The sensation caused by the news that the dead body of Maurice Alymer had been stolen was even greater than that occasioned by the discovery of the murder. Even the London papers took up the matter, and sent down reporters to make investigations and build up theories as to the reason of this strange disappearance. Everywhere people were talking of the matter, and giving their opinions as to the proper course to be pursued in recovering the corpse. Would-be detectives haunted the roads and lanes around "Ashantee"; they would have penetrated into the park itself but for the vigilance of Major Jen.
His attitude at this moment was rather displeasing to his friends. He refused to permit anyone to see the chamber whence the body had been stolen, and even declined to discuss the matter or accept advice as to the best thing to be done. To all who spoke to him--and these were many--he had but one reply.
"I know what I am doing," he would say, a trifle tartly, "and I prefer to keep my own counsel. If the murderer of my dear boy can be found, he or she will be found by me. If the wretch who stole his body can be discovered, I am the man to make that discovery. How I intend to set about it is my own affair."
Of course, busybodies, who saw their well-meant but meddlesome advice thus rejected, were by no means pleased, and some even went so far as to say that the shock of death and disappearance had unsettled Jen's reason. They spoke to David and counseled him to look well after his guardian, and said also that the major, if he had his senses about him, which was doubtful, should engage a smart London detective to investigate the case. But, as has been before stated, Jen had concluded to be his own detective.
It must be conceded that for an amateur, the major set about his unaccustomed task in a very methodical manner. He offered a reward of five hundred pounds for the detection of the murderer, and a further sum of the like amount to anyone who should discover the thief who had desecrated the chamber of death. These munificent rewards set everybody on the alert, and Jen, without putting down actual money, thus became possessed of some hundreds of spies who would bring him any information likely to assist him in his investigation. Also, the major examined all the servants in the house. He questioned Sampson, the young policeman who had been in the kitchen on the night when the body had been stolen, and finally he paid a visit to the police office at Deanminster, where he saw Mr. Inspector Arkel.
"Well, Arkel," said Jen, after the first greetings were over, "have you any clew?"
"No, major," replied Arkel, rather gruffly, for disappointment was beginning to tell on his temper, "nor are we likely to find any until that servant of yours regains his senses. How is he now?"
"In a state of high fever, poor soul," said Jen, with a depressed look. "He does nothing but rave. Yet, in all his wild talk he never lets slip a single word likely to help us."
"That's a pity, major. By the way, I questioned Dr. Etwald about the matter, and he is of opinion that the man was stunned by a blow on the head."
"I know that. I can only suppose that Jaggard fell asleep at his post and woke up in time to see the men getting in by the window. A struggle would then ensue, and he would be struck on the head, as Etwald supposes."
"I don't agree with that theory. There are flaws in it."
"Yes?" queried Jen, eagerly. "I am open to correction. Please go on."
"We will proceed on the questions and answers system," said Arkel, precisely, "and thrash out the matter in that way. You were in the library on that night?"
"Yes, I saw all was right in the house at twelve o' clock, and I slept on in my chair from that hour until three."
"Good, Then between twelve and three the body must have been stolen. You are a light sleeper, I heard you say, major?"
"Well, yes," returned Jen, with a thought upon the rapping of Isabella upon the window. "It does not take much to waken me."
"You would have heard Jaggard call out, I suppose?"
"Certainly. The bedroom is no great distance from the library, and the door of the latter was open. But then Jaggard didn't cry out!"
"Precisely," said Arkel, laying his forefinger on Jen's chest with an air of triumph. "He did not cry out. Had he been asleep and woke up in time to see the robbers get in by the window, he would have called out at once for assistance."
"True enough," rejoined the major, struck by this sensible deduction. "Still, he might not have heard them forcing the window."
"I doubt that, I doubt that. Jaggard, like yourself, is an old campaigner, and no doubt an alert sleeper; that is," explained Arkel, "he would wake up at the least sound."
"Yes, I think he would. But what does all this tend to?"
"Simply to a theory I have in my head. Jaggard was drugged, sir."
"But the wound at the back of the head which stunned him?"
"There you have it," cried Arkel, with a nod. "The wound at the back of the head was caused by his falling like a log when he was drugged."
"H'm! This is all building on sand," said Jen, doubtfully. "Even to drug him, these men must have entered by the window."
"No. Do you not remember when we examined the window that it was opened from the inside?"
"Egad, you are right. Then you think that someone must have been concealed in the room, and sprung out from hiding to drug Jaggard."
"No," said Arkel again, "no one was concealed in the room."
"Confound it, man, you don't mean to say that Jaggard opened the window?" cried Jen, starting from his seat with some show of temper.
"Ay, but I do, major. Jaggard helped to steal the body of Mr. Alymer. He opened the window to admit his accomplices. When they fulfilled their task and got the body out of the room they turned on Jaggard and betrayed him. That is, they drugged him and knocked him down."
"I don't agree with you at all, Arkel. Jaggard is perfectly honest and was as devoted to Maurice as he is to me. Besides, even granting the possibility of such a thing, which I do not in the least, why should Jaggard's accomplices betray him?"
"I can't say," returned Arkel, shrugging his shoulders. "They may have been bribed to steal the body, and on accomplishing their task did not want to share the bribe with Jaggard."
