"Etwald!" repeated Lady Meg, thoughtfully. "Is he not the doctor of whom you have made so great a friend?"
"Yes. I took a viper to my bosom, and it stung me," replied Jen, who, in his excitement, was pacing backward and forward with hasty steps. "But I shall be even with him. In some way or another I believe it is possible to bring home to him this triple crime."
"Do you think he is guilty?"
"I am certain of it. Etwald prophesied to my poor lad, in his charlatan way, that if he wed Miss Dallas, or even announced his engagement with her, his fate would be of life in death."
"What did that mean?"
"Mean? Death without the addition of life. That word was brought in solely to render the prophecy--if it may be called so--confusing. Etwald was in love with Miss Dallas. He found in Maurice a formidable rival. He warned him by his pretended prophecy that he should slay him if he persisted standing in his path. Maurice announced his engagement upon the very day when Etwald, the designing scoundrel, went to pay his addresses to the girl. From that moment he doomed Maurice to death. Yes, I truly believe that such was his design, and that he offered to buy the devil-stick in order to carry out his criminal intention."
"Did he ask to buy the devil-stick?" demanded Lady Meg, in surprise.
"Twice; and both times I refused to part with it. Failing to get it honestly, he stole it."
"You have no proof of that."
"I don't know so much about that," retorted Jen sharply. "You heard what Battersea confessed, that he had taken a message from Etwald to Dido about the devil-stick. Well, this doctor has some mysterious, influence over this negress--what sort of influence I do not know, but she appears to be afraid of him. I believe he incited her to steal the devil-stick, and that by his directions she filled it with a fresh poison."
"But could she prepare the special kind of poison required?"
"Assuredly. She confessed as much. Her grandmother came from Ashantee, where this devil-stick is used for the purpose of destroying people. Dido inherits a knowledge of the family secrets, and knows how to make this poison. It cures nervous headaches--that is, the perfume of it does--and Dido made some with which she saturated a handkerchief to bind round the head of her young mistress."
"How do you know that the poisons are the same?"
"From the peculiar, sickly, heavy odor," explained Jen, promptly; and continued: "Well, you can see the rest for yourself. Dido filled that devil-stick with the poison," he pointed to the article on the table, "some of it remains in the wand yet. Etwald used the devil-stick to kill Maurice, and on going back to tell Dido of his success I have no doubt he dropped it inside the gates of Mrs. Dallas' grounds, where, as you have heard, it was found by Battersea. Oh, it is as plain as day to me," cried Jen, vehemently. "Etwald killed Maurice and stole the devil-stick to accomplish the murder."
"You have certainly made out a strong case against this man," said Meg, after a pause, "but it is all theory. Your proofs?"
"I shall find them."
"That will be difficult."
"Doubtless. I hardly anticipated an easy task when I undertook to learn who killed my dear lad. Besides, David will help me."
Lady Meg sighed, and rising to her feet, she drew her cloak round her tall form.
"I shall help you also," she said sadly. "That is, if you will accept of my help."
"Assuredly. You loved Maurice--"
"To my cost, major; but he did not love me. This girl--this Miss Dallas," she added in a faltering voice, "she must be very lovely, for Mr. Sarby loves her also. A woman who has three men at her feet must be wonderful."
Jen shrugged his shoulders.
"She is certainly beautiful," said he, indifferently, "but she is not clever, and her weak nature is enslaved by the gross superstitions of Dido."
"I should not think from your description that she was likely to attract Maurice," said Lady Meg, in a low voice; "but undoubtedly he loved her dearly; and I--" She made a gesture of despair and moved toward the door. On the threshold she paused and held out her hand. "Good-by, major; should I hear anything further I shall let you know. But the tramp?"
"I shall keep him here."
"Be careful lest he goes away."
"Oh, there is no fear of that," said Jen, in a confident tone. "Free quarters and plenty of food will keep Battersea in my kitchen. If he were guilty of the crime, he would not stay, but as it is he will remain under my eye. I intend to question him further about the connection between Dido and Etwald; I wonder what power the doctor holds over the negress."
"You can learn that only from the woman herself."
"Or from Etwald," rejoined Jen. "If I can only succeed in having him arrested he may confess all."
