I'm Keith Morison, and this is episode 2 of Wilkie Collins, The Dead Alive. Our narrator, attorney Philip Lafranc, has arrived in America seeking the peace and quiet of Morwick Farm for the sake of his precarious health. Instead, he finds himself surrounded by a cauldron of intense emotions. There is soaring romance. Ambrose Mettaecroft has won the heart of the charming Naomi Colbrook. But there's hate here, too. And jealousy and fury barely contained, directed at the strange and intense farm manager, John Jago, who suddenly demands a private meeting with Naomi in the garden. With a growing dread, Philip watches them, whispering in the shadows. Early next morning, he's roused by the sound of shouting outside his window. His fears are about to be realized. Here again is Wilkie Collins, the Dead Alive. Chapter 4, The Beachwood Stick. Persons of sensitive nervous temperament, sleeping for the first time in a strange house and in a bed that is new to them, must generally resign themselves to pass a wakeful night. My first night at Morwick Farm was no exception to this rule. The little sleep I had was broken and disturbed by dreams. Towards 6:00 in the morning, my bed became unendurable to me, and the sun was shining in, rightly in the window.

Just as I got out of bed, I heard footsteps and voices under my window. The persons beneath me were Mr. Metta Croft's son Silas, John Jago, and three farm workers. Silas was swinging a stout beachwood walking stick in his hand and was speaking to Jago, coursely, about his Moonlight meeting with Naomi. Next time you go courting a young lady in secret, said Silas, make sure that the moon goes down first or wait for a cloudy sky. You were seen in the garden, Mr. Jago. And you may as well tell us the truth for once. Did you find her open to persuasion, sir? Did she say yes? John Jago kept his temper. You were quite wrong, sir, in what you supposed to have passed between the young lady and me. What I was saying to miss Naomi doesn't matter to you. It was not at all what you choose to suppose. It was something of quite another kind with which you have no concern. I understand once and for all, Mr. Silas, that not so much as the thought of making love to the young lady has ever entered my head. I respect her and I admire her good qualities.

But if she was the only woman left in the world and I was much younger than I am, I should never think of asking her to be my wife. He burst out suddenly into a harsh, uneasy laugh. Oh, no, not my style, Mr. Silas. Not my style. Something in those words, or in his manner of speaking them, appeared to exasperate Silas. He dropped his clumsy irony and addressed himself directly to John Jago in a tone of savage contempt. Not your style, he repeated. That's a cool way of putting it for a man in your place. What do you mean by calling her not your style, you impudent begger? John Jago's temper began to give way at last. He approached defiantly a stupper tune nearer to Silas Mettaecroft. Naomi Cole broke his Ambrose's sweetheart, said Silas. Keep out of his way if you want to keep a whole skin on your bones. John Jago cast one sardonic side look at the farmer's wounded left hand. Don't forget your own skin, Mr. Silas, when you threaten mine. I have set my mark on you once, sir. Let me be on my business or I may mock you for a second time.

Silas lifted his beachwood stick. The farmhands, roused to the serious turn which the quarrel was taking, got between the two men and part of them. I had been hurriedly dressing myself when the altercation was proceeding, and now I ran downstairs to try what my influence could do toward keeping the peace at Morwick Farm. The war of angry words was still going on when I joined the men outside. Silas made a desperate effort to break away from the farm hands who were holding him. Last time you felt only my fist, he shouted. Next time you shall feel this. He lifted the stick as he spoke. I stepped up and snatched it out of his hand. Mr. Silas, I said, I'm an invalid. I'm going out for a walk. Your stick will be useful to me. I'd like to borrow it. The farm hands burst out laughing. Silas fixed his on me with a stare of angry surprise. John Jago, immediately recovering his self-possession, took off his hat and made me a deferential bow. I had no idea, Mr. Lafranc, that we were disturbing you, he said. I'm very much ashamed of myself, sir. I beg to apologize.