"Rubbish!" said Jen, tartly. "They must have known that he would betray them when he recovered his senses!"
"No doubt. But in the meantime they would make themselves scarce. Jaggard has been insensible or raving for over a week, major. The scoundrels counted on that!"
"I say again that I believe in Jaggard's honesty, and I do not agree with you," said Jen, putting on his hat, "and after all, I do not see how you deduce this drugging theory!"
"Oh, as to that, I was once a bit of a chemist," explained Arkel; "and when you took me to see Jaggard I smelt a curious perfume which seemed to be hanging about him. As a servant is not likely to use perfumes, I thought it curious."
"What kind of a perfume?"
"I can't exactly describe it. A rich, heavy, deadly sort of thing, likely, I should think, to dull the sharpest senses."
"Did Etwald notice it?" asked Jen, thoughtfully.
"Yes; but he professes his inability to explain it. He thinks the man was stunned and not drugged. I think, on the grounds I have explained, that he was first drugged and then stunned."
"H'm; it's queer! I'll have to think it over. But when the body was taken out of the window, Arkel?"
"The thieves carried it across the lawn!"
"Then down through the bushes to that winding lane, I suppose?" said Jen. "I know all that; but afterward?"
"They put it into a cart and took it away."
"How do you know that?" asked the major, all on the alert.
"Why," said Arkel, fingering his fat chin, "it was raining, as you may remember on that night."
"Not until after the body had been stolen," returned Jen, mindful that Isabella had come into the library dry-shod.
"How do you know that?" asked the inspector sharply.
Jen was rather taken aback by the quickness of this query, and saw that if he wished to preserve the secret of Isabella, upon which depended her reputation, it behooved him to be careful.
"Well," said he cautiously, "I looked out at the night when the hour was twelve, and--"
"It might have rained between that time and three," said Arkel, with swift interruption; "and I believe it did rain, for you see, major, we found the mark of wheels in the lane, which would not have been left had not a considerable amount of rain fallen."
"Did you follow the trail?" asked the major, waiving the question of rain or no rain.
Arkel made a gesture of disappointment.
"To the high road only," said he; "and there the wheel marks became mixed up with those of other vehicles. Lord knows where they took the body to, for once on the high road they had the wide, wide world to choose from. It's the devil's own mystery," he said, biting his finger. "I never met the like of it before, and am fairly puzzled. Why should these wretches steal the mortal remains of a murdered man?"
"True," said Jen; "and why should these wretches have murdered that man?"
Arkel looked up sharply.
"As to that," he said, "we are by no means certain that they are the same."
"I don't follow you."
"No? And yet it is easy enough. If those who slew Mr. Alymer wanted his body, they could have stolen it on the high road, where they struck him down. It was mere foolishness to venture liberty and life in a raid upon the house."
"It may have been an afterthought."
"People don't have afterthoughts in grim matters of this kind," said Arkel, rising. "Well, major, good-by, good-by. Should I learn anything else I shall let you know; but depend upon it, the truth of the matter is to come from Jaggard."
"He is honest. Honest!" cried Jen. "I'll stake my existence upon that."
When riding homeward after this interesting conversation, the major could not but admit to himself that Arkel had brightened up wonderfully in his intellects since first taking charge of the case. The man was not brilliant, not even clever; yet in the present instance he displayed more readiness of resource than Jen would have given him credit for. The theory of the drugging was worthy of investigation, and the major determined to see if anything could be discovered likely to support this view of the matter. He still held to his belief in Jaggard's honesty, for it was incredible that an old servant of thirty years' standing should turn traitor at once; but he thought it probable that someone might have taken him by surprise and drugged him. But as the window was closed the person in question must have been concealed in the room. Here Jen's train of thought became confused.
"I don't see how anybody can have been in the room," he reflected, as he entered his house. "I saw that all was safe myself at midnight. The servants were abed, Sampson keeping vigil in the kitchen, and Jaggard sentry in the death-room. Moreover, I left the library door open, and the sound of footsteps stealing to the door of my poor lad would have wakened me out of the deepest sleep. Isabella's raps were light enough, yet I was up on the instant. No, I can't see myself that the devil who drugged the man could have been in the house; and yet the window opened from the inside. H'm! it is strange; very strange. I wish Jaggard were able to talk sensibly."
But Jaggard was far from the condition of connected thought or coherent words. He turned and tossed upon his poor bed with bright eyes, burning skin and babbling tongue. His head was swathed in bandages, and the housemaid who watched beside him had frequently to replace the clothes he tossed off in his violent movements. This nurse was a sickly, dark-eyed creature, who was strongly attached to Jaggard; and it was her love for him that made her proffer her services to look after him, and that chained her to his bedside. She reported to her master that Dr. Etwald had been in that morning, and was coming again in the afternoon, but that there was nothing to be done until the delirium had expended itself.
"Ay," thought Jen, as he stood by the bed, "or until the man dies. If he dies without regaining his senses, we will never know the truth."
He bent down to replace the bedclothes which the sick man had thrown off, and as he did so, a faint perfume, sickly and rich, struck his nostrils. It seemed to come from the bandages at the back of the head, and on bending down for a closer inspection, Jen saw that one of these--it was the merest corner which peeped out--was of finer linen than the rest. The fabric was cambric, and with a start which made the blood turn to ice in his veins, Jen realized that it was a woman's handkerchief--its delicacy and border-embroideries assured him of this.