"Let us hope he will," replied Lady Meg, and after shaking hands again with Jen, she took her departure.
When the major had seen her carriage drive away he returned to look after the devil-stick, and examined it long and carefully. Undoubtedly it had been filled with fresh poison, and undoubtedly the poison, from the evidence heretofore set forth, had been prepared by Dido. Jen was more certain than ever that Etwald and the negress had stolen the devil-stick and had slain Maurice with it. But the theft of the body! It was that which puzzled him. He could understand why Etwald wanted Maurice removed from his path. He could explain, on those grounds, why the devil-stick had been stolen. But what reason could the pair have for the removal of the body? The poor boy had died, and his corpse could be of no use to those who had murdered him. Yet it had disappeared, and the only person who could give any evidence as to who had entered the room on that fatal night was Jaggard. But up to the present moment Jaggard had remained incapable of giving any clear evidence. Absolutely certain that Etwald was guilty, that Dido was an accomplice, Jen could not see his way to proving his case without the assistance of Jaggard.
At first he thought of going into Deanminster for the purpose of speaking with Inspector Arkel about the discovery of the devil-stick; but upon reflection he deemed it wiser not to do so, at all events for the present. Arkel could come only to the same conclusion as himself--namely, that Battersea, innocent of the crime, had picked up the devil-stick on the grounds of Mrs. Dallas. Regarding his suspicions of Etwald, the major determined to keep these to himself until he was in a position to prove them; for if Etwald were guilty, the slightest hint that the police were on his track would be sufficient to put him on his guard. Against so clever a man as the doctor, Arkel, with his clumsy methods, could do nothing. For the present, therefore, Jen decided to hold his tongue.
While the major was thus considering what step he should take, David, returning from a long and solitary walk, entered the room. Of late the young man had indulged in these lonely excursions, whence he always returned more melancholy than ever. His fine face was lean and worn, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his manner, formerly noted for its composure, was now nervous and hesitating. On approaching his guardian he saw the devil-stick on the table, and at once his pale face grew yet paler.
"Where did you find it?" he asked, pointing a trembling finger at the terrible piece of evidence.
"I did not find it at all," rejoined the major, gloomily; "Lady Meg brought it to me."
"And she--she----"
"She has nothing to do with the matter," replied Jen, surprised at the agitation of the young man. "It was Battersea who found it. He offered it for sale to Lady Meg, and she brought it and the tramp to me."
"Battersea!" said David, repeating the name in a puzzled tone. "How did he become possessed of it? Has he anything to do with the crime?"
"No. He found the devil-stick within the grounds of Mrs. Dallas, near the gates."
"Who lost it there?" asked Sarby, abruptly.
"Ah!" replied Jen, in a meaning tone. "Tell me that and I'll have the assassin of our dear Maurice within the walls of Deanminster jail before the year is twenty-four hours older."
David looked at Jen in astonishment.
"Have you any idea as to the guilty person?" he asked, in a hurried tone.
"I think so; it is my belief, David, that Dr. Etwald killed Maurice!"
"Impossible! For what reason?"
"Because he wants to marry Isabella Dallas."
"In that case he should rather have killed me than poor Maurice, for, as my suit to Isabella was supported by Mrs. Dallas, I was the more formidable rival of the two."
"I don't think so, my boy. Isabella loved Maurice, and to marry him she would have rebelled against her mother. But I daresay if you become engaged to her, Etwald will remove you also from his path."
"There will be no need for him to do that," replied David, coldly. "I shall never marry Isabella."
"What do you say? I thought you loved the girl?"
"I do love her," cried David, vehemently. "I have always loved her, and shall continue to do so until the day of my death. All the same, I shall never become her husband."
"Why?"
"For certain reasons!" said Sarby, evasively.
"What are those reasons?"
"I can't tell you."
"Have they anything to do with the death of Maurice?"
"Don't ask me, major. I would tell you if I could, but it is impossible."
Jen rose to leave the room, more wounded than he chose to confess.
"Of course, my boy," he said rather bitterly, "if you choose to withhold your confidence from me, I have no right to force you to speak. All the same as I have been a second father to you, I think you should be more open with me."