I accept your apology, Mr. Jago, I answered. And I have further to request, I added, addressing myself to Silas. I want to see you and Mr. Jago shake hands. John Jago instantly held out his hand with an assumption of good feeling, which was a little overacted to my thinking. Silas Meadow Crosse made no advance of the same friendly sort. Let him go about his business, said Silas. I won't waste any more words on him, Mr. Lafranc, but I'm damned if I'll take his hand. Further persuasion was plainly useless. Silas turned about in sulky silence and retracing his steps along the path, disappeared around the corner of the house. The farmhands withdrew next in different directions to begin the day's work. John Jago and I were left alone. In half an hour's time, sir, he said, I should be going on business to Narraby, our market town here. Can I take any letters to the post for you, or is there anything else I can do in the town? I thanked him and declined both proposals. He made me another deferential bow and withdrawn into the house. I, the mechanically followed the path in the direction which Silas had taken.

Turning the corner of the house and walking on for a little way, I found myself at the entrance to the stables and face to face with Silas Mettau Croft once more. He had his elbows on the gate of the yard, swinging it slowly, backward and forward, and turning and twisting a straw between his teeth. When he saw me approaching him, he advanced a step from the gate and made an effort to excuse himself. It was very ill grace. No offense, Mister. Ask me what you will and I'll do it for you, but don't ask me to shake hands with John Jago. I hate him too badly for that. If I touched him with one hand, sir, I'll tell you this, I should throttle him with the other. That's your feeling toward the man, Mr. Silas, is it? That's my feeling, Mr. Lafranc, and I'm not ashamed of it either. Is there any such a place as a church in your neighborhood, Mr. Silas? Of course there is. And do you ever go to it? Of course I do. At long intervals, Mr. Silas? Every Sunday, sir, without fail. Some third person behind me burst out laughing.

Some third person had been listening to our talk. I turned around and discovered Ambrose Meadowcroft. Don't be too hard on my brother Silas, sir, he said. He isn't the only Christian who leaves his Christianity in the pew when he goes out of church. He'll never make us friends with John Jago. Try as you may. What? What have you got there, Mr. Lafranc? If it isn't my stick, I've been looking for it everywhere. The thick beachwood walking stick had been feeling uncomfortably heavy in my invalid hand for some time. No need for me keeping it any longer. John Jago was going away to Narrowby, and Silas Mettaecroft's savage temper was subdued to a sulky repose. So I handed the stick back to Ambrose, and he laughed as he took it from me. You can't think how Strange it feels, Mr. Lafranc, to be out without one stick. A man gets used to his stick, doesn't he? Are you ready for your breakfast? Not just yet. I thought of taking a little walk first. All right, sir. I wish I could go with you, but I have my work to do this morning, and Silas has his work, too.

If you go back the way you came, you'll find yourself in the garden. If you want to go further, the wicked gate at the end will lead you into the lane. Through sheer thoughtlessness, I did a very foolish thing. I turned back as I was told, and left the brothers together at the gate of the stable yard. And so our narrator, Philip, has played Peacemaker successfully, it would seem. Except he wonders as he wanders off. What if Ambrose hears of his brother's rage and Jago's secret Tata Tate with Naomi? Better turn back and find Ambrose, Philip figures, before it's too late.

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Chapter 5, the news from Narebi. Arrived at the garden, a thought struck me. The cheerful speech and easy manner of Ambrose plainly indicated that he was ignorant thus far of the quarrel which had taken place under my window. But Silas might tell him, might well confess to having taken his brother's walking stick, and might mention whose head he had threatened with it. But if Ambrose heard all about that, the quarrel, the threat, well, it wouldn't help matters. So hoping to prevent an escalation of the obvious tension, I retraced my steps to the stable yard. Nobody was at the gate. I called Silas, Ambrose. Nobody answered. The brothers were gone. Returning to the garden, I heard a pleasant voice wishing me good morning. I looked around. Naomi Colebrook was standing at one of the lower windows of the farm. She had her working apron on. She was sharpening the knife to the breakfast table. Come here, she said. I want to speak to you. I noticed as I approached that her pretty face was clouded and anxious. I have seen John Jago, she said. He has been hinting at something which he says happened under your bedroom window this morning.