"How came this here?" he asked the housemaid, pointing to the scrap of linen.
"Oh, that was on the first night, sir," she hastened to explain. "It was put on his head when in the room where he fell, sir. The doctor, sir, says as it ain't safe to take it away yet."
A curtain interposed between the head of the patient and the light of the window. This Jen drew aside, and lightly removed the outside wrappings of the wound. The housemaid looked on in horror, for she did not dare to prevent her master from meddling, yet she felt sure that he was doing wrong. But Jen was bent on making the discovery as to whom the handkerchief belonged; and in a few minutes he had the outside bandages removed, and saw the handkerchief discolored with dry blood lying over the wound. With deft fingers he lightly touched the four corners. In one of them were the initials "M. D."
"M. D.!" said the major to himself. "Margaret Dallas, the mother of Isabella. How did her handkerchief come into the room on that night? And the perfume?"
It struck his sense of smell with the belief that he had smelt it before. Nothing is so strong to awaken memory as odor, and in less than half a minute the mind of the major leaped back to where he had smelt it before. It was the perfume of the dried poison of the devil-stick.
This discovery at once irritated, amazed and perplexed the major. That the handkerchief of Mrs. Dallas should be bound around the head of Jaggard was strange, but that it should be perfumed with the deadly scent which impregnated the devil-stick was stranger still. Had Mrs. Dallas found the wand of sleep? Had Mrs. Dallas perfumed the handkerchief with its cruel poison? Had Mrs. Dallas drugged or stupefied Jaggard on that fatal night by means of that saturated handkerchief? These were the vital questions which presented themselves to the puzzled major, and which he found himself unable to answer.
And here, at this point, the personality of Dr. Etwald intruded itself into the affair. It was Etwald who had bound up the wound with the handkerchief in question, and who, according to the housemaid, had forbidden its removal. The question was, had he received it from Mrs. Dallas, or had he found it on that night by the side of the insensible man. If the first, Mrs. Dallas must have perfumed it designedly with the poison, and Etwald, knowing that it was so impregnated, must have used it advisedly as a bandage. If the second, Mrs. Dallas must have been in the room on the night in question, and have used the handkerchief to render Jaggard insensible. And in either case, as the major very sensibly concluded, Mrs. Dallas must be in possession of the devil-stick. Otherwise, how could she have obtained the deadly scent?
"And the plain conclusion of the whole affair," soliloquized Jen, "is that Mrs. Dallas must have stolen the devil-stick, must have murdered Maurice, and must have drugged Jaggard for the purpose of completing her devilish work by stealing my poor boy's body. But her reason?"
That she did not desire Maurice for a son-in-law was an insufficient motive for the commission of a triple crime. She had declined to sanction the engagement; she had forbidden Maurice the house; and, assisted upon all points by social rules, she had ample power to prevent the match, which, as she averred, was distasteful to her. Why, then, with this power, should she jeopardize liberty and life by thieving the devil-stick and killing the man? In his perplexity, Jen sought out David and asked his opinion. The young lawyer gave a very decided verdict in favor of Mrs. Dallas.
"I don't believe Mrs. Dallas has anything to do with the matter," he said, in a decisive voice. "She had no motive to commit these three crimes, each one of which is more terrible than the other. Nor, major, do I think that she has nerve or brain enough to design or accomplish assassination or theft."
"But I assure you, David, the handkerchief is hers."
"Granted; but you forget that Isabella was in the room on that night. She might have dropped the handkerchief."
"Well," said Jen, after a pause, "that is not improbable. But the perfume?"
"Oh," replied David, with a shrug, "we know that the scent is an Ashantee preparation. Dido's grandmother came from Ashantee, so it is just probable that Dido herself, knowing the secret, might have prepared a dose of the poison."
"Even so. Why should she have perfumed the handkerchief?"
"I can't say, major. You had better ask her."
"Egad, I shall," cried Jen, starting from his chair. "And also I'll find out why she needed to prepare the poison at all. In my opinion, David, that black Jezebel is at the bottom of the whole affair. She thieved the devil-stick, she prepared the poison, murdered Maurice, and stole his body."
"You accused Mrs. Dallas of all these things five minutes ago," said David, ironically, "and now you think--"
"I don't know what to think," cried Jen, in desperation. "Dido or Mrs. Dallas, I don't know which, but one of them, must be guilty. I'll go over to The Wigwam at once."
"To accuse them upon insufficient evidence?"
"No. I'll see Isabella, and hear what she has to say. She loved Maurice, and will aid me to avenge his death."
"That is improbable, if to do so she has to betray her mother or her nurse. I don't think you'll learn much in that quarter, major."
"I'll learn what I can, at all events," retorted Jen; and in this unsatisfactory manner the conversation concluded. David retired to his room, and Jen went off to interview Isabella at The Wigwam.
He walked meditatively down to the gates, and here, on the high-road, his thoughts led him to a sudden conclusion respecting the coming conversation with Miss Dallas. Without much consideration he retraced his steps rapidly, and sought out David in his room. Then and there he asked him a question which was of vital importance.
"David," said he abruptly, "owing to the coming of Etwald and Arkel on that night--the night upon which the body was stolen, I mean--I forgot to ask you what reception Miss Dallas met with on her return home. Who received her?"
