu berühren, hatte Sorge zu warten, weil diese Heiden hätten denken können, ich hätte den Mann umgebracht. Ich bin wieder zurück auf die Straße gekommen und dort las ich das auf, was ich mit ins Lager brachte. Aber ich habe es der Polizei nie gezeigt, Bruder, weil ich vor dem Heidenknast Angst hatte."
Dies erwies sich als eine elegante, kleine, silberbeschlagene Pistole, die Mutter Jael aus dem Inneren der Matratze angelte. Baltic wog sie in seiner Hand und da er glaubte, dass es wohl sicher war, dass Jentham mit dieser Waffe ermordet worden war, untersuchte er sie sorgfältig.
"G. P.", sagte er, als er die gravierten Initialen auf dem Silberschutz des Griffes las.
"Ah!" kicherte Mother Jael und umarmte sich selbst. "Das bedeutet George Pendle, Schätzchen. Aber welcher von ihnen, mein zartes Täubchen - der Vater oder der Sohn?"
"Hm!" bemerkte Baltic nachdenklich," sie heißen beide George."
"Aber sie heißen nicht beide Mörder, mein Bruder. George Pendle erschoss diesen Bosviler ganz gewiss, und wenn du mich fragst, Liebelein, war es der Sohn - der Hauptmann - der Soldat. Ah, das war's!"
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For more info, please see discussion tab.
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CHAPTER XXVII - WHAT MOTHER JAEL KNEW.
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When in possession of the facts, he commented firstly on the behaviour of the chaplain.
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'I always thought that the fellow was a cur!'
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said he, contemptuously, 'and now I am certain of it.
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'No doubt, when Cargrim receives his wages.
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Well, lad, and what do you propose doing?
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'I came to ask your advice, doctor!
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'Here it is, then.
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Hold your tongue and do nothing.
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'What!
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and leave that hound to plot against the bishop?
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'A cleverer head than yours is counter-plotting him, Brace,' warned the doctor.
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Harry stared, and moodily tugged at his moustache.
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'I never thought to hear you hint that the bishop was guilty,' he grumbled.
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'And I,' retorted Graham, 'never thought to hear a man of your sense make so silly a speech.
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The bishop is innocent; I'll stake my life on that.
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'Humph!
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that is to be avoided certainly.
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But the secret can be nothing harmful.
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'If it were not,' replied Graham, drily, 'Pendle would not take such pains to conceal it.
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People don't pay two hundred pounds for nothing harmful, my lad.
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'Do you believe that the money was paid?
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'Yes, on Southberry Heath, shortly before the murder.
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If he did, the numbers of the notes being known, they would be traced, whereas—.
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'Whereas Baltic, who got the numbers from the bank, has not yet had time to trace them.
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Wait, Brace, wait!
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Time, in this matter, may work wonders.
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'But, doctor, do you trust Baltic?
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'Yes, my friend, I always trust fanatics in their own particular line of monomania.
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'What about Cargrim?
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'Leave him alone, lad; with sufficient rope he'll surely hang himself.
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'Shouldn't the bishop be warned, doctor?
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'I think not.
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'Folly!
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What folly?
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'The folly of having a secret.
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Only women should have secrets, for they alone know how to keep them.
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'Everyone is of the opposite opinion,' said Brace, with a grin.
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'And, as usual, everyone is wrong,' retorted Graham.
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You take my word for it, Brace, that a woman knows how to hold her tongue.
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It is a popular fallacy to suppose that she doesn't.
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You try and get a secret out of a woman which she thinks is worth keeping, and see how you'll fare.
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She will laugh, and talk and lie, and tell you everything—except what you want to know.
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What strength is to a man, cunning is to a woman.
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Graham shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
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'You ask more than I can tell you,' he said sadly.
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'Whatever it is, Pendle intends to keep it to himself.
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All we can do is to trust Baltic.
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'I am glad of that,' was Graham's reply.
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'My time is too valuable to be wasted.
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The day was fitter for mid June rather than late September.
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He trusted more to his religiosity and persuasive capabilities than to the power of the law.
