Naturally the tragic end of the counsel for the defense created a great sensation. The trial was brought to an abrupt conclusion, the court was cleared, and the body of the dead man taken to the residence of Major Jen. In his rooms at Deanminster was found the confession signed by him, and which was substantially the same as that which he had made in court. At once--after the formalities of the law had been observed--Dr. Etwald was set at liberty on the charge of murder.
Whereupon he returned to his house as though nothing had happened. Mrs. Dallas and Isabella came back to "The Wigwam," but without Dido. On the day when the trial terminated in so tragic a manner the negress disappeared, and with her the famous Voodoo stone.
"I wish I could have caught her," said Arkel to Major Jen. "She committed perjury in order to get Dr. Etwald hanged, and she ought to have been punished for her wickedness. It has been a terrible affair, major."
Jen, who was now looking old and broken down, agreed with a sad shake of his gray head.
"My poor lads," said he, in a voice full of pathos. "First one and then the other--to lose them both in this awful fashion."
"What!" cried Arkel, in surprise. "Do you pity Mr. Sarby?"
"Why not?" answered the major, quietly. "To my mind, he needs more pity than poor Maurice. The lad was driven mad by jealousy, and he was worked on by Dido to commit the crime. The cause of all these troubles, Mr. Inspector, is not Dr. Etwald, but that black witch. I wish she could be caught."
"She may be, major. There is a warrant out against her for perjury."
Arkel spoke too hopefully, for Dido was never caught. She was too clever to give the police a chance of laying hands on her. Like a stone cast into a wide ocean, she disappeared from Deanminster--from England, no doubt, and possessed of the Voodoo stone, possibly took her way back to her native "Ashantee," there to become the high priestess in the horrible fetish worship of Africa.
For the next two days Major Jen stayed in his house and watched over the corpse of David. It was laid out in what had been the young man's bedchamber, surrounded by burning candles, and with pale flowers of virginal whiteness scattered on the bed. The whole scene was but a repetition of that which had taken place when Maurice had died. Both young men had perished from the effects of the infernal African poison. Both had perished in the bloom of youth; and on the right hand of each was the fatal wound which had corrupted the blood. But the corpse of David was here. The corpse of Maurice, where? Only Dr. Etwald could answer the question, and he, released on the charge of murder, was now out on bail for the theft of the corpse.
While the major was wondering what would be the outcome of all the terrible events which had filled the past few weeks, Jaggard--who, with his recovered health, had resumed his duties--entered the library and announced that Mrs. Dallas and her daughter wished to see him. Although he was unwilling to speak to those who had caused these troubles, Jen had no reasonable grounds for refusing an interview. Therefore, he gave orders that the ladies should be shown into the drawing-room. When he repaired thither, however, he found to his surprise that Mrs. Dallas only was waiting for him.
"I could not get Isabella further than the door of your house," exclaimed Mrs. Dallas, who was in deep mourning, whether for Maurice or David, or for the loss of Dido, it was impossible to say.
"Why did she not come in?" asked Jen, coldly, for he did not feel very amiably disposed toward the widow.
"I don't know. She is a strange girl, major, and the events of the last few weeks have shaken her nerves."
"They have shaken mine," retorted Jen, grimly. "But we need not discuss these things, Mrs. Dallas. May I ask why you have paid me this visit?"
"To tell you that we are going away."
"Going away, and where, may I ask?"
"Back to Barbadoes," replied Mrs. Dallas, with a sigh. "Yes, major, after what has taken place here, I can stay no longer in England. I shall sell my house and leave for the West Indies with my daughter within the month."
"I think it is the best thing you can do," said Jen, brusquely. "By the way, what has become of Dido?"
"She has left me in the most ungrateful manner. Since she obtained the Voodoo stone and gave evidence at the trial she has not been seen. I believe," added Mrs. Dallas, in a confidential manner, "that Dido has gone to Barbadoes also."
"To be queen of the black witches of Obi, no doubt. Faugh!"
"I am disgusted with her, too," said Mrs. Dallas, indorsing the major's exclamation.
"So you ought to be, Mrs. Dallas, for Dido has been your evil genius. If you had not submitted to her will, she would not have dared to hypnotize you. If you had not been hypnotized on that night, you would not have taken the devil-stick, consequently both David and Maurice would still be alive. Your negress has been a perfect Até, Mrs. Dallas."
"Major, major! Do not be too hard on me. I suffer--oh, how I suffer!"
"And I also. Both my boys are dead, one by the hand of the other, and that other by his own hand. It is you and your daughter and Dido who have brought about these things. Go to Barbadoes, Mrs. Dallas, by all means. You and yours have done quite sufficient mischief in England."
