THE MAN WHO GREW VEGETABLE MARROWS

I told Caroline at lunch time that I should be dining at Fernly. Shernexpressed no objection—on the contrary——rnrn“Excellent,” she said. “You’ll hear all about it. By the way, what isrnthe trouble with Ralph?”rnrn“With Ralph?” I said, surprised; “there’s isn’t any.”rnrn“Then why is he staying at the Three Boars instead of at Fernly Park?”rnrnI did not for a minute question Caroline’s statement that Ralph Patonrnwas staying at the local inn. That Caroline said so was enough for me.rnrn“Ackroyd told me he was in London,” I said. In the surprise ofrnthe moment I departed from my valuable rule of never parting withrninformation.rnrn“Oh!” said Caroline. I could see her nose twitching as she worked onrnthis.rnrn“He arrived at the Three Boars yesterday morning,” she said. “And he’srnstill there. Last night he was out with a girl.”rnrnThat did not surprise me in the least. Ralph, I should say, is outrnwith a girl most nights of his life. But I did rather wonder that hernchose to indulge in the pastime in King’s Abbot instead of in the gayrnmetropolis.rnrn“One of the barmaids?” I asked.rnrn“No. That’s just it. He went out to meet her. I don’t know who she is.”rnrn(Bitter for Caroline to have to admit such a thing.)rnrn“But I can guess,” continued my indefatigable sister.rnrnI waited patiently.rnrn“His cousin.”rnrn“Flora Ackroyd?” I exclaimed in surprise.rnrnFlora Ackroyd is, of course, no relation whatever really to RalphrnPaton, but Ralph has been looked upon for so long as practicallyrnAckroyd’s own son, that cousinship is taken for granted.rnrn“Flora Ackroyd,” said my sister.rnrn“But why not go to Fernly if he wanted to see her?”rnrn“Secretly engaged,” said Caroline, with immense enjoyment. “Old Ackroydrnwon’t hear of it, and they have to meet this way.”rnrnI saw a good many flaws in Caroline’s theory, but I forbore to pointrnthem out to her. An innocent remark about our new neighbor created arndiversion.rnrnThe house next door, The Larches, has recently been taken by arnstranger. To Caroline’s extreme annoyance, she has not been ablernto find out anything about him, except that he is a foreigner. ThernIntelligence Corps has proved a broken reed. Presumably the man hasrnmilk and vegetables and joints of meat and occasional whitings justrnlike everybody else, but none of the people who make it their businessrnto supply these things seem to have acquired any information. His name,rnapparently, is Mr. Porrott—a name which conveys an odd feeling ofrnunreality. The one thing we do know about him is that he is interestedrnin the growing of vegetable marrows.rnrnBut that is certainly not the sort of information that Caroline isrnafter. She wants to know where he comes from, what he does, whether hernis married, what his wife was, or is, like, whether he has children,rnwhat his mother’s maiden name was—and so on. Somebody very likernCaroline must have invented the questions on passports, I think.rnrn“My dear Caroline,” I said. “There’s no doubt at all about what thernman’s profession has been. He’s a retired hairdresser. Look at thatrnmustache of his.”rnrnCaroline dissented. She said that if the man was a hairdresser, hernwould have wavy hair—not straight. All hairdressers did.rnrnI cited several hairdressers personally known to me who had straightrnhair, but Caroline refused to be convinced.rnrn“I can’t make him out at all,” she said in an aggrieved voice. “Irnborrowed some garden tools the other day, and he was most polite, butrnI couldn’t get anything out of him. I asked him point blank at lastrnwhether he was a Frenchman, and he said he wasn’t—and somehow I didn’trnlike to ask him any more.”rnrnI began to be more interested in our mysterious neighbor. A man whornis capable of shutting up Caroline and sending her, like the Queen ofrnSheba, empty away must be something of a personality.rnrn“I believe,” said Caroline, “that he’s got one of those new vacuumrncleaners——”rnrnI saw a meditated loan and the opportunity of further questioningrngleaming from her eye. I seized the chance to escape into the garden.rnI am rather fond of gardening. I was busily exterminating dandelionrnroots when a shout of warning sounded from close by and a heavy bodyrnwhizzed by my ear and fell at my feet with a repellant squelch. It wasrna vegetable marrow!rnrnI looked up angrily. Over the wall, to my left, there appeared a face.rnAn egg-shaped head, partially covered with suspiciously black hair, twornimmense mustaches, and a pair of watchful eyes. It was our mysteriousrnneighbor, Mr. Porrott.rnrnHe broke at once into fluent