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'Who are you, juggel-mush?'
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[1 see discussion] asked a sinister-looking Hercules.
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'I am one who wishes to see Mother Jael,' replied Baltic, in his deep voice.
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'Arromali!'
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[2 see discussion] sneered the Cleopatra-like cook.
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'She has more to do than to see every cheating, choring Gentile.
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unit 91
'Give me money, my royal master,' croaked a frightful cripple.
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unit 92
'My own little purse is empty.
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unit 93
'Oh, what a handsome Gorgio!'
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unit 94
whined a hag, interspersing her speech with curses.
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unit 95
'(May evil befall him!)
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unit 96
Good luck for gold, dearie.
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unit 97
(I spit on your corpse, Gentile!)
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unit 98
Charity!
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unit 99
Charity!
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unit 101
unit 103
Mother Jael!'
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unit 104
till the place rang with his roaring.
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unit 106
lovey!
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unit 107
Mother Jael be here!
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unit 109
'Hindity-Mush!
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 114
'Do you know why I am here, old woman?'
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unit 115
he demanded.
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unit 116
'Yes, dearie, yes!
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unit 117
Ain't it yer forting as y' wan's tole?
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unit 118
Oh, my pretty one, you asks ole mother for a fair future!
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unit 119
I knows!
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unit 120
I knows!
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unit 121
'You know wrong then!'
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unit 122
retorted Baltic, coolly.
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unit 123
'I am one who has no dealings with witches and familiar spirits.
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unit 125
unit 128
'Mother of the witches, you lie!'
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unit 129
cried Baltic, in very good Romany.
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unit 131
'Duvel!'
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unit 132
unit 133
'I am a brother of the tribe, my sister.
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unit 134
'No gipsy, though,' said the hag, in the black language.
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unit 135
'You have not the glossy eye of the true Roman.
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unit 136
'No Roman am I, my sister, save by adoption.
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unit 138
'Then why come you with a double face, little child?'
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unit 139
unit 140
'As a Gentile I would speak no word, but my brother you are, and as my brother you shall know.
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unit 141
'Know who killed Jentham!'
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unit 142
said Baltic, hastily.
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unit 143
'Of a truth, brother.
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unit 144
But call him not Jentham, for he was of Pharaoh's blood.
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unit 145
'A gipsy, mother, or only a Romany rye?
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity 8 months, 3 weeks ago
unit 146
'Of the old blood, of the true blood, of our religion verily, my brother.
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unit 148
'He called himself Amaru then, did he not?'
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unit 150
'It is so, brother.
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unit 152
But a Bosvile he was born, and a Bosvile he died.
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unit 153
'That is just it!'
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unit 155
'How did he die?
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unit 157
'Who shot him?
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unit 158
'Job!
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unit 159
my noble rye, I can't say.
0 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity None
unit 160
Jentham, he come 'ere to patter the calo jib and drink with us.
1 Translations, 0 Upvotes, Last Activity 8 months, 3 weeks ago
unit 161
He said as he had to see some Gentile on that night!
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unit 162
La!
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unit 163
la!
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unit 164
la!'
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unit 165
she piped thinly, 'an evil night for him!
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unit 166
'On Sunday night—the night he was killed?
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unit 167
'Yes, pretty one.
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unit 168
The Gorgio was to give him money for somethin' he knowed.
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unit 169
'Who was the Gorgio?
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unit 170
'I don' know, lovey!
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unit 171
I don' know!
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unit 172
'What was the secret, then?'
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unit 173
asked Baltic, casting round for information.
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unit 174
'Bless 'ee, my tiny!
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unit 175
Jentham nivir tole me.
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unit 176
An' I was curis to know, my dove, so when he walks away half-seas over I goes too.
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unit 177
I follows, lovey, I follow, but I nivir did cotch him up, fur rain and storm comed mos' dreful.
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unit 178
'Did you not see him on that night, then?
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unit 179
'Sight of my eyes, I sawr 'im dead.
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unit 181
He was lyin' in a ditch.
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unit 183
I was afraid to touch him, afraid to wait, as these Gentiles might think I had slain the man.