Just as Jen ended his speech and Mrs. Dallas was about to reply, the door opened to admit--Dr. Etwald. Both the major and the Creole stared at him in surprise, as neither for the moment could grasp the idea that he had been bold enough to present himself before those whom he had so deeply wronged.
"Ah," said Etwald, as complacently as ever, "I thought I should find you here, major, but I hardly expected to see Mrs. Dallas."
"You villain!" cried that lady, starting from her seat. "Do you think I want to see you after all the misery you have caused? Why, I refuse even to remain in the same room with you." And with a furious gesture the Creole swept past Etwald and out of the door, which she banged loudly. Etwald looked at the door, shrugged his shoulders, and turned politely to the major.
"It is just as well she is gone," said he, quietly. "It is better that our conversation should be private."
"I wish to hold no conversation with a scoundrel, sir," cried Jen, purple with rage. "Follow the example of Mrs. Dallas, if you please."
Etwald looked round for a chair, selected the most comfortable, and sat down with great deliberation.
"I never follow any one's example, major," he said, dryly. "It is always my custom to act independently."
"I'll have you turned out of the house."
"In that case you'll never hear what I have come to tell you."
"What is that, sir?" demanded Jen, in a calmer tone.
"The truth!"
"Bah! I heard that in court."
"Indeed you did no such thing," retorted Etwald, coolly. "My story is quite different to that of Dido."
"David's was different also."
"I know it. But my story--the true story, mind you--differs even from David's. Will you hear it, major, or shall I leave your house before I suffer the disgrace of being kicked out?"
The major considered for a few moments before replying. There was a hinted mystery in the manner of Etwald which puzzled him not a little, and what this demeanor might mean he was anxious to learn. Moreover, he wished to know the actual facts of the case, and now that Dido had fled Etwald was the only one who could tell them. Acting upon these considerations, Jen sat down again in his chair and sulkily gave Etwald permission to remain and explain. This the doctor proceeded to do at once.
"As you are aware," said he, calmly, "I escaped the charge of murder, and very right, too, seeing that I was innocent of the crime. But as to the stealing of the body, I am guilty, and I do not--"
"Where is the body, you wretch?"
"Pardon me," said Etwald, raising his hand in protest. "If you interrupt or call me names, I shall tell you nothing. To proceed," he added, seeing the major held his peace. "I am out on bail, and must come up for trial soon on the charge I spoke of. However, I am not afraid, as I can defend myself in a manner you little dream of. But being out on bail, I came to see you."
"To tell me more lies?"
"To tell you the truth, my dear major, and I assure you that the truth will surprise you not a little."
"What is it?" demanded Jen, in a fever of excitement.
"Patience! Patience! I shall tell you when the time comes. But, by the way, major--Dido?"
"She has fled."
"I know it. She was afraid of me."
"Hardly," replied Jen, a trifle spitefully. "You have lost the Voodoo stone, remember."
"Yes. I was taken advantage of for once in my life. A cunning woman, that Dido. She got permission to see me in prison, and to talk to me alone, under the pretense of telling me about her evidence. Knowing that I could compel her to do what I wished by means of the Voodoo stone, I saw her with pleasure, as it was my intention to put the words likely to get me off--to prove my innocence--into her mouth. However, while I was talking to her, she suddenly produced a phial of the devil-stick poison and threw it in my face. Of course, I instantly became unconscious, and it was then that she wrenched the talisman off my watch-chain."
"Is the poison so quick in its effects then?"
"I should think so," said Etwald, coldly. "You saw how David fell in court, after wounding his hand. I fell in prison quite as quickly, but as my skin was not scratched, and the drug took effect only through the nostrils, I recovered."
"And when you recovered?"
"The jailer told me that Dido had called him in, saying that I had fainted. While they were getting me round--which took an hour--Dido went off with the Voodoo stone. Those about the prison had no reason to detain her, so she left. When I found the Voodoo stone gone," added Etwald, impressively. "I knew that the black wretch would give evidence against me, and that the game was at an end."
"You expected to be hanged?" suggested Jen.
"Well, no!" replied the doctor, with wonderful coolness, "I did not expect that. If the worst came to the worst, I knew that I could protect myself; but I must admit that the confession of my counsel, Mr. Sarby, took me somewhat by surprise."
"Poor David!" sighed Jen, thinking of the young man cut off in the bloom of his youth.
"Poor David!" echoed Etwald, with a sneer. "Foolish David, you might say, to die for the sake of a woman."