"Mrs. Dallas. She had missed her daughter and had been seeking for her in a state of terror, surely natural under the circumstances. I found her pacing the veranda, wondering what had become of Isabella."
"Pacing the veranda?" echoed Jen, thoughtfully. "Was she fully dressed?"
"Well, yes, so far as my memory serves me, I think she was."
"And Dido?"
"I saw nothing or heard nothing of Dido. When I found Mrs. Dallas, I simply performed my mission, and delivered Isabella into her hands. The poor girl was quite distraught with the horror of the night, and was led unresistingly to bed by her mother."
"Mrs. Dallas dressed! Dido missing!" said the major. "Thank you, David, you have told me all I want to know," and with a nod Major Jen set off for the second time to The Wigwam.
The major was rather inclined to agree with David that it would be difficult to learn anything of material value from Isabella. On the night she had visited the house at three o'clock in the morning her brain had been unsettled for the time being by the terrible death which had overtaken her lover, and she had been thrown into a frenzy by the mysterious theft of his body. The question which the major wished answered was, whether she had been sufficiently herself to remember the events of that night, and especially those which had taken place prior to her escape from The Wigwam. But the only way to decide this doubt was to see the girl personally, and Major Jen feared lest he should find Mrs. Dallas and Dido obstacles to his accomplishment of this object.
However, fortune favored him, and to state the truth, fortune rather astonished him; for upon arriving within the grounds of Mrs. Dallas, the major met with Isabella herself. In a light-colored dress, with sunshade and straw hat, she was strolling down the walk which led to the gate. On coming up with Jen, he was surprised to see that her manner was calm and collected; in all respects different from that displayed during the frenzy of the midnight visit. He could hardly believe that she was the same girl.
"I am glad to see you, major," said she, holding out her hand. "You have saved me the trouble of a journey, as I was on my way to your house."
"To see me, Miss Dallas?"
"Yes, to see you," she replied, with a serious face. "In order to talk with you about my last visit--on that terrible night."
"My dear young lady," he remonstrated, "why distress yourself with recollections of these things?"
"Because it is necessary that I should do so, major. It is my intention to aid you in your search for the assassin of Maurice. Oh, yes, you may look doubtful as to my ability to help you, but I can and will. I am not the mad woman who burst into your library at three in the morning. I am cool and calm and bent upon revenge. Maurice is dead. I loved him. And I intend to devote myself to avenging his death. Come, major, sit upon this seat beside me, and relate all you have heard, all you have discovered. With my woman's wit I may be able to help you in the way the mouse aided the lion. Begin!"
Jen was astonished, both at her peremptory tone and her quiet manner. Whatever influence had been at work, it was certainly wonderful how she had calmed down from the nervous, hysterical girl into the reasonable and cool-headed woman. Isabella noted the amazement of the major, and guessing its cause, she explained the reason of the change in her looks, manner and nervous system.
"Dr. Etwald cured me, major," she said quietly.
"He has preserved my sanity, and I owe him a debt of gratitude."
"You certainly do," said Jen, dryly. "Will you repay it by marrying him?"
"No. I shall marry no one; not even Mr. Sarby, much as my mother wishes me to do so. I live only to avenge the death of Maurice, to recover his body from those who have stolen it. Come, major, tell me what you know."
Thus adjured, and feeling that he could not do without her assistance, Jen related all that he had heard from Arkel, and also his own personal experience with regard to the finding of the handkerchief marked "M. D." Isabella heard him to the end in silence, her large and shining eyes fixed upon his face.
When he paused, she pondered and finally spoke out.
"It would seem that you suspect Dido or my mother of having something to do with the matter," she remarked coldly.
Major Jen equivocated.
"No," he replied. "I don't say that exactly, but you must admit that the finding of the handkerchief bound round Jaggard's head is strange."
"Not at all. Dr. Etwald used it as a bandage."
"So I understand; but did Dr. Etwald bring it to the house with him?"
"No. He picked it up in the bedroom."
"Precisely," assented Jen, eagerly. "Therefore your mother--"
"Had nothing to do with it," interrupted Isabella. "I dropped the handkerchief in the room. Is there anything so very extraordinary in that?" she added, impatiently. "The matter is very simple. I brought with me one of my mother's handkerchiefs instead of my own. In the agitation of finding the body gone I dropped it, and Dr. Etwald found it to use as a bandage. That is quite plain, I think."
"Quite plain," agreed the major, "saving the presence of the perfume similar to that of the devil-stick."
"I don't know anything about the devil-stick. I never saw it; but with regard to the perfume I can explain. I was ill on that night, as you know, and Dido applied some of her negro remedies; among them the perfume with which that handkerchief of my mother's was saturated. It was bound across my forehead to soothe the nerves. During my journey to your house I snatched it off, and--"
"I can understand all that," interrupted Jen, "but the similarity of the perfumes? I must have that point cleared up."
"I daresay it can be," said Isabella, quietly. "Come up to the house, major, and speak to Dido. I feel sure she can explain."
"Very good," said Jen, as they turned their steps toward the house. "If her explanation is only as clear as your own, I shall have nothing to say. By the way, Miss Dallas, how did you escape from your room that night?"