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unit 184
I got back into the road, I did, and there I picked up this, which I brought to the camp with me.
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unit 185
But I never showed it to the police, brother, for I feared the Gentile jails.
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unit 188
'G.
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unit 189
P.,' said he, reading the initials graven on the silver shield of the butt.
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unit 190
'Ah!'
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unit 191
chuckled Mother Jael, hugging herself.
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unit 192
'George Pendle that is, lovey.
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unit 193
But which of 'em, my tender dove—the father or the son?
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unit 194
'Humph!'
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unit 195
remarked Baltic, meditatively, 'they are both called George.
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unit 196
'But they ain't both called murderer, my brother.
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unit 198
Ah, that it was!
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KKL17 • 224  translated  unit 16  11 months, 1 week ago

Mr. Michael Cargrim, bishop's chaplain, also likes Mab Arden = in der Übersetzung chaplain als "Kaplan", "Kaplan des Bischofs"
Mr. Gabriel Pendle, bishop's son, curate, allegedly chasing Miss Mosk = in der Übersetzung curate als "Vikar"
by Siri 9 hours ago
For those who are interested in listening to the novel: https://librivox.org/the-bishops-secret-by-fergus-hume/
by francevw 1 week, 4 days ago
„Fellow translators, our mutual goal in collaborative translation is to improve our language skills and to learn from one another. To promote such an environment, please refrain from correcting translations that are already written correctly in English. Where there is an error of either translation, grammar, or punctuation, it is helpful to use the "suggestion" feature to correct it, and when necessary, leave a short comment. In this way the original translator can benefit from the explanation. Replacing words with synonyms or sentences with similar ones is discouraged; this suggests to the translator that his writing is incorrect and can hinder learning. However, at times there may be stylistic changes needed to fit the time period of the piece, to make the story flow better, or to capture an “accent”. In such instances please use the “comments" feature to explain the proposed changes and allow the original translator the opportunity to make the changes himself or herself. Thank you.“
by Siri 2 weeks, 4 days ago
THE BISHOP'S SECRET by FERGUS HUME (1900) https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Bishop%27s_Secret

List of the characters:
1. Miss Daisy Norsham, Belgravian spinster
2. Mrs. Pansey, an archdeacon's widow
3. Mr. George Pendle, Bishop, Dr. Pendle
4. Mrs. Amy Pendle, the bishop's wife, formerly Mrs. Creagth (widow)
5. Mr. George Pendle, bishop's son, officer, in love with Mab Arden
6. Mr. Gabriel Pendle, bishop's son, curate, allegedly chasing Miss Mosk
7. Miss Lucy Pendle, bishop's daughter
8. Sir Harry Brace, engaged to Lucy Pendle
9. Miss Mab Arden, most beautiful girl in Beorminster
10. Miss Whichello, Mab Arden's aunt
11. Mr. Michael Cargrim, bishop's chaplain, also likes Mab Arden
12. Dr. Graham, doctor, atheist, sceptic
13. Mr. William Mosk, the owner of the The Derby Winner pub
14. Mrs Mosk, his wife
15. Miss Bell Mosk, their daughter
16. Mr. Alder, dean, Dr. Alder
17. Miss Tancred, keeps telling the story about her lost purse
18. John, bishop's servant
19. Mr. Jentham, the man with the scar, the bearer of the bad news

Synopsis:
Bishop Pendle is the Church of England bishop in a small fictitious English cathedral town. Several years into his work, he receives a visit from a disreputable-looking visitor. The bishop is much upset. What transpired between them that has so upset the good churchman? And then there is the murder. Fergus Hume was one of the most prolific and most popular of 19th century novelists. "Mr. Hume won a reputation second to none for plot of the stirring, ingenious, misleading, and finally surprising kind, and for working out his plot in vigorous and picturesque English. In "The Bishop's Secret," while there is no falling off in plot and style, there is a welcome and marvelous broadening out as to the cast of characters, representing an unusually wide range of typical men and women. These are not laboriously described by the author, but are made to reveal themselves in action and speech in a way that has, for the reader, all the charm of personal intercourse with living people…."