"Yet you risked death for the same woman."
"I risked danger for the woman's fortune," retorted Etwald, with revolting candor. "It was the money I wanted. But death--no, I did not risk that."
"I am not so sure of that, Etwald. How did you know that David would confess in so dramatic a fashion?"
"I did not know it, major. As I said before, his confession took me by surprise. Still, as I was innocent, I knew that I could not be hanged."
"Well," said Jen, growing weary of this long-continued conversation, which seemed to lead to nothing, "at all events you'll not escape a long term of imprisonment."
"Why?" said Etwald, with an agreeable smile. "There are two opinions about that. Mine is that I shall go free. Then," he added, coolly, "I intend to seek Barbadoes and search for that black witch in order to recover the Voodoo stone."
"I hope you'll get the chance of going, but I doubt it. However, if you do get as far as the West Indies you'll find friends there."
"Really! Any particular friends?"
"I don't know if you'll consider them so; but Mrs. Dallas and her daughter go back to their estates in Barbadoes within the month."
"Really!" said Etwald again, "Then I may marry her after all."
"She won't have you."
"Oh, I think so. I have a means of compelling her to marry me."
Jen jumped up with a scowl.
"I'm tired of your enigmas," he cried, angrily. "What is it you wish to tell me?"
"The name of the person who committed the murder."
"I know it. David Sarby!"
"Not at all. He accused himself to shield the real person."
"To shield the assassin?" gasped Jen, thunderstruck. "And who is the assassin?"
"Can't you guess from his self-accusation? Why, the woman he loved."
"Isabella?"
"Exactly. Isabella Dallas, and none other, killed your boy Maurice."
"Isabella killed Maurice!" said Jen, pushing back his chair. "Impossible, doctor. You must be mistaken."
"I don't think so," replied Etwald, dryly. "I saw her do it. So did David."
"You must be mistaken," insisted the major once more. "David was in London on the night when the crime was committed."
"By his own confession in court, David was in the grounds of Mrs. Dallas on that night."
"Yes, yes. You are right!" said Jen, in a bewildered tone. "Still, I cannot believe that Isabella killed Maurice. She loved him dearly, and had no reason to murder him."
"None in the world. Yet she certainly took his life."
"Why not?" said Etwald, coolly. "Mrs. Dallas had no reason to steal the devil-stick, yet--"
"Without a reason! I don't believe it."
"Ah, but she was hypnotized. She did not act of her own free will."
"Precisely the case with Isabella," said the doctor, nodding. "Come, major, I won't worry you any longer with inquiries. Dido hypnotized the daughter to commit the crime, as she had willed the mother to steal the devil-stick. Isabella is absolutely ignorant of what she did, and firmly believed that I was the guilty person. Now, of course, she thinks David--by his own confession--is the assassin."
"But David confessed himself guilty, to save her?"
"Of course; but Isabella does not know that. She thinks--and on the face of it, with reason--that David killed Maurice out of jealousy."
"How was it David saw the crime committed?"
"I shall explain," said Etwald. "David found out that Maurice was going to meet Isabella that night secretly in the grounds of Mrs. Dallas near the gates. Determined to see the meeting, and to learn if there was any hope for him, he feigned a journey to London in order to lull any suspicions which Maurice might have that he was being watched. Instead of going, however, he concealed himself at a spot where he could see the gates which opened onto the highway. Now," added Etwald, with a side glance at the major, "it so happened that I also wished to see that meeting."
"How did you know it was about to take place?"
"I learned the fact from Dido, who advised me of all which went on in the Dallas household, as you may guess. Well, I saw David in his place of concealment and guessed his reason for coming. Maurice appeared at the rendezvous, and shortly afterward Isabella, under the hypnotic influence, came down the avenue. In her hand she held the devil-stick, and came swiftly toward Maurice. He, not understanding the deadly weapon with which she was armed, came to meet her with outstretched arms. She thrust the devil-stick before her, and wounded him in the palm of the hand. With a cry he fell--dead!"
"Within the gates?" asked the major, much agitated.
"Yes, within the gates," responded Etwald. "When Isabella had struck the blow she dropped the devil-stick in the grass, where, if you remember, it was afterward found by Battersea. Then she returned to the house by the little path which leads thereto through the surrounding trees. The body lay in the bright moonlight, full in the center of the path, not a stonethrow from the high road. David and I rushed simultaneously from our hiding-places, and I explained hurriedly that the body must not be found in the grounds. He understood, and we carried the body onto the road. Before we had time to deliberate what was to be done we heard the noise of approaching footsteps, and afraid--both of us--of being accused of the crime, we fled. Then you came down the road and discovered the corpse."