"I would tell you if I could," said David again, but in rather a sullen manner; "but I have reasons, strong reasons, for not doing so. Later on--" he paused nervously.
"Well?" demanded Jen, coldly, seeing the hesitation of the man.
"Later on, I may tell you all I know."
"All you know!" repeated Jen, in a startled tone. "About this crime?"
"Yes. I know something, but what it is I dare not tell you now, Uncle Jen," he added, gravely looking at the elder. "If you are wise, you will not pursue your inquiry."
"And why not, may I ask, David?"
"Ah!" said Sarby, walking toward the door, "you will know the reason when you learn the truth!"
After this enigmatical remark he hurriedly left the room, for the purpose, without doubt, of escaping further questioning. His demeanor completely puzzled Jen, who could not make out the meaning of his conversation. Evidently David knew something which he was unwilling to reveal--something which might lead to the solution of the profound mystery which enwrapped the death of Maurice and the extraordinary disappearance of his body.
The more Jen thought about the matter the more perplexed did he become. The recovered devil-stick, found in the grounds of Mrs. Dallas, the saturated handkerchief found in the bedroom of the dead man; and now the unaccountable hints of David that he knew something likely to throw a light upon these mysteries, joined with an equally unaccountable refusal to afford such revelation, all these things puzzled him; but as it was impossible in the absence of actual knowledge, to come to any reasonable decision, Jen determined to see Jaggard and see how he was. If Jaggard could only recover his senses, argued the major, he would be able to say who had stolen the body. Moreover, in Jen's opinion, the person who committed the second crime would most probably, by the force of analogous reasoning, have committed the first.
To the major's surprise, he found that Jaggard had recovered his senses, and although still weak from his accident and long insensibility, he was able to talk fairly well. Jen was puzzled by this sudden--that is, this comparatively sudden--recovery; and he expressed himself somewhat forcibly to the housemaid Anne, who had been watching for so long by the bedside of the sick man. The woman, with the shrewdness of her class, gave her opinion as to its reason.
"Ever since that handkerchief has been removed sir," said she, earnestly, "Jaggard has got well. I do believe, sir, that the scent on it kept the poor dear stupid."
Another light was let in on Jen's mind. Here was the handkerchief again--perfumed with the devil-stick decoction of poison by Dido, applied by the hand of Etwald, and its design was evidently to keep Jaggard in a state of stupor and prevent him from, making dangerous disclosures. Dido and Etwald once more in partnership. Jen was more convinced than ever that the pair were at the bottom of the whole terrible affair.
"I am glad to see that you are better, Jaggard," he said, while standing by the bed.
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," replied the man, in a weak voice. "I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't help myself. I was drugged, sir."
"I guessed as much," said Jen, grimly. "And who drugged you?"
"That black devil, Dido, sir," replied Jaggard, faintly.
"I guessed as much," said the major once more.
Exhausted by the few words which he had spoken, Jaggard fell back on his pillows in a dead faint. Seeing that further conversation was impossible at the present moment, Jen left the patient to the tender attention of Anne, and withdrew to seek David. He found him in a melancholy mood, pacing up and down the lawn before the window of the smoking-room. On perceiving his guardian, Sarby turned pale, for he thought that Jen had come to continue their previous conversation, and so force his confidence. But the first words of the major at once undeceived him.
"Well, David!" said the newcomer, with significance, "I have made one discovery without your help."
"A discovery. What is it?"
"I know who drugged Jaggard. I have learned who stole the body of Maurice!"
"Then you know more than I do," replied David, with all the appearance of truth. "My knowledge extends only to the death; not to the seizure of the body."
"And you refuse to aid me," said the major, reproachfully; "well, keep your secret, I may be able to do without your help. But," added Jen, fixing a piercing glance on the young man, "I notice that you do not ask me the name of the person who drugged Jaggard."
"Because I guess the name."
"Ah!"
"Mrs. Dallas," said David, faintly. "It was Mrs. Dallas."
Jen drew back a step and looked at his ward with marked surprise.
"No," he said, at length. "Mrs. Dallas has had nothing to do with it."