apologies.rnrn“I demand of you a thousand pardons, monsieur. I am without defense.rnFor some months now I cultivate the marrows. This morning suddenlyrnI enrage myself with these marrows. I send them to promenadernthemselves—alas! not only mentally but physically. I seize the biggest.rnI hurl him over the wall. Monsieur, I am ashamed. I prostrate myself.”rnrnBefore such profuse apologies, my anger was forced to melt. Afterrnall, the wretched vegetable hadn’t hit me. But I sincerely hoped thatrnthrowing large vegetables over walls was not our new friend’s hobby.rnSuch a habit could hardly endear him to us as a neighbor.rnrnThe strange little man seemed to read my thoughts.rnrn“Ah! no,” he exclaimed. “Do not disquiet yourself. It is not with me arnhabit. But can you figure to yourself, monsieur, that a man may workrntowards a certain object, may labor and toil to attain a certain kindrnof leisure and occupation, and then find that, after all, he yearnsrnfor the old busy days, and the old occupations that he thought himselfrnso glad to leave?”rnrn“Yes,” I said slowly. “I fancy that that is a common enough occurrence.rnI myself am perhaps an instance. A year ago I came into a legacy—enoughrnto enable me to realize a dream. I have always wanted to travel, to seernthe world. Well, that was a year ago, as I said, and—I am still here.”rnrnMy little neighbor nodded.rnrn“The chains of habit. We work to attain an object, and the objectrngained, we find that what we miss is the daily toil. And mark you,rnmonsieur, my work was interesting work. The most interesting work therernis in the world.”rnrn“Yes?” I said encouragingly. For the moment the spirit of Caroline wasrnstrong within me.rnrn“The study of human nature, monsieur!”rnrn“Just so,” I said kindly.rnrnClearly a retired hairdresser. Who knows the secrets of human naturernbetter than a hairdresser?rnrn“Also, I had a friend—a friend who for many years never left my side.rnOccasionally of an imbecility to make one afraid, nevertheless he wasrnvery dear to me. Figure to yourself that I miss even his stupidity.rnHis _naïveté_, his honest outlook, the pleasure of delighting andrnsurprising him by my superior gifts—all these I miss more than I canrntell you.”rnrn“He died?” I asked sympathetically.rnrn“Not so. He lives and flourishes—but on the other side of the world. Hernis now in the Argentine.”rnrn“In the Argentine,” I said enviously.rnrnI have always wanted to go to South America. I sighed, and thenrnlooked up to find Mr. Porrott eyeing me sympathetically. He seemed anrnunderstanding little man.rnrn“You will go there, yes?” he asked.rnrnI shook my head with a sigh.rnrn“I could have gone,” I said, “a year ago. But I was foolish—and worsernthan foolish—greedy. I risked the substance for the shadow.”rnrn“I comprehend,” said Mr. Porrott. “You speculated?”rnrnI nodded mournfully, but in spite of myself I felt secretlyrnentertained. This ridiculous little man was so portentously solemn.rnrn“Not the Porcupine Oilfields?” he asked suddenly.rnrnI stared.rnrn“I thought of them, as a matter of fact, but in the end I plumped for arngold mine in Western Australia.”rnrnMy neighbor was regarding me with a strange expression which I couldrnnot fathom.rnrn“It is Fate,” he said at last.rnrn“What is Fate?” I asked irritably.rnrn“That I should live next to a man who seriously considers PorcupinernOilfields, and also West Australian Gold Mines. Tell me, have you alsorna penchant for auburn hair?”rnrnI stared at him open-mouthed, and he burst out laughing.rnrn“No, no, it is not the insanity that I suffer from. Make your mindrneasy. It was a foolish question that I put to you there, for, see you,rnmy friend of whom I spoke was a young man, a man who thought all womenrngood, and most of them beautiful. But you are a man of middle age, arndoctor, a man who knows the folly and the vanity of most things in thisrnlife of ours. Well, well, we are neighbors. I beg of you to accept andrnpresent to your excellent sister my best marrow.”rnrnHe stooped, and with a flourish produced an immense specimen of therntribe, which I duly accepted in the spirit in which it was offered.rnrn“Indeed,” said the little man cheerfully, “this has not been a wastedrnmorning. I have made the acquaintance of a man who in some waysrnresembles my far-off friend. By the way, I should like to ask you arnquestion. You doubtless know every one in this tiny village. Who is thernyoung man with the very dark hair and eyes, and the handsome face. Hernwalks with his head flung back, and an easy smile on his lips?”rnrnThe description left me in