"Yes. I heard the poor lad's cry," said Jen, simply, "and I ran down at once. You must have been very quick in your movements."
"There was ample necessity for prompt action," replied Etwald, with some dryness, "as neither David nor I wished to be arrested. But now you can understand how it was that David refused to reply to your questions and agreed to defend me."
"I understand. He said, poor lad, that I would approve of his reasons when I knew them, and now that you have explained his motives I quite agree with his saying. To protect that poor girl, to save you from suffering for a crime which you did not commit, he could have acted in no other fashion. Still, I wish both of you had been more open with me."
"I am afraid that would have been impossible, major," said Etwald, rising. "You were so distracted over the death of Maurice, and so unjust in your hatred of me, that it would have been dangerous to trust you."
"Am I unjust in my hatred of you?" demanded Jen, getting on his feet. "I think not. Dr. Etwald. Your desire to marry Isabella, or rather her fortune, has been the cause of all these ills. Dido was only your instrument, whom you compelled to work by means of the Voodoo stone. That she betrayed you in the end was your punishment. I do not blame her so much as I do you. You alone are responsible for the death of those two poor lads of mine."
"Well, have it your own way," said Etwald, carelessly. "I am a scoundrel in your eyes, I dare say; but if you will permit me to see you to-morrow at eleven o'clock I shall be able to prove that this particular devil--meaning myself, major--is not quite so black as you have painted him."
"I never want to set eyes on you again," said Jen, bluntly.
"Nor will you--after midday to-morrow. But you will regret if you do not grant me this interview."
"What do you wish to say?"
"I'll tell you to-morrow."
"Can't you say it now?"
"No, Major Jen, I can't, and I shan't," retorted Etwald, tartly. "If you are wise you will arrange to let me come here to-morrow at eleven, and meet Mrs. Dallas and her daughter."
"Both of them will refuse to meet you. You saw Mrs. Dallas to-day, how she behaved."
"Like the fool she is," said the doctor, putting on his hat. "Well, I am going. Will you see me to-morrow morning?"
"Yes. I don't know what possible things you can find to say to me after this interview; but, as you make such a point of it, I'll see you."
"And ask Mrs. Dallas and her daughter to be present?"
"Yes. I'll try and get them to come."
"Very good." Etwald walked toward the door, but there, struck by a sudden thought, he looked back. "Of course you will not tell Isabella that she killed Mr. Alymer?" he said, hurriedly.
"Not at present," said Jen, after a moment's thought. "But, later on, I shall, in order to clear the memory of David."
"And condemn the poor girl to eternal misery," said Etwald. "Well, I do not agree with you. But, at least, keep silent until after our interview to-morrow."
"Yes. I promise you I'll say nothing."
"Thank you, major. Good-by for the present."
"Good-by," said Jen, and as the door closed behind the doctor he muttered, "and may the devil go with you, for a greater scoundrel does not exist."
Later on in the day Jen sent a letter to "The Wigwam," asking Mrs. Dallas to come with her daughter the next morning at eleven o'clock. He did not explain that Dr. Etwald would be present, as he knew the temper of Mrs. Dallas. Whatever might be at stake, even if it was to her own interest, she would refuse to meet the man toward whom she bore so strong a hatred. Therefore, Jen decided to be diplomatic, and keep silent as to the visit of Etwald. During the afternoon a note was brought to Jen, in which Mrs. Dallas promised to come and to bring Isabella.
"Very good," said Jen to himself. "That matter is settled, and Etwald--confound him!--will obtain his desire. I wonder what he wants to see us all about."
In spite of all his conjecturing, the major found himself unable to answer this question. Therefore, like a wise man, he possessed himself in patience until the next morning. Most of the night he passed in the room where poor David was laid out, for he was determined that this time the body should not be stolen. As he pondered during the long and silent hours, he reflected that he had lost the opportunity of forcing Dr. Etwald to say what he had done with the body of Maurice. It had not been found in his house, and, notwithstanding all questioning, Etwald--with his changeless smile--had refused to state where it was.
"I should have wrung the truth from the villain to-day," thought Jen, as he paced the room. "But to-morrow! To-morrow! He shan't leave this house until he confesses what he has done with the remains of my poor boy. Ghoul that he is, wretch and scoundrel."