"But I thought from what you said of the handkerchief dropped in the room--"
"That being the property of Mrs. Dallas, she had lost it there," interrupted Jen, smartly. "No. I told you also that Isabella had confessed to having dropped it at the time of her midnight visit. But now I know that she told me a lie!"
"Isabella! A lie! Impossible!"
"Not at all," rejoined Jen, coldly. "I can understand her reason for telling the lie. She wanted to shield--"
"Her mother!" cried David, quickly interrupting in his turn.
"Your mind seems to run on the mother, David," said Jen, looking again at Sarby with keen inquisitiveness. "Can you prove by any chance that she committed the crime?"
Sarby flushed and drew back with cold reserve.
"No, Uncle Jen, I can't. I have my suspicions."
"Against Mrs. Dallas?"
"Well, yes; but I can prove nothing against her."
"It pleases you to be mysterious, David. Shortly I shall insist upon an explanation."
"Insist!" repeated the young man, annoyed by the peremptory tone of his guardian.
"Yes. You owe it to me--your second father--to tell the truth. You owe it to your dead brother's memory--for assuredly Maurice was your brother."
David stared sullenly at the ground, but in a moment or two he lifted his head in a defiant manner.
"I owe you much more than I can ever repay," said he, in harsh tones. "All the same, Uncle Jen, I cannot reveal, even to you, what I know. If I did so, you would be the first to blame me."
"I don't understand you."
"I don't understand myself," said the young man, despondently, "save that I am the most miserable man alive."
"You must be, if you know who killed Maurice, yet refuse to confess," retorted Jen, with some heat. "Will you tell me the truth? I ask you for the last time."
"And I answer for the last time that the truth is not mine to tell," replied David, coldly. "If you doubt me question Etwald."
"What! that criminal?"
David looked up quickly.
"How do you know he is a criminal?"
"I can't give you my reasons. They would take too long to explain. But I believe that out of jealousy he killed Maurice."
"Oh," said Sarby, ironically; "and out of jealousy he stole the body?"
"No. Dido did that."
"Dido?"
An expression of surprise appeared on the pale face of the younger man.
"Yes, Dido!" repeated Jen, firmly. "Jaggard has just informed me that it was Dido who drugged him. Why did she drug him? To steal the body of my poor lad. Why did she steal the body! To conceal the crime committed by Etwald."
"I don't quite understand."
"Listen, then, and I shall explain," resumed the major, with growing excitement. "I firmly believe that Etwald stole the devil-stick, and with it killed Maurice."
"From a motive of jealousy?"
"Precisely. As you know the body was stolen before the post-mortem examination could be made. Why was this? Does not your own reason find an answer to that question?"
"No," replied David, still obstinately unconvinced.
"Why," said Jen, with a nod, "if a post-mortem examination had been made, traces of poison would have been discovered. The poison would have been proved as identical with that of the devil-stick. Thus, beyond all doubt, we should have learned that Maurice had been killed by the devil-stick."
"Well?"
"Well!" repeated Jen, in an irritated tone, "can you not rouse that dull brain of yours to some understanding? To avert the discovery, and to prevent the analysis of the poison in the body. Dido, under the direction of Dr. Etwald, committed the third crime."
"But why should Dido act so under Etwald?"
"Because the man has some power over her. What that power may be, I know no more than you do. Although," added Jen, with an afterthought, "you may be able to explain."
"No. I have no idea why Dido should serve Etwald."
Evidently it was impossible to extract information from so impenetrable a man. Jen was thoroughly enraged by this display of obstinacy in a quarter where he least expected to find it. Usually sweet-tempered--especially toward his boys--the major quite lost control of his passion at the moment.
"Take care, David," he said, in an angry manner. "You are forcing me to believe that you are acting in this way from an unworthy motive. It is your duty to aid me in discovering and punishing the murderer of Maurice. Yet you leave me to do all the work and refuse your assistance in any way. Unless you alter your manner, and take me into your confidence regarding the reason of this strange behavior, a breach not easily mended may occur between us."
He paused, waiting for his ward to make some reply in defense of his conduct. The young man neither moved nor spoke, but, paler than usual, he stood before the major with his eyes on the ground. More in sorrow than in anger, Jen looked at him, then turned on his heel with a shrug, and walked into the house. David looked after him with quivering lips.