When I begged him to explain himself, he only answered, Ask Mr. Lafranc, I must be off to Nareby. What does it mean? Tell me right away, sir. I can't wait. I told her what had happened under my window. As plainly as I have told it here, she put down the knife that she was sharpening and folded her hands before her thinking, I wish I'd never given John Jago that meeting, she said. When a man asks anything of a woman, the woman I find mostly repented if she says yes. She made that quaint reflection with a very troubled brow. The Moonlight Meeting had left some unwelcome memorances on her mind. What had John Jago said to her? I put the question delicately, making my apologies beforehand. She turned pale, then suddenly flushed again to the deepest red. She took up the knife once more and went on sharpening it as industriously as ever. I mustn't tell you, she resumed with her head down over the knife. I have promised not to tell anybody. That's the truth. Forget all about it, sir. As soon as you can. I'm not quite easy about something, she said. Did you tell me that you left Ambrose and Silas together?

Yes. Suppose Silas tells Ambrose of what happened this morning. The same idea as I've already mentioned, had occurred to my mind. I did my best to reassure Naomi. Mr. But Jago is out of the way, I replied, You and I can easily put things right in his absence. She took my arm. Come into prayers, she said, Ambrose will be there, and I shall find an opportunity of speaking to him. But neither Ambrose nor Silas was in the breakfast room when we entered it. After waiting vainfully for 10 minutes, Mr. Metta Croft told his daughter to read the prayers, and Ms. Metta Croft did in the tone of an injured woman insisting on her rights. Breakfast followed, and still the brothers were absent. Ms. Mettaecroft looked at her father and said, From bad to worse, sir, What did I tell you? Naomi instantly said, The boys are no doubt detained over their work, uncle. She turned to me, You want to see the farm, Mr. Lafranc? Come and help me find the boys. For more than an hour, we visited one part of the farm after another without discovering the missing men. We found them at last near the outskirts of a small wood, sitting and talking together on the trunk of a filled tree.

Silas rose as we approached and walked away without a word of greeting or apology into the wood. As he got on his feet, I noticed that his brother whispered something in his ear, and I heard him answer, All right. Ambrose, are you keeping a secret from us? Asked Naomi, approaching her lover with a smile. Ambrose kicked sulkily at the loose stones lying about him. I noticed, with a certain surprise, that his favorite walking stick was not in his hand and was not lying near him. 'Business, ' he said in answer to Naomi, not very graciously. 'Business between Silas and me, that's what it means, if you must know. Naomi went on with her questioning, heedless of the reception which they might meet from an irritated man. Why were you both away at prayers in breakfast time? She asked next. We had much to do, Ambrose gruffly replied, and we were too far from the house. Very odd, said Naomi. This has never happened before since I've been at the farm. Well, live and learn. It has happened now. The tone in which he spoke would have warned any man to let him alone. But Naomi pressed on.

Have you seen anything of John Jago this morning? The smoldering ill temper of Ambrose burst suddenly into a flame. How many more questions am I to answer? He broke up violently. I've seen nothing of John Jago, and I've got my work to go on with. Will that do for you? He turned with an oath and followed his brother into the wood. Naomi's bright eyes looked up at me, flashing with indignation. What does he mean, Mr. Lafranc, by speaking to me that way? Rude, brute, how dare he? She paused. Her voice, look, and manner suddenly changed. This has never happened before, sir. Has anything gone wrong? Ambrose has so changed. I made the best of a bad case. Something has upset him, I said. The merest trifle, Ms. Coldbrook, upsets a man sometimes. I speak as a man, and I know it. Give him time. He'll make his excuses and all will be well again. My presentation of the case entirely failed to reassure. We went back to the house. Dinertime came and the brothers appeared. Their father spoke to him of their absence from warning prayers with needless severity, I thought, and they resented it and left the room.