TABLE OF CONTENTS
PREFACE.
CHAPTER I. 'Enter Mrs Pansey As Chorus'
CHAPTER II. The Bishop Is Wanted
CHAPTER III. The Unforeseen Happens
CHAPTER IV. The Curiosity Of Mr Cargrim
CHAPTER V. The Derby Winner
CHAPTER VI. The Man With The Scar
CHAPTER VII. An Interesting Conversation
CHAPTER VIII. On Saturday Night
CHAPTER IX. An Exciting Adventure
CHAPTER X. Morning Service In The Minster
CHAPTER XI. Miss Whichello's Luncheon-party
CHAPTER XII. Bell Mosk Pays A Visit
CHAPTER XIII. A Stormy Night
CHAPTER XIV. 'Rumour Full Of Tongues'
CHAPTER XV. The Gipsy Ring
CHAPTER XVI. The Zeal Of Inspector Tinkler
CHAPTER XVII. A Clerical Detective
CHAPTER XVIII. The Chaplain On The Warpath
CHAPTER XIX. The Bishop's Request
CHAPTER XX. Mother Jael
CHAPTER XXI. Mrs Pansey's Festival
CHAPTER XXII. Mr Mosk Is Indiscreet
CHAPTER XXIII. In The Library
CHAPTER XXIV. The Bishop Asserts Himself
CHAPTER XXV. Mr Baltic, Missionary
CHAPTER XXVI. The Amazement Of Sir Harry Brace
CHAPTER XXVII. What Mother Jael Knew
CHAPTER XXVIII. The Return Of Gabriel
CHAPTER XXIX. The Confession Of Bishop Pendle
CHAPTER XXX. Blackmail
CHAPTER XXXI. Mr Baltic On The Trail
CHAPTER XXXII. The Initials
CHAPTER XXXIII. Mr Baltic Explains Himself
CHAPTER XXXIV. The Wages Of Sin
CHAPTER XXXV. The Honour Of Gabriel
CHAPTER XXXVI. The Rebellion Of Mrs Pendle
CHAPTER XXXVII. Dea Ex Machinâ
CHAPTER XXXVIII. Exit Mr Cargrim
CHAPTER XXXIX. All's Well That Ends Well
by francevw

by Siri 8 months, 3 weeks ago

For more info, please see discussion tab.
CHAPTER XXVII - WHAT MOTHER JAEL KNEW.
Now, when Baltic and his grizzled head had vanished, Sir Harry must needs betake himself to Dr Graham for the easing of his mind. The doctor had known the young man since he was a little lad, and on more than one occasion had given him that practical kind of advice which results from experience; therefore, when Harry was perplexed over matters too deep for him—as he was now—he invariably sought counsel of his old friend. In the present instance—for his own sake, for the sake of Lucy and Lucy's father—he told Graham the whole story of Bishop Pendle's presumed guilt; of Baltic's mission to disprove it; and of Cargrim's underhanded doings. Graham listened to the details in silence, and contented himself with a grim smile or two when Cargrim's treachery was touched upon. When in possession of the facts, he commented firstly on the behaviour of the chaplain.
'I always thought that the fellow was a cur!' said he, contemptuously, 'and now I am certain of it.
'Curs bite, sir,' said Brace, sententiously, 'and we must muzzle this one else there will be the devil to pay.
'No doubt, when Cargrim receives his wages. Well, lad, and what do you propose doing?
'I came to ask your advice, doctor!
'Here it is, then. Hold your tongue and do nothing.
'What! and leave that hound to plot against the bishop?
'A cleverer head than yours is counter-plotting him, Brace,' warned the doctor. 'While Cargrim, having faith in Baltic, leaves the matter of the murder in his hands, there can be no open scandal.
Harry stared, and moodily tugged at his moustache. 'I never thought to hear you hint that the bishop was guilty,' he grumbled.