"If he only knew the truth," said he, wiping the perspiration from his face, "what would he say? What would he do? He blames me now; would he blame me then?"
In the meantime, while Sarby was indulging in this enigmatical soliloquy. Major Jen was pursuing his way toward the room of Jaggard. Despairing of obtaining information from David he thought it possible to learn the truth--at all events of that fatal night--from Jaggard. Honestly speaking the major was puzzled by the conduct of his ward. Hitherto, he had always considered David to be an honest man, but at the present time his conduct savored of duplicity. Did he know of anything relative to the triple crime which had been committed? If so, why did he not speak? Finally, was David also under the fatal influence of Dr. Etwald--the man who, Jen verily believed, was the source of all these woes?
To none of these questions could the major find feasible answers; therefore for the time being--i.e., pending the narration of Jaggard--he dismissed them from his mind. It was possible that the story of the invalid might throw light on the darkness which overshadowed the case.
As Jen anticipated, he found that Jaggard had recovered from his faint, and having had a sleep during the long absence of his master, was much better. As usual, Anne, the ill-favored housemaid, was watching by his bedside; but on a sign from Jen, she left the room. Finding himself alone with his servant, Jen addressed himself immediately to the business in hand.
"Do you feel stronger, Jaggard?" he asked.
"Much stronger, sir."
"Are you able to talk?"
"I think so, major--for half-an-hour, at least!"
"Half-an-hour will be sufficient," said the major, in a serious voice. "I wish you to tell me what took place on the night you were drugged."
"About Dido, sir?"
"Yes, Jaggard, about Dido."
The invalid remained silent for a time, then began to speak slowly and with some little difficulty.
"After you left me, sir," he said in a weak voice, "I remained seated in my chair beside the bedside of my poor young master. If you remember there was only one candle in the room, which was placed on the table, some little distance away. I examined the window and found it closed."
"You are sure of that?" demanded Jen, anxiously.
"Quite sure, sir. It was bolted and barred. The door was simply closed, for I never thought of locking it, as I fancied, sir, that you might return after midnight to see if all was right."
"I did not, however, Jaggard. I fell asleep in the library, after Mr. Sarby had gone to bed; and, of course, I had every confidence in you."
"Please don't say that, major," said Jaggard, imploringly, "as I did my best. It was not my fault that Dido drugged me. I'm sure I don't know why she did so," continued Jaggard, half to himself. "I never did her any harm."
The major looked fixedly at the man.
"Do you not know what occurred during the time you were insensible?" he asked, gravely.
"No, sir. I've only got my wits about me now."
"Has not Anne told you?"
"She hasn't told me anything, sir."
"Well," said Jen, seeing that the man spoke in all good faith, "the body of Mr. Maurice was stolen on that night."
"The body stolen!" repeated Jaggard, in amazement. "For why, sir?"
"I can't tell, nor can anybody else. All we know is that at three o'clock in the morning we entered Mr. Maurice's room and found the window open, the body gone, and you insensible."
"The window open," said Jaggard, thoughtfully. "Then it must have been opened from the inside, sir."
"By Dido, no doubt."
"I'm certain of it, major; and it was that black witch who stole the body."
"How did she get into the room?"
"She was hidden under the bed, sir."
"Under the bed! Are you sure?" said Jen, greatly startled by this information.
"Yes, major. It was this way. I was seated by the bed, at the foot of it, with my face to the door. The window, as I said, was locked. She could not have got in at the window, and had she entered by the door I should have seen her. Besides," added Jaggard, in a faint voice, "she grabbed me from behind."
"From behind?"
"Yes, sir. I was not quite asleep, but a kind of dozing in my chair. I don't know what it was made me sleepy, as I was wideawake when you left, sir. But there was a kind of heavy, sleepy smell about."
"I know, I know--the devil-stick perfume."
"Well, sir, the smell made me sleepy; and though I heard a noise behind me I could not turn my head. I was just as if in a nightmare, sir. Then the black arm of that witch came from behind me and grabbed at my throat, and she held a handkerchief with that stuff on it to my nose."