Naomi disappeared after dinner. When I saw her again, she had some news for me. I have been with Ambrose, she said, and he has begged my pardon. We have made it up, Mr. Lafranc. Still, still, still what, miss Naomi? He is not like himself, sir. He denies it, but I can't help thinking he's hiding something from me. The day wore on. The evening came. Nine o'clock, and we all assembled again for supper. With the exception of John Jago, he was expected back to supper, and we waited for him for a quarter of an hour, but John Jago never appeared. The night wore on, and still the absent man failed to return. I withdrawn to my room, and again I was unable to sleep. When sunrise came, I and out, as before, to breathe the morning air. On the staircase, I met Ms. Metta Croft ascending to her own room. Not a curl of her stiff gray hair was disarranged. Nothing about the impenetrable woman to betray that she had been watching through the night. Has Mr. Jago not returned? I asked. Ms. Metta Croft slowly shook her head and frowned at me. We are in the hands of providence Mr. Lafranck.

Mr. Jago must have been detained for the night at Nareby. The daily routine of the meals resumed its unalterable course. Breakfast time came and dinner time came, and no, John Jago darkened the doors of Morwick Farm. Mr. Metta Croft and his daughter consulted together and determined to send someone in search of the missing man. One of the farm hands was dispatched to Nareby to make inquiries, and the man returned late in the evening bringing startling news. He had visited all the ends and all the places of business in Narraby. He had made endless inquiries in every direction. With this result. No one had set eyes on John Jago. Everybody declared that John Jago had not entered the town at all. We all looked at each other, accepting the two brothers who were seated together in a dark corner of the room. The conclusion appeared to be inevitable. John Jago was a lost man.

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Mystery dark like a storm cloud has gathered over Morwick Farm. Brothers Ambrose and Silas are in a mean and sullen mood, and the man in their crosshairs has suddenly vanished. As we pick up our story, the search is on for John Jago. Chapter 6, The Lime Kiln. Mr. Metta Croft was the first to speak. Somebody must find John, he said. Without losing a moment, added his daughter, Ambrose suddenly stepped out of the dark corner of the room. I will inquire Where, he said. Silas followed him. The brothers with drew together. Ambrose to prepare for his journey, Silas to saddle one of the horses for him. Naomi slipped out after them. I retired as soon as it was politely possible for me to leave the room, ascending the stairs on my way to my own quarters. I discovered Naomi, half hidden by the recess, formed by an old-fashioned window seat on the first landing. My bright little friend was in sore trouble. Her apron was over her face, and she was crying bitterly. Ambrose had not taken his leave as tenderly as usual. She was more firmly persuaded than ever that Ambrose was hiding something from her.

We all waited anxiously for the next day, and the next day made the mystery deeper than ever. The horse which had taken Ambrose to Nareby was ridden back to the farm by a groom from the hotel. He delivered a written message from Ambrose, which startled us. Further inquiries had positively proved that the missing man had never been near Nareby. It was said that a man like John Jago had been seen the previous day in a railway car. Traveling on the line to New York. Acting on this imperfect information, Ambrose had decided on verifying the truth of the report by extending his inquiries to New York. This extraordinary proceeding forced the suspicion on me that something had really gone wrong. I kept my doubts to myself, but I was prepared from that moment to see the disappearance of John Jago, followed by very grave results. The same day, the results declared themselves. News of what had happened at the farm spread through the district. Public opinion declared that the the lost man was the victim of foul play, and public opinion held one or both of the brothers Metta Croft responsible for his disappearance. Later in the day, it was announced that a Methodist preacher, greatly respected throughout the district had dreamed of John Jago in the character of a murdered man whose bones were hidden at Morwick Farm.