no doubt.rnrn“That must be Captain Ralph Paton,” I said slowly.rnrn“I have not seen him about here before?”rnrn“No, he has not been here for some time. But he is the son—adopted son,rnrather—of Mr. Ackroyd of Fernly Park.”rnrnMy neighbor made a slight gesture of impatience.rnrn“Of course, I should have guessed. Mr. Ackroyd spoke of him many times.”rnrn“You know Mr. Ackroyd?” I said, slightly surprised.rnrn“Mr. Ackroyd knew me in London—when I was at work there. I have askedrnhim to say nothing of my profession down here.”rnrn“I see,” I said, rather amused by this patent snobbery, as I thought it.rnrnBut the little man went on with an almost grandiloquent smirk.rnrn“One prefers to remain incognito. I am not anxious for notoriety. Irnhave not even troubled to correct the local version of my name.”rnrn“Indeed,” I said, not knowing quite what to say.rnrn“Captain Ralph Paton,” mused Mr. Porrott. “And so he is engaged to Mr.rnAckroyd’s niece, the charming Miss Flora.”rnrn“Who told you so?” I asked, very much surprised.rnrn“Mr. Ackroyd. About a week ago. He is very pleased about it—has longrndesired that such a thing should come to pass, or so I understoodrnfrom him. I even believe that he brought some pressure to bear uponrnthe young man. That is never wise. A young man should marry to pleasernhimself—not to please a stepfather from whom he has expectations.”rnrnMy ideas were completely upset. I could not see Ackroyd taking arnhairdresser into his confidence, and discussing the marriage of hisrnniece and stepson with him. Ackroyd extends a genial patronage to thernlower orders, but he has a very great sense of his own dignity. I beganrnto think that Porrott couldn’t be a hairdresser after all.rnrnTo hide my confusion, I said the first thing that came into my head.rnrn“What made you notice Ralph Paton? His good looks?”rnrn“No, not that alone—though he is unusually good-looking for anrnEnglishman—what your lady novelists would call a Greek God. No, therernwas something about that young man that I did not understand.”rnrnHe said the last sentence in a musing tone of voice which made anrnindefinable impression upon me. It was as though he was summing up thernboy by the light of some inner knowledge that I did not share. It wasrnthat impression that was left with me, for at that moment my sister’srnvoice called me from the house.rnrnI went in. Caroline had her hat on, and had evidently just come in fromrnthe village. She began without preamble.rnrn“I met Mr. Ackroyd.”rnrn“Yes?” I said.rnrn“I stopped him, of course, but he seemed in a great hurry, and anxiousrnto get away.”rnrnI have no doubt but that that was the case. He would feel towardsrnCaroline much as he had felt towards Miss Ganett earlier in thernday—perhaps more so. Caroline is less easy to shake off.rnrn“I asked him at once about Ralph. He was absolutely astonished. Had nornidea the boy was down here. He actually said he thought I must havernmade a mistake. I! A mistake!”rnrn“Ridiculous,” I said. “He ought to have known you better.”rnrn“Then he went on to tell me that Ralph and Flora are engaged.”rnrn“I know that too,” I interrupted, with modest pride.rnrn“Who told you?”rnrn“Our new neighbor.”rnrnCaroline visibly wavered for a second or two, much as a roulette ballrnmight coyly hover between two numbers. Then she declined the temptingrnred herring.rnrn“I told Mr. Ackroyd that Ralph was staying at the Three Boars.”rnrn“Caroline,” I said, “do you never reflect that you might do a lot ofrnharm with this habit of yours of repeating everything indiscriminately?”rnrn“Nonsense,” said my sister. “People ought to know things. I consider itrnmy duty to tell them. Mr. Ackroyd was very grateful to me.”rnrn“Well?” I said, for there was clearly more to come.rnrn“I think he went straight off to the Three Boars, but if so he didn’trnfind Ralph there.”rnrn“No?”rnrn“No. Because as I was coming back through the wood——”rnrn“Coming back through the wood?” I interrupted.rnrnCaroline had the grace to blush.rnrn“It was such a lovely day,” she exclaimed. “I thought I would make arnlittle round. The woods with their autumnal tints are so perfect atrnthis time of year.”rnrnCaroline does not care a hang for woods at any time of year. Normallyrnshe regards them as places where you get your feet damp, and where allrnkinds of unpleasant things may drop on your head. No, it was good soundrnmongoose instinct which took her to our local wood. It is the onlyrnplace adjacent to the village of King’s Abbot where you can talk withrna young woman unseen by the whole of the village. It adjoins the Parkrnof