"Ah," said Jen, to himself, "I knew that Isabella was speaking falsely. Go on, Jaggard," he added aloud. "Why did you not call out?"
"I couldn't, sir. I felt as in a dream; but I turned and tried to fight her. She pushed me over, and I fell like a log. I think I must have hit my head on a corner of the bed, for I felt a cruel pain at the back of it."
"You did wound your head, Jaggard; and after that fall you remembered no more?"
"No, sir, not till to-day. I don't know what it all means, sir, but I'm sure I know how Dido got into the room."
"Ah! That is what I wish to learn. Well?"
"If you remember, sir. Dido called to see you that day."
"Yes. To ask if I would see her mistress; a most unnecessary question."
"It was a blind, sir; and when she left the room I don't believe she left the house."
"What makes you think so?"
"Sir, I took Dido out to the door, and while I was telling her to go away. Dr. Etwald came out. He told me he would see after her, and I left them alone. Now, sir," said Jaggard, with emphasis, "I do believe as Dr. Etwald took that black jade to the room of Mr. Maurice and hid her under the bed."
This long conversation had somewhat exhausted Jaggard, who was yet weak, so, telling him to cease from talking, Jen recalled the housemaid, and left the room to think over all that he had learned. The story of Jaggard convinced him more than ever that Dr. Etwald was the cause of all the terrible events which had occurred within the last few weeks. Without doubt it was he who had treacherously hidden Dido in the chamber of death. After drugging Jaggard, the negress no doubt had opened the window to admit Etwald, and between them this precious pair had carried off the dead body. But for what reason? This Jen could not determine.
To learn the truth, he thought it advisable to call at "The Wigwam" and interrogate Dido. With the evidence of Jaggard to go on, the major felt satisfied that he could by threatening her with arrest, force her into confessing the whole nefarious plot. Who had thieved the devil-stick? Who had slain Maurice? Who had stolen the body? Undoubtedly, Etwald was the villain who was guilty of all three crimes, and the evidence of Dido would be sufficient to convict him of the deeds.
"Yes," said Jen to himself that night, as he retired to bed, "to-day I have learned sufficient to implicate Etwald; to-morrow I shall be able to convict him. Dido must confess or go to prison."
Angered by the selfish way in which David had acted, Jen did not communicate his discoveries to the young man. During the night he took counsel with himself, and the next morning he acted upon the plans which he had formed. These were, to see Dido and force the truth from her, to send Battersea to Deanminster to fetch both Arkel and Dr. Etwald to "Ashantee," and finally to communicate his discoveries to the inspector and get him to arrest Etwald. Once in prison, and the doctor, intimidated by a fear of death at the hands of justice, might confess his crimes, and his reasons for committing them. This straightforward course was the only one to pursue.
After breakfast, therefore, the major wrote two notes. One for Arkel, asking him to be at "Ashantee" by noon, as the writer had important matters to discuss; the other for Etwald, requesting him to call and see Jaggard, who, added Jen, significantly in the letter, had recovered his senses. Having thus prepared his trap for the doctor to walk into, Jen delivered the letters to Battersea, with instructions to set off at once for Deanminster. The tramp, anxious to keep in favor with Jen for cupboard reasons, lost no time in departing, and when the major had seen him safely out of the gates, he took his way toward "The Wigwam" for the all-important interview with Dido.
Before his departure he had left a message for David, who had not made his appearance at breakfast, requesting the young man to be in the library at noon.
"If I can force the truth out of Dido," thought Jen, strolling slowly along in the hot sunshine, "I may get the better of Etwald. Then, when David sees that the doctor is in the trap, and in danger of arrest for murder, he may relate what he knows. Though upon my word," considered the major, frowning, "I don't see what information he can possibly add to what I have obtained from Jaggard, or what I am likely to wring from the unwilling lips of Dido. Etwald is the guilty person. David can tell me no more than that."
On arriving at "The Wigwam," Jen presented his card, and was shown into the drawing-room, there to wait the arrival of Mrs. Dallas. Although it was nearly eleven o'clock the indolent Creole was not yet out of bed, but on hearing that the major had called to see her, she sent Dido to inform him that she would shortly accord him an interview. The negress, as gloomy and sullen as ever, delivered this message with folded arms and bent head. Then, without even a look at him, she turned to leave the room, when Jen placed himself between her and the door.