"So far as I can remember, I left by my bedroom window. I had only to step out through it like a door, as it is a French window and opens onto the lawn."
"H'm!" said Jen. "But seeing that you were so ill, was no one watching beside you?"
"Yes, my mother was. So you see, major, she could not have dropped the handkerchief in the bedroom of poor dear Maurice."
"No; I understand. You have explained the affair of the handkerchief clearly. All the points have been elucidated save that dealing with the perfume."
"You will now be satisfied on that point," said Miss Dallas, rather dryly, "for here is Dido. She prepared the drug and perfumed the handkerchief, and for all I know," added the girl, ironically, "she may have taken the hint from your wand of sleep."
"One moment!" said Jen, as they approached the veranda, whereon Dido was waiting them. "How do you know Etwald picked up the handkerchief in the room?"
"Because I overheard his apology to my mother for having put her handkerchief to such use," replied Isabella, with suspicious promptitude.
"Humph! Didn't the doctor think it strange that he should find it there?"
"I don't know, major. He made no remark."
"Rather peculiar, don't you think, seeing that he must necessarily have been ignorant of your visit on that night?"
The color of Isabella rose in her cheeks.
"He was not ignorant of that!" she said in a low voice. "To account for the fever which seized me, my mother explained all that took place to Dr. Etwald. He quite understood that I had dropped the handkerchief."
"Did he apologize for his use of it before or after the explanation?" was Jen's final question.
"After!" replied Isabella, with some hesitation; then abruptly left the major's side to exchange a few words with Dido. Jen, as was natural, looked after her with a glance full of doubt and suspicion. Notwithstanding her love for Maurice and her expressed desire to avenge his death by hunting down the assassin, she appeared to be anything but frank in the matter. In plain words, her conduct suggested to Jen's mind an idea that she knew more than she cared to talk about; and that such half-hinted knowledge implicated her mother. In which case--but here Dido interrupted Jen's meditations.
"My missy tell me you wish to hear my Obi," she said, abruptly, fixing her eyes on the face of the visitor. "Why you wish? You laugh at Obi."
"I don't particularly wish to learn your Voodoo secrets," answered Jen carelessly. "All I desire to know is why you manufactured that scent with which you saturated a certain handkerchief of your mistress."
"Mother's handkerchief, Dido," explained Isabella, interrupting. "The one you bound round my head."
"Oh, dat a Voodoo smell to drib away de evil spirit," said Dido, solemnly addressing herself more particularly to the major. "My witch-mudder, she learn to make dat in her own land--"
"In Ashantee?"
"Ho! yis. It berry strong, dat smell. Too much of it kill--kill--kill!"
"By means of its odor?"
"No, dat only drib away bad debbils. But you scratch de skin with one leetle bit of it, and you die, die, die!"
"And the scratch is made by means of the wand of sleep?"
"Yis. Dat so," said Dido, with pretended surprise, turning on him sharply. "But you no b'lieve in Obi, massa. What you know of de wand of sleep--de debble-stick?"
"Because I had one, Dido."
The negress laughed with scornful doubt.
"Ho, dat one big lie. Der ain't de debble-stick but in de king's palace at Kumassi."
"You are wrong. I had one, and it was stolen by--"
"Why, of course," interrupted Isabella again. "Don't you remember. Dido, you were asked if you had taken it?"
"Ho, yis. Now I do tink," said Dido. "Ah, massa, you say I took de debble-stick and made de new smell to fill him. Den dat I kill wid him massa, who lubbed lil missy, and dat I made spells in your house to steal de body. Heh, dat not so?"
"It certainly is so," assented Jen, astonished to hear her put his suspicions into such plain words. "Mr. Alymer was killed by means of this poison. It was used again to render my servant insensible while the body was stolen. So I thought--"
"I know, I know!" broke in Dido, impatiently. "But dat not to do wid me. De poison in your debble-stick."
"There was; but it was all dried up."
"No! Dat nossin. If you pour wather in dat stick de poison come alive. Well, dat stick taken, but I no take it. Dat poo' young massa killed wid it--I no kill him. But de udder ting, sah. Dat smell! I mek it for missy, dat all!"
And having made this explanation, Dido folded her arms, and waited in scornful silence to hear what her accuser had to say. He considered the absolute absurdity of her story, which, on the face of it, was a manifest invention, and one which, it would seem, was supported by the testimony of Isabella.
"You are satisfied now, I think," said this latter, seeing that the major did not speak.
"Well, yes. Miss Dallas," returned he, with much deliberation. "I am' satisfied, for the time being."
"Does Dido's explanation give you any clew?" she asked quickly.
Major Jen considered again, and looked her straightly in the eyes.
"Yes," he replied, with point and some dryness. "It gives me a clew in a direction for which I should not have looked for it. Thank you, Miss Dallas, and you, Dido. I shall now say good-day."
"When will you return?"
"When I have followed to its end the clew of which we have been speaking," replied Jen, and taking off his hat he walked swiftly away from the house. Swiftly, as he was afraid lest Isabella would ask him indoors, and for certain reasons not unconnected with the late conversation, he did not wish to face Mrs. Dallas at the present moment. There were large issues at stake.
When he vanished round the curve of the drive, Isabella, with a very pale face, turned toward Dido.