'And I,' retorted Graham, 'never thought to hear a man of your sense make so silly a speech. The bishop is innocent; I'll stake my life on that. Nevertheless, he has a secret, and if there is a scandal about this murder, the secret—whatever it is—may become public property.
'Humph! that is to be avoided certainly. But the secret can be nothing harmful.
'If it were not,' replied Graham, drily, 'Pendle would not take such pains to conceal it. People don't pay two hundred pounds for nothing harmful, my lad.
'Do you believe that the money was paid?
'Yes, on Southberry Heath, shortly before the murder. And what is more,' added Graham, warmly, 'I believe that the assassin knew that Jentham had received the money, and shot him to obtain it.
'If that is so,' argued Harry, 'the assassin would no doubt wish to take the benefit of his crime and use the money. If he did, the numbers of the notes being known, they would be traced, whereas—.
'Whereas Baltic, who got the numbers from the bank, has not yet had time to trace them. Wait, Brace, wait! Time, in this matter, may work wonders.
'But, doctor, do you trust Baltic?
'Yes, my friend, I always trust fanatics in their own particular line of monomania. Besides, for all his religious craze, Baltic appears to be a shrewd man; also he is a silent one, so if anyone can carry the matter through judiciously, he is the person.
'What about Cargrim?
'Leave him alone, lad; with sufficient rope he'll surely hang himself.
'Shouldn't the bishop be warned, doctor?
'I think not. If we watch Cargrim and trust Baltic we shall be able to protect Pendle from the consequences of his folly.
'Folly! What folly?
'The folly of having a secret. Only women should have secrets, for they alone know how to keep them.
'Everyone is of the opposite opinion,' said Brace, with a grin.
'And, as usual, everyone is wrong,' retorted Graham. 'Do you think I have been a doctor all these years and don't know the sex?—that is, so far as a man may know them. You take my word for it, Brace, that a woman knows how to hold her tongue. It is a popular fallacy to suppose that she doesn't. You try and get a secret out of a woman which she thinks is worth keeping, and see how you'll fare. She will laugh, and talk and lie, and tell you everything—except what you want to know. What strength is to a man, cunning is to a woman. They are the potters, we are the clay, and—and—and my discourse is as discursive as that of Praed's vicar,' finished the doctor, with a dry chuckle.
'It has led us a long way from the main point,' agreed Harry, 'and that is—what is Dr Pendle's secret?
Graham shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. 'You ask more than I can tell you,' he said sadly. 'Whatever it is, Pendle intends to keep it to himself. All we can do is to trust Baltic.
'Well, doctor,' said Harry, taking a reluctant leave, for he wished to thresh out the matter into absolute chaff, 'you know best, so I shall follow your advice.
'I am glad of that,' was Graham's reply. 'My time is too valuable to be wasted.
While this conversation was taking place, Baltic was walking briskly across the brown heath, in the full blaze of the noonday. A merciless sun flamed like a furnace in the cloudless sky; and over the vast expanse of dry burnt herbage lay a veil of misty, tremulous heat. Every pool of water flashed like a mirror in the sun-rays; the drone of myriad insects rose from the ground; the lark's clear music rained down from the sky; and the ex-sailor, trudging along the white and dusty highway, almost persuaded himself that he was back in some tropical land, less gorgeous, but quite as sultry, as the one he had left. The day was fitter for mid June rather than late September.
Baltic made so much concession to the unusual weather as to drape his red handkerchief over his head and place his Panama hat on top of it; but he still wore the thick pilot suit, buttoned up tightly, and stepped out smartly, as though he were a salamander impervious to heat. With his long arms swinging by his side, his steady, grey eyes observant of all around him, he rolled on, in true nautical style, towards the gipsy camp. This was not hard to discover, for it lay only a mile or so from Southberry Junction, some little distance off the main road. The missionary saw a huddle of caravans, a few straying horses, a cluster of tawny, half-clad children rioting in the sunshine; and knowing that this was his port of call, he stepped off the road on to the grass, and made directly for the encampment. He had a warrant for Mother Jael's arrest in his pocket, but save himself there was no one to execute it, and it might be difficult to take the old woman in charge when she was—so to speak—safe in the heart of her kingdom. However, Baltic regarded the warrant only as a means to an end, and did not intend to use it, other than as a bogey to terrify Mother Jael into confession. He trusted more to his religiosity and persuasive capabilities than to the power of the law. Nevertheless, being practical as well as sentimental, he was glad to have the warrant in case of need; for it was possible that a heathenish witch like Mother Jael might fear man more than God. Finally, Baltic had some experience of casting religious pearls before pagan swine, and therefore was discreet in his use of spiritual remedies.