"Not yet. Dido," he said, in a cold voice. "It is true that I called to see your mistress; but I wish to speak to you also."
Dido started, and cast an inquiring look at the impassive face of the white man.
"What you wish, sah?" she said, in a grave voice, as emotionless as that of Jen's.
"To ask you a few questions about the devil-stick."
"Massa, I say all I know ob de debble-stick!"
"Indeed, you did not. Dido. You did not inform me that by Dr. Etwald's directions you filled the devil-stick with poison, or that you steeped the handkerchief found in the room of Mr. Alymer in the same poison for the purpose of drugging my servant; or again, that you concealed yourself under the bed, and afterward drugged him."
A kind of terror showed itself in the dilated eyes of the negress. She could not understand how Jen had become possessed of a knowledge of her crimes, and at first was struck with stupor by the recital.
Speedily, however, she recovered herself, and with a dark smile of contempt and pity she was about to deny all, when Jen brought out his last accusation.
"Nor," said he, fixing his eyes on the woman, "did you confess that you opened the window of Mr. Alymer's room, and aided Dr. Etwald to carry away the dead body?"
"De--de--dead--dead!" she stammered, shrinking back.
"Yes, the dead body of Mr. Alymer, which you and Dr. Etwald took to his house at Deanminster. No denial, woman," said Jen, raising his voice, as she was about to speak. "I see by your face that you are guilty."
Dido trembled all over, whether from rage or fear Jen could not determine, and opened her mouth to give the lie to her accuser. Then she shut it again, as a heavy step was heard outside the door. A moment later and Mrs. Dallas, with a face expressive of astonishment, was standing on the threshold of the room; and Dido at her feet was making the room resound like a jungle with howlings like those of a wild beast. All the savage nature of the woman was now on the surface, and had broken through the sullen restraint of her impassive demeanor. "What is the meaning of this?" demanded Mrs. Dallas, with an uneasy glance at the frantic negress.
"I shall explain when Dido stops her howling," said Jen, quite undisturbed.
"Dido! Dido!" remonstrated Mrs. Dallas, shaking the woman. "Rise; stop."
"Oh, missy! missy!" wept the negress, getting onto her feet. "It all am a lie, what dat massa say. Poo' ole Dido know nuffin'--do nuffin'. Lordy! Lordy! de big lie."
Major Jen took Dido by the shoulder, and giving her a good shake, commanded her to be silent. At once the negress--who was evidently acting a part--ceased her outcries, and after casting her eyes significantly at her mistress, stared sullenly at the floor. Mrs. Dallas turned pale at this rapid glance, and was obliged to take a seat to prevent herself from falling. Not a detail of this by-play was lost upon Jen, who saw in the conduct of mistress and servant a confirmation of his suspicions. However, he added nothing to his previous speech, but merely recapitulated--for the benefit of Mrs. Dallas--the points of his accusation against the negress. Dido heard him in silence, but this time she made neither outcry nor denial.
Mrs. Dallas appeared to be horrified by the recital. Every now and then she cast a look of terror at Dido, while passing her handkerchief over her white lips. When the major concluded she could only shake her head and stammer a few words.
"It can not be true," she murmured. "It is impossible."
"It is a fact," insisted Jen. "I have the evidence of Jaggard to prove that Dido was in the room on that night."
"Dido," cried Mrs. Dallas, in a trembling voice, "is this true?"
The negress raised her wild eyes slowly to the face of her mistress. What she saw therein evidently determined her reply. Without a word she bent her head.
"Ah," cried Jen, "you admit your guilt?"
"No," said Dido, bluntly, "I say dat I in de room, but I no kill dat man."
"But you filled the devil-stick with fresh poison?"
"No," said Dido again. "I saw no debble-stick."
"It was found in these grounds."
"Dat so; but I not see dat debble-stick."
"Woman," cried Jen, with energy, "no one but you could manufacture the poison with which the devil-stick was filled."
"Dat I know; but I no fill de debble-stick."
"Then who did?"
Dido hesitated, looked at Mrs. Dallas, and came out with a lie.