"I have told all the lies you wished me to tell," she said, hurriedly. "I have hidden from the sharp eyes of Major Jen those things which you wished hidden, and all at the cost of my honor and honesty."
"Der noting wrong, missy," said Dido, eagerly. "I swear--"
"Don't," cried Isabella, with a shudder. "You have done enough evil. Do not add perjury to your other sins."
She ran hastily into the house, as though to escape further conversation on a distasteful subject, while Dido, with her eyes on the ground, remained in deep thought. The old negress knew that she was placed in a perilous position, which might be rendered even more so should Isabella speak freely. But of this she had little fear, as by her conversation with Major Jen the girl had gone forward on a path of concealment whence there was now no retreat. Yet Dido was not satisfied. She did not trust those around her, and she was uneasy as to what might be the result of Jen's pertinacity in investigating both the death of Maurice and the disappearance of the body. Thus perplexed it occurred to her to seek out and consult with Dr. Etwald.
"I shall tell the master all!" she muttered in her own barbaric dialect, "and he will tell me what to do. The spirit in the Voodoo stone will tell him." Having come to this resolution she went into the house to ask, or rather to demand, permission to visit Deanminster. That she was about to call upon Etwald, the negress did not think it necessary to tell Mrs. Dallas. There were matters between her and the doctor of which Mrs. Dallas knew nothing, which she would not have understood if she had known. When she inquired, Dido merely hinted that such secrets had to do with Obi, when the superstitious nature of Mrs. Dallas immediately shrank from pursuing an inquiry into what were, even to this civilized so-called Christian woman, secret mysteries.
But while Dido goes on her dark path and takes her way toward Etwald in his gloomy house at Deanminster, it is necessary to return to the doings of Major Jen. On leaving The Wigwam he returned forthwith to his own house with the intention of repeating to David the conversation which had taken place between himself. Dido and Isabella. On his arrival, however, he learned that David had gone out for a walk, and that Lady Meg Brance was waiting for him in the library. At once the ever-courteous major hastened to apologize to his visitor.
"My dear Lady Meg, I am so sorry to have been absent when you called. I hope you have not been waiting long!"
"Only half an hour," replied Lady Meg, in a low, grave voice. "I should have waited in any case until your return, as I have something important to say to you."
The major looked inquiringly at his visitor. She was a tall and stately woman, with a fair complexion, steady blue eyes and hair of a deep red shade. Although close on twenty-five years of age, she was still a spinster, as much to the annoyance of her mother--a match-making matron--she had hitherto declined the most eligible offers for her hand. Her reasons for such refusals she would not state, but Jen, from certain observations, had long since guessed the truth. Lady Meg was deeply in love with Maurice Alymer, and it was for his sake that she remained single. Whether she knew that the young man loved Isabella Dallas it is impossible to say; but at all events she showed him very plainly the drift of her desires. The very indifference of Alymer had rendered her passion more violent and persistent. What would have been the conclusion of this one-sided love it is difficult to conjecture; but the death of Maurice had brought this and all other things to an abrupt conclusion.
Lady Meg was dressed in black out of regard for the dead man, and she looked worn, red-eyed and very dejected. But in coming forward to greet the major, her fine blue eyes lighted up with the fire of hope, and it was with something of her old impetuosity--quenched since the death of Maurice--that she gave him her hand and repeated her last remark.
"I have something to say to you," she said, quickly. "Something likely to help you in your investigations."
"Concerning the theft of the body?" asked Jen, eagerly.
"No, with regard to the murder."
"What is it?"
"I will inform you in a few minutes," replied Lady Meg. "But first tell me if you have found out anything likely to reveal the truth."
"No." Jen shook his head mournfully. "I am completely in the dark, and so is Inspector Arkel. The whole case is a profound mystery."
"Well, mysteries, even the most profound, have been cleared up before now, major. Come, tell me precisely how the matter stands, and I may be able to help you."
"You know something?"
"Yes, I do; and it is to tell that something that I have driven over to-day. Well, now, major, let me know all about the matter from the beginning. I have heard nothing but the most garbled accounts, and it is necessary, for the sake of the information which I am about to impart, that I should know the exact truth."
"I shall tell it to you," replied Jen, with some hesitation; "but I am afraid I shall give you pain."
"I guess what you mean--Miss Dallas."
Jen bent his head gravely.
"Maurice wanted to marry her."
"I know, I know," replied Lady Meg, while a wave of color passed over her fair face.
"You do!" cried Jen, in surprise, "And who told you?"
"Mr. Sarby."
"Oh!" The major considered a moment, and his thoughts were anything but benevolent toward David. "I can guess why he told you."
"What do you mean, major?"
"Never mind at present," said Jen, evasively. "I'll tell you that later on. In the meantime, let me state the case. Maurice was killed on the high road by means, as I verily believe, of the devil-stick. You know about that, of course."
"Yes, I read the report of the inquest, and I have heard rumors. I agree with you, major, that Mr. Alymer was killed by the poison of the devil-stick. Go on."
"On the night that the body was stolen," continued Jen, deliberately, "Jaggard was drugged."
"By whom?"
"I can't say. If I knew that I'd know who stole the body. But he was drugged by means of a perfume which is the same as that impregnating the devil-stick."
"How do you know?"
Jen was about to explain when he remembered the necessity of keeping silent concerning the visit of Isabella to the house.