Dogs barked and children screeched when Baltic stepped into the circle formed by caravans and tents; and several swart, sinewy, gipsy men darted threatening glances at him as an intrusive stranger. There burned a fire near one of the caravans, over which was slung a kettle, swinging from a tripod of iron, and this was filled with some savoury stew, which sent forth appetising odours. A dark, handsome girl, with golden earrings, and a yellow handkerchief twisted picturesquely round her black hair, was the cook, and she turned to face Baltic with a scowl when he inquired for Mother Jael. Evidently the Gentiles were no favourites in the camp of these outcasts, for the men lounging about murmured, the women tittered and sneered, and the very children spat out evil words in the Romany language. But Baltic, used to black skins and black looks, was not daunted by this inhospitable reception, and in grave tones repeated his inquiry for the sibyl.
'Who are you, juggel-mush?' [1 see discussion] asked a sinister-looking Hercules.
'I am one who wishes to see Mother Jael,' replied Baltic, in his deep voice.
'Arromali!' [2 see discussion] sneered the Cleopatra-like cook. 'She has more to do than to see every cheating, choring Gentile.
'Give me money, my royal master,' croaked a frightful cripple. 'My own little purse is empty.
'Oh, what a handsome Gorgio!' whined a hag, interspersing her speech with curses. '(May evil befall him!) Good luck for gold, dearie. (I spit on your corpse, Gentile!) Charity! Charity!
A girl seated on the steps of a caravan cracked her fingers, and spitting three times for the evil eye, burst into a song:
'With my kissings and caressings
I can gain gold from the Gentiles;
But to evil change my blessings'.
All this clatter and clamour of harsh voices, mouthing the wild gipsies' jargon, had no effect on Baltic. Seeing that he could gain nothing from the mocking crowd, he pushed back one or two, who seemed disposed to be affectionate with a view to robbing his pockets, and shouted loudly, 'Mother Jael! Mother Jael!' till the place rang with his roaring.
Before the gipsies could recover from their astonishment at this sudden change of front, a dishevelled grey head was poked out from one of the black tents, and a thin high voice piped, 'Dearie! lovey! Mother Jael be here!
'I thought I would bring you out of your burrow,' said Baltic, grimly, as he strode towards her; 'in with you again, old Witch of Endor, and let me follow.
'Hindity-Mush!'[3 see discussion] growled one or two, but the appearance of Mother Jael, and a few words from her, sent the whole gang back to their idling and working; while Baltic, quite undisturbed, dropped on all fours and crawled into the black tent, at the tail of the hag. She croaked out a welcome to her visitor, and squatting on a tumbled mattress, leered at him like a foul old toad. Baltic sat down near the opening of the tent, so as to get as much fresh air as possible, and also to watch Mother Jael's face by the glimmer of light which crept in. Spreading his handsome handkerchief on his knee, according to custom, and placing his hat thereon, he looked straightly at the old hag, and spoke slowly.
'Do you know why I am here, old woman?' he demanded.
'Yes, dearie, yes! Ain't it yer forting as y' wan's tole? Oh, my pretty one, you asks ole mother for a fair future! I knows! I knows!
'You know wrong then!' retorted Baltic, coolly. 'I am one who has no dealings with witches and familiar spirits. I ask you to tell me, not my fortune—which lies in the hand of the Almighty—but the name of the man who murdered the creature Jentham.
Mother Jael made an odd whistling sound, and her cunning old face became as expressionless as a mask. In a second, save for her wicked black eyes, which smouldered like two sparks of fire under her drooping lids, she became a picture of stupidity and senility. 'Bless 'ee, my pretty master, I knows nought; all I knows I told the Gentiles yonder,' and the hag pointed a crooked finger in the direction of Beorminster.