"I don't know," she said, in a stolid tone.
Her mistress rose to her feet and approached the major.
"Do you mean to say that Dido killed Mr. Alymer?" she asked, nervously.
"No; but she supplied the means to the man who did."
"The man who did!"
"Yes; Dr. Etwald."
"Dr. Etwald!" repeated Mrs. Dallas, in what seemed to Jen to be a tone of relief. "Why do you think he killed Mr. Alymer?"
"Because Maurice was engaged to your daughter, whom he wished to marry. Etwald killed my poor lad, so as to remove a dangerous rival from his path."
"Impossible."
"By no means; and Dido manufactured the poison which was used."
Mrs. Dallas considered.
"I know to what you allude," she said, after a pause. "Dido does manufacture the drug, but only for the cure of nervous headaches."
"Or to kill men with," rejoined Jen, ironically; "or to drug the watchers of the dead."
"The watchers of the dead!" echoed Mrs. Dallas, with a start.
"Well, let us say my servant, Jaggard. He was drugged by Dido, and she stole the body, or rather she aided Etwald to do so."
"Dido, is this true?"
"Yis," said the negress, coldly; "de great massa told me to do dat."
"The great master," repeated Jen; "you mean Dr. Etwald?"
"Yis. Dat so."
"He took away the body of Mr. Alymer, and you helped him?"
"Yis."
"Why did you steal the body?"
Dido shrugged her shoulders.
"Ask de great massa."
"Where did you take it to?" demanded Jen, baffled in one direction and trying another.
"Ask de great massa," said Dido once more.
"The law will do that."
"The law, Major Jen?" said Mrs. Dallas, alarmed.
"Yes. I intend to have Dr. Etwald arrested."
"You dare not. Why?"
"On three charges. First, that he thieved the devil-stick; second, that he killed Maurice; and third, that he stole the lad's body."
Mrs. Dallas fell back on the sofa, with a white face. Dido laughed in a guttural fashion, and shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.
"Voodoo!" she said, and laughed again.
The major guessed that she meant that African witchcraft would avert disaster from Etwald, and at once flung the word back in her face.
"Voodoo will not help the doctor," said he, quietly. "This is a civilized country, and we who inhabit it are above being influenced by such degrading superstitions. You believe in Voodoo; in Obi; let us see if such things will protect you."
"Do you mean that Dido is in danger of arrest?" cried Mrs. Dallas, in a terrified tone.
"Certainly, as the accomplice of Etwald."
"But she did not kill Mr. Alymer."
"She filled the devil-stick with the poison which was used to kill him," retorted the major, coldly, "and she confesses to having aided him in stealing the body."
"Ah!" murmured Mrs. Dallas, casting a haggard look around. "All is lost."
"Are you alluding to Dido?" demanded Jen, rather surprised at her tone.
Mrs. Dallas was about to speak, when the negress silenced her with a look, and raised her head proudly.
"Yis. It ole Dido," she said. "But ole Dido not lost. Dat great massa, he look after ole Dido."
"If you mean Dr. Etwald, he will have enough to do to look after himself. Well, Mrs. Dallas, as I have learned what I wished to know, I shall now take my leave."
"You go to ruin us," wept Mrs. Dallas.
"No," said Jen, in an inflexible voice. "I go to punish the man who killed my boy."
Without another word he left the room. His last glance showed that Dido had gathered her sobbing mistress in her arms, and was staring after him in a defiant manner. At the front door Jen heard his name called softly, and Isabella, with a rich color in her usually pale cheeks, came flying after him.
"Major, major, I have heard all! I have been listening at the window."
"Then you know that I am aware of your deception about the handkerchief?"
"Yes. I did not speak truly," stammered Isabella, "but I could not act otherwise. It was to save a certain person."
"Dr. Etwald?"
"No, not Dr. Etwald, but the person who stole the devil-stick."
"Ah! you know who committed the first of the crimes," cried Jen, seizing the young girl's arm. "Confess. It was Dr. Etwald who stole the wand of sleep."
"No! no! It was--it was--"
"Dido?"
"Not Dido. Oh!" cried Isabella, in a tone of anguish, "it was my mother."