"I can't tell you that just now," he said, in a hesitating manner. "But I know it for certain."
"Well," said Lady Meg, "it would seem that the devil-stick is the center of this mystery."
"I fancy it is."
"If you found the devil-stick you would know the truth?"
"I don't go so far as that," protested Jen. "If we found the person who stole the devil-stick from my smoking-room I might guess the truth."
"In that case, major, look at this," said Lady Meg, and produced an article from her pocket, an article which she held up triumphantly before the astonished eyes of the old man.
"The devil-stick!" he cried. "By all that is wonderful, the devil-stick!"
"Yes, the devil-stick. I got it from the assassin of Mr. Alymer!"
"The assassin--you know the assassin? Who is he or she?"
"It is not a woman, but a man. Battersea!"
Major Jen sprang to his feet with a loud cry. This information that Battersea was the criminal took him so utterly by surprise that for the moment he was tongue-tied. Then, when he recalled the feeble and emaciated form of the old tramp, when he recollected his weak intelligence, he altogether declined to believe that such a creature, one so wanting in activity, could have conceived and executed a triple crime--the theft of the devil-stick, the murder of Maurice, the stealing of the body. Battersea had not sufficient craft or strength to do such things. With a shrug of his shoulders the major resumed his seat.
"You must be mistaken, Lady Meg," he said in a quiet voice. "Whosoever may be guilty, Battersea, for physical and mental reasons, must be innocent."
"That you must prove," replied Lady Meg, dryly.
"And in accusing Battersea I go only on your own premises. You said that the man who stole the devil-stick, who had it in his possession, must be the guilty person. You see the devil-stick there." She pointed to the table. "Well, I obtained that from Battersea."
"How did you obtain it?"
"Knowing that I collected curiosities, he came to sell it to me."
"A proof of his innocence," cried Jen, promptly.
"If the man had been guilty, he certainly would not offer the evidence of his guilt for sale. Where did he obtain this devil-stick?"
"Out of your smoking-room, I presume," said Lady Meg, "But I have not questioned him, as I thought it best that you should examine him yourself."
"Certainly, when I can find him. Where is he now?"
"Round at your stables with my groom. I brought him over with me."
"Thank you, Lady Meg," said Jen, cordially. "I congratulate you on your presence of mind, and on your courage."
"There is no necessity to congratulate me at all," replied the other, coloring. "I knew that it would not be wise to let him out of sight after I saw the devil-stick in his possession. And as to my courage," she added carelessly, "the poor old creature is so feeble that even I, a woman, could overpower him. But ring the bell, major, and have him in. I may be wrong. He may be innocent, but if you force him to confess how he obtained possession of the devil-stick you may get at the truth, and perhaps at the name of the murderer."
"It won't be the name of Battersea," said Jen, touching the button of the bell. "He had no motive to steal my devil-stick or to kill Maurice, nor could he have any reason to take possession of a dead body. Besides," added Jen, returning to his seat, "if this tramp were guilty, he would scarcely put his neck in danger by offering you the devil-stick for sale."
At this moment the footman appeared in answer to the bell, and in obedience to his master's peremptory order left the room again for the purpose of bringing in old Battersea for examination. While waiting, neither Lady Meg nor the major spoke, as they both considered, and truly, that nothing further could be said until the truth was forced from the tramp. Then the present aspect of the case might change, and an important step might be taken toward the solution of the mystery.
As dirty and disreputable as ever, Battersea, rolling his cap in his dirty hands, made his appearance on the threshold of the library, conducted by the disgusted footman. When the door was closed behind him, and he stood alone before those who were about to examine him, he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, blinked his bleared eyes, and blushed as with the shame of guilt through the sallow darkness of his skin. Jen, with the military instinct of command fully awakened within him, looked sternly at the feeble old creature, and questioned him sharply, as though he were talking to a soldier who had done wrong. On her part, Lady Meg left the most part of the examination to the major; but she listened with anxious looks and parted lips to every word which fell from the tramp's lips. The death of the man whom she had loved so deeply had inflicted terrible anguish upon her loving heart, and, as a tribute to his memory, she was anxious to punish his assassin. But at present, influenced by the views of the major, she began to waver in her opinion regarding the guilt of the weak-brained creature who stood trembling nervously at the doorway.
"What is your name, man?" demanded Jen, commencing in the orthodox manner.
"Battersea, sir."
"What else?"
"Nothin' else," retorted the tramp sullenly. "My father was black, an' my mother she was white; an' they weren't married. I was brought up in Battersea parish, so I took that name, I did, not havin' any right to another name."
"How do you get your living?"
"I begs!" said Battersea, candidly. "And when I can't get nuffin I steals."
"I am sure of that," remarked Jen, taking the devil-stick off the table. "And you stole this, I'll be bound."
"I didn't. I found it."
"Oh!" said the major, in a satirical tone. "You found it? Where?"
"At Missus Dallas' place."
Jen started, and looked sharply at the old man, who, to all appearances, was answering his questions with all possible candor.
"Be more explicit, man," he said sternly. "What do you mean by Mrs. Dallas' place? The house or the grounds?"
"The groun's, near the gate."
"When did you find it?"
"The day arter th' young gen'man was killed."
"And why didn't you give it up to the police?"