Fernly.rnrn“Well,” I said, “go on.”rnrn“As I say, I was just coming back through the wood when I heard voices.”rnrnCaroline paused.rnrn“Yes?”rnrn“One was Ralph Paton’s—I knew it at once. The other was a girl’s. Ofrncourse I didn’t mean to listen——”rnrn“Of course not,” I interjected, with patent sarcasm—which was, however,rnwasted on Caroline.rnrn“But I simply couldn’t help overhearing. The girl said something—Irndidn’t quite catch what it was, and Ralph answered. He sounded veryrnangry. ‘My dear girl,’ he said. ‘Don’t you realize that it is quiternon the cards the old man will cut me off with a shilling? He’s beenrnpretty fed up with me for the last few years. A little more would dornit. And we need the dibs, my dear. I shall be a very rich man whenrnthe old fellow pops off. He’s mean as they make ’em, but he’s rollingrnin money really. I don’t want him to go altering his will. You leavernit to me, and don’t worry.’ Those were his exact words. I rememberrnthem perfectly. Unfortunately, just then I stepped on a dry twig orrnsomething, and they lowered their voices and moved away. I couldn’t, ofrncourse, go rushing after them, so wasn’t able to see who the girl was.”rnrn“That must have been most vexing,” I said. “I suppose, though, yournhurried on to the Three Boars, felt faint, and went into the bar for arnglass of brandy, and so were able to see if both the barmaids were onrnduty?”rnrn“It wasn’t a barmaid,” said Caroline unhesitatingly. “In fact, I’mrnalmost sure that it was Flora Ackroyd, only——”rnrn“Only it doesn’t seem to make sense,” I agreed.rnrn“But if it wasn’t Flora, who could it have been?”rnrnRapidly my sister ran over a list of maidens living in thernneighborhood, with profuse reasons for and against.rnrnWhen she paused for breath, I murmured something about a patient, andrnslipped out.rnrnI proposed to make my way to the Three Boars. It seemed likely thatrnRalph Paton would have returned there by now.rnrnI knew Ralph very well—better, perhaps, than any one else in King’srnAbbot, for I had known his mother before him, and therefore Irnunderstood much in him that puzzled others. He was, to a certainrnextent, the victim of heredity. He had not inherited his mother’srnfatal propensity for drink, but nevertheless he had in him a strainrnof weakness. As my new friend of this morning had declared, he wasrnextraordinarily handsome. Just on six feet, perfectly proportioned,rnwith the easy grace of an athlete, he was dark, like his mother,rnwith a handsome, sunburnt face always ready to break into a smile.rnRalph Paton was of those born to charm easily and without effort. Hernwas self-indulgent and extravagant, with no veneration for anythingrnon earth, but he was lovable nevertheless, and his friends were allrndevoted to him.rnrnCould I do anything with the boy? I thought I could.rnrnOn inquiry at the Three Boars I found that Captain Paton had just comernin. I went up to his room and entered unannounced.rnrnFor a moment, remembering what I had heard and seen, I was doubtful ofrnmy reception, but I need have had no misgivings.rnrn“Why, it’s Sheppard! Glad to see you.”rnrnHe came forward to meet me, hand outstretched, a sunny smile lightingrnup his face.rnrn“The one person I am glad to see in this infernal place.”rnrnI raised my eyebrows.rnrn“What’s the place been doing?”rnrnHe gave a vexed laugh.rnrn“It’s a long story. Things haven’t been going well with me, doctor. Butrnhave a drink, won’t you?”rnrn“Thanks,” I said, “I will.”rnrnHe pressed the bell, then, coming back, threw himself into a chair.rnrn“Not to mince matters,” he said gloomily, “I’m in the devil of a mess.rnIn fact, I haven’t the least idea what to do next.”rnrn“What’s the matter?” I asked sympathetically.rnrn“It’s my confounded stepfather.”rnrn“What has he done?”rnrn“It isn’t what he’s done yet, but what he’s likely to do.”rnrnThe bell was answered, and Ralph ordered the drinks. When the man hadrngone again, he sat hunched in the arm-chair, frowning to himself.rnrn“Is it really—serious?” I asked.rnrnHe nodded.rnrn“I’m fairly up against it this time,” he said soberly.rnrnThe unusual ring of gravity in his voice told me that he spoke therntruth. It took a good deal to make Ralph grave.rnrn“In fact,” he continued, “I can’t see my way ahead.... I’m damned if Irncan.”rnrn“If I could help——” I suggested diffidently.rnrnBut he shook his head very decidedly.rnrn“Good of you, doctor. But I can’t let you in on this. I’ve got to playrna lone hand.”rnrnHe was silent a minute and then repeated in a slightly different tonernof voice:—rnrn“Yes—I’ve got to play a lone hand....”rnrn