'Mother of the witches, you lie!' cried Baltic, in very good Romany.
The eyes of Mother Jael blazed up like torches at the sound of the familiar tongue, and she eyed the weather-beaten face of Baltic with an amazement too genuine to be feigned. 'Duvel!' said she, in a high key of astonishment, 'who is this Gorgio who patters with the gab of a gentle Romany?
'I am a brother of the tribe, my sister.
'No gipsy, though,' said the hag, in the black language. 'You have not the glossy eye of the true Roman.
'No Roman am I, my sister, save by adoption. As a lad I left the Gentiles' roof for the merry tent of Egypt, and for many years I called Lovels and Stanleys my blood-brothers.
'Then why come you with a double face, little child?' croaked the beldam, who knew that Baltic was speaking the truth from his knowledge of the gipsy tongue. 'As a Gentile I would speak no word, but my brother you are, and as my brother you shall know.
'Know who killed Jentham!' said Baltic, hastily.
'Of a truth, brother. But call him not Jentham, for he was of Pharaoh's blood.
'A gipsy, mother, or only a Romany rye?
'Of the old blood, of the true blood, of our religion verily, my brother. One of the Lovels he was, who left our merry life to eat with Gorgios and fiddle gold out of their pockets.
'He called himself Amaru then, did he not?' said Baltic, who had heard this much from Cargrim, to whom it had filtered from Miss Whichello through Tinkler.
'It is so, brother. Amaru he called himself, and Jentham and Creagth, and a dozen other names when cheating and choring the Gentiles. But a Bosvile he was born, and a Bosvile he died.
'That is just it!' said Baltic, in English, for he grew weary of using the gipsy language, in which, from disuse, he was no great proficient. 'How did he die?
'He was shot, lovey,' replied Mother Jael, relapsing also into the vulgar tongue; 'shot, dearie, on this blessed common.
'Who shot him?
'Job! my noble rye, I can't say. Jentham, he come 'ere to patter the calo jib and drink with us. He said as he had to see some Gentile on that night! La! la! la!' she piped thinly, 'an evil night for him!
'On Sunday night—the night he was killed?
'Yes, pretty one. The Gorgio was to give him money for somethin' he knowed.
'Who was the Gorgio?
'I don' know, lovey! I don' know!
'What was the secret, then?' asked Baltic, casting round for information.
'Bless 'ee, my tiny! Jentham nivir tole me. An' I was curis to know, my dove, so when he walks away half-seas over I goes too. I follows, lovey, I follow, but I nivir did cotch him up, fur rain and storm comed mos' dreful.
'Did you not see him on that night, then?
'Sight of my eyes, I sawr 'im dead. I 'eard a shot, and I run, and run, dearie, fur I know'd as 'e 'ad no pistol; but I los' m'way, my royal rye, and it was ony when th' storm rolled off as I foun' 'im. He was lyin' in a ditch. Such was his grave,' continued Mother Jael, speaking in her own tongue, 'water and grass and storm-clouds above, brother. I was afraid to touch him, afraid to wait, as these Gentiles might think I had slain the man. I got back into the road, I did, and there I picked up this, which I brought to the camp with me. But I never showed it to the police, brother, for I feared the Gentile jails.
This proved to be a neat little silver-mounted pistol which Mother Jael fished out from the interior of the mattress. Baltic balanced it in his hand, and believing, as was surely natural, that Jentham had been killed with this weapon, he examined it carefully.
'G. P.,' said he, reading the initials graven on the silver shield of the butt.
'Ah!' chuckled Mother Jael, hugging herself. 'George Pendle that is, lovey. But which of 'em, my tender dove—the father or the son?
'Humph!' remarked Baltic, meditatively, 'they are both called George.
'But they ain't both called murderer, my brother. George Pendle shot that Bosvile sure enough, an' ef y'arsk me, dearie, it was the son—the captain—the sodger. Ah, that it was!