Before night, the cry was everywhere for a verification of the preacher's not only in the immediate district, but in the town of Nareby itself. The public voice insisted on the necessity of a search for the mortal remains of John Jago at Morwick Farm. In the terrible turn, which matters had now taken. Mr. Metta Croft, the elder, displayed a spirit and an energy for which I was not prepared. My sons have their faults, he said, serious faults, and nobody knows it better than I do. My sons behave badly and ungratefully toward John Jago. I don't deny that either. But Ambrose and Silas are not murderers. Make your search. I ask for it. No, I insist on it. After what has been said, in justice to my family and my name. The neighbors took him at his word. They organized themselves on the spot and began the search the next day. They Naomi met the calamity that had fallen on the household as resolutely as her uncle himself. Her one anxiety was for Ambrose. He ought to be here, she said to me. The wretches in the neighborhood are wicked enough to say that his absence is a confession of his guilt.

She was right. In the present temper of the popular mind, the absence of Ambrose was a suspicious circumstance in itself. We might telegraph to New York, I suggested, if you only knew where a message would be likely to find him. I know the hotel which the Metacrafs use in New York, she replied. We decided on telegraphing the hotel. I was writing the message, and Naomi was looking over my shoulder when we were startled by a strange voice speaking close to us. Oh, that's his address, is it? Said the voice. We wanted his address rather badly. The speaker was a stranger to me. Naomi recognized him as one of the neighbors. What do you want his address for? She asked sharply. I guess we found the mortal remains of John Jago, miss, the man replied. We've got Silas already, and we want Ambrose, too, on suspicion of murder. It's a lie, cried Naomi furiously. A wicked lie, the man turned to me. Take her to the next room, Mister, and let her see for herself. We went together into the next room. In one corner sitting by her father, And holding his hand, we saw stern and stony Ms. Meadowcroft weeping silently.

Opposite to them, crouched on the window seat, his eyes, wandering, his hands hanging helpless, was Silas Mettaecroft, plainly a panic-stricken man. The mass of the strangers present stood congregated around a table in the middle of the room. It drew aside as I approached with Naomi and allowed us to have a clear view of certain objects placed on the table. The center object of the collection was a little heap of charred bones. Round this were ranged a knife, two two metal buttons, and a stick partially burned. The knife was recognized by the farmhands as the weapon John Jago habitually carried about with him. The weapon with which he had wounded Silas Metta Croft's hand. The buttons, they owe me herself, declared as belonging to John Jago's coat. As for the stick, burned as it was, I had no difficulty identifying find the quinkly carved knob at the top. It was the heavy beachwood walking stick which I had snatched out of Silas's hand and which I restored to Ambrose. I was informed that the bones, the knife, the buttons, and the stick had all been found together in a lime kiln, then in use on the farm.

Is it serious? Naomi whispered to me as we drew back from the table. It would have been sheer cruelty to deceive her now. Yes, I whisper back, It's serious. That night, Silas was committed to prison, and an officer was dispatched to arrest Ambrose in New York. I went to Nareby and secured the best legal assistance for the defense which the town could place at my disposal. This done, there was no choice but to wait for news of Ambrose and for the examination before the magistrate, which was to follow. Let me only say that Naomi's conduct strengthened me in the conviction that she possessed a noble nature. I was unconscious of the state of my own feelings at the time, but I'm now disposed to think that this was the time at which I began to envy Ambrose, the wife whom he had won. The telegraph brought us our first news of Ambrose. He had been arrested at the hotel, and he was on his way to Morwick. The next day, he arrived and followed his brother to prison. Two days later, the preliminary examination took place. Ambrose and Silas Meadowcroft were charged before the magistrate with the willful murder of John Jago.

I was decided to appear as one of the witnesses, and at Naomi's own request, I took the poor girl into court and sat I heard during the proceedings. Such was the result of my voyage across the ocean in search of rest and quiet. There would be none of either at Morwick Farm. Coming up in our next episode, Philip Lafranc's Quest for Peace and Quiet seems to have come to a dreadful end with a heap of bones, some jacket buttons, a knife, a walking stick, and two brothers facing trial for murder. Now, there were only questions. What happened between Naomi and Jago in the garden? Did Ambrose and Silas murder their farm manager? Did they destroy his body in a pit of limestone? Young Philip had no idea, but he was determined to find out.