Battersea scowled.
"I wanted money for it, I did," he said huskily, "an' they wouldn't give no tin to me fur findin' it. She," pointing to Lady Meg, "is fond of pretty things, so I guv it her for five shillin'; but she didn't pay me for it."
"No," said Lady Meg, speaking for the first time, "because I did not know if you had come by it honestly."
"I tell 'ee I found it, I did," growled Battersea, becoming restive under the constant questioning. "Found it near the gate of Missus Dallas' place."
"Inside the gate," asked Jen, "or outside, on the road?"
"Inside; jus' among the grass. I was comin' up to get some food from missy, and I sowr that 'andle shinin' in the sun. I goes an' I looks, an' I fin's it. I knowed as the perlice wanted it, 'cause I 'eard talk of it doin' murder; but as perlice wouldn't give me tin, I wouldn't guv it to they," added Battersea, cunningly, "so I keeps it for 'er, but she ain't paid me yit," he concluded, with the whine of a mendicant.
For the moment Major Jen did not ask any more questions, for the very simple reason that he did not exactly know what course to take. Undoubtedly the tramp was telling the truth. He had no reason to conceal it; for in his own mind Jen quite acquitted him of any complicity in the crime. That so feeble and elderly a creature, debauched by intemperance, weak from insufficient food, should attack a vigorous young athlete like Maurice, was out of the question, even though he had the advantage of possessing the devil-stick. But here the question of the dried-up poison occurred to Jen. If the poison had evaporated by the lapse of time, the devil-stick must have been innocuous and incapable of inflicting death. Therefore, upon the evidence of the saturated handkerchief, the bag concealed in the turquoise-studded handle must have been refilled by Dido!--Dido, for the significant reason that she, inheriting the traditions of her Ashantee grandmother, alone must have been capable of manufacturing the deadly drug. To prove this assumption, a feasible one, the devil-stick was close at hand.
Jen picked it up and slightly pressed the handle. At once the turquoise gems indented the concealed bag; at once the iron fang protruded from the end of the stick, and on looking closely the major at the end of the spike observed an oblong drop of greenish hue.
The evidence of his own eyes was enough, and Jen replaced the devil-stick upon the table, with the full conviction that the bag had been filled with a fresh preparation of its original venom. This discovery, to the major's mind, confirmed the guilt of the negress.
"What is the matter?" asked Lady Meg, as she saw the major's face grow dark with his thought. "Is anything wrong?"
"Yes, Dido is wrong," he said. "I always thought that black witch was at the bottom of everything. I am sure of it now."
"Dido!" repeated Lady Meg, thoughtfully. "I have heard Mr. Alymer and Mr. Sarby talking about her. A negress, is she not?"
"Yes, and a murderess!"
"Major! Do you think--"
"Certainly I do. I believe she killed Maurice; but the evidence is as yet too slight upon which to accuse her. If I thought that she--" here the major checked himself and resumed in an altered tone--"but I must think of these things later on. In the meantime I must conclude my examination of this man."
"Do you think he knows anything?"
"No. I believe he found the devil-stick as he says. Within the grounds of Mrs. Dallas, mind you!"
"Well, and what does that prove?"
"Prove!" retorted Jen sharply, "simply that it was dropped there by that black fiend after she had killed Maurice."
"Do you really think she killed him?" asked Lady Meg, her face growing pale with the intensity of her excitement.
"I do," replied Jen, decisively. "But the evidence--ah, the evidence. Well," he added, after a pause, "I have something to go on, in this refilled devil-stick, and the saturated handkerchief."
"But I don't understand--"
"Never mind, my dear lady, you will later on," retorted Jen, with a nod. Then turning to Battersea, he resumed his examination. "You know the negress. Dido, who is in the employment of Mrs. Dallas?" he asked, mildly.
"Yes, sir, an' hawful female she is!"
"How so?"
"Well, sir." Battersea scratched his shock head. "She knows things as ain't good for 'er. 'Bout that devil-stick es you talks of."
"Oh," cried Jen, recalling Dido's denial, "she knows of that, does she?"
"Yes, sir, she do. Arsked me 'bout it, but I knowed nuffin, I didn't."
"What did she say to you concerning it?"
"Well, sir, when I brought a message from Dr. Etwald 'bout that devil-stick--"
"What!" cried Jen, interrupting sharply. "Did Dr. Etwald know about it also?"
"He did, sir. Leastways he arsked me to arsk Dido 'bout it."
"I thought as much," said Jen, in an excited tone. Then after a pause, he added: "Battersea, would you like free quarters and plenty of food and drink for a week?"
"I ain't a fool, sir," said the tramp, with a sheepish grin. "I should, you bet."
"In that case go down to the kitchen and tell my servants from me that you are to stay there. Later on I'll see you."
"Thankee, sir. I'll get free quarters and grub for a week," cried Battersea, rubbing his grimy hands. "My eye, 'ere's oppolance. Can I go now, sir?"
"At once," replied Jen, and pointed to the door. Battersea bowed awkwardly to Lady Meg and his benefactor; then he went out of the room and left the major alone with his visitor.
"What does all this mean?" asked Meg, quite surprised at Jen's excitement.
"Mean!" cried Jen, in a tone of conviction. "Why! that Etwald is mixed up in this business also!"