Toward the morning Jen slept for an hour or so, and when he rose and had taken his bath he felt much refreshed, and ready to face Etwald at this final interview. At eleven o'clock Mrs. Dallas arrived with Isabella, the latter looking wan and ill. Even had the major not promised to be silent, he could not have brought himself to tell the poor girl the truth at that moment. After all, she was perfectly innocent, and had committed the crime unwittingly. Dido was the culprit, not Isabella; and the major felt a profound pity for the miserable girl, who had been made a tool of by the unscrupulous negress and the evil-minded Etwald.
"Well, major," said Mrs. Dallas, after the first greetings were over, "what did that wicked man say to you yesterday?"
"He explained how my poor Maurice was killed."
"Ah," said Isabella, clasping her hands, "I am sure that it was that terrible man who made David kill Maurice. Oh, if I had only met Maurice on that night, I might have prevented the quarrel."
"Did you not meet Maurice, my dear?"
"Of course not," replied Isabella, in the most truthful manner. "I did not leave the house, and Dido was with me all the time. I expect Maurice was waiting for me, and that David saw him. No doubt they quarreled, and then the death took place."
From this speech it was quite evident that the girl was absolutely ignorant of the part which she had played in the affair. Still, to make certain, Jen asked why she had not kept the appointment.
"I had a nervous headache," she said, quickly, "and Dido hypnotized me. When I woke up it was too late to see Maurice."
This remark put the matter beyond all doubt. The girl, by her own admission, had been hypnotized by the negress, and, while in the trance state, with her will at the mercy of the other woman, she had killed her lover. Morally speaking, it was Dido, in the person of Isabella, who was the assassin. However, the major had learned all that he wished to know, and not wishing to pursue the subject, turned the conversation by explaining that Etwald was coming in a few minutes. Mrs. Dallas rose up in a cold fury.
"Did you ask me here to insult me, major?"
"I asked you here at the particular request of Dr. Etwald."
"Why? What can he have to say to my mother?" cried Isabella, in surprise.
"Miss Dallas, I know no more than you do; but he evidently desires to make a clean breast of this whole miserable business."
"I have heard quite enough about it," said Mrs. Dallas, marching toward the door, "and I refuse to meet that monster of iniquity!"
But she was too late, for, before she could escape from the room, Dr. Etwald--as smiling and composed as ever--entered the door. He placed himself quietly before the enraged Mrs. Dallas.
"Do not go, madam," said he, quietly. "I have something to show you."
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Dallas, her curiosity--like that of the major--getting the better of her rage.
"You will see in a few minutes. Miss Dallas, you look pale. I hope soon to bring back the roses to your cheeks. Major--"
"Don't speak to me, you scoundrel, until you tell me what you have done with the body of my boy."
"You shall know in a few minutes, major. Indeed, I think it is about time that this comedy should end!"
"Comedy!" echoed Mrs. Dallas, in scorn. "You mean tragedy!"
"I mean no such thing," retorted Etwald, opening the door. "All true comedies end in the meeting of lovers."
"Good heavens!" cried Jen, recoiling. "What do you mean?"
Etwald pointed to the open door.
"There is my explanation," said he, coolly.
The three people gave a simultaneous cry of amazement and delight, for there, on the threshold of the room, alive and well, stood--Maurice Alymer.
"Deanminster.
"My dear Major Jen:
"In the joy with which you and Miss Dallas hailed the appearance of the man whom you thought dead, I was--for the time being--quite forgotten; and very naturally too. Profiting by the occasion, I left the room and went to the bedroom where Mr. Sarby lay in a trance, similar to that into which Mr. Alymer had fallen, both trances being caused by the poison of the devil-stick. As you have learned from his own lips, I revived him, as I revived his friend; so now, my good Jen, you have your two boys with you again, alive and well. The comedy is finished; and was I not right in denying to these past events the misleading name of tragedy?
"Naturally, you wish to know how the dead came to be alive, and for what reason I behaved as I did. Well, here you shall find the whole explanation, so fully given that there will be no necessity for you to seek me at Deanminster. Indeed, if you do so, you will not find me, as by the time you receive this letter I shall be well on my way to London. Thence it is my intention to go abroad, and--as I told you at our last meeting--you will never see me again. When you finish this letter, you will, no doubt, be glad of this; and it is just as well that I should remain beyond your reach. You are a virtuous man, I am not--but our natures would prevent our ever assimilating, the one with the other. As to my promised explanation, here it is, and much good may it do you.
"I am--as you know--a physician, but I am also what you may not know--a man of genius. I have brains, but no money; and for experiments in chemistry, money, I regret to say, is extremely necessary. This being the case, I have needed money, and that in large quantities, all my life. As I could not make it for myself--not having the mercantile instinct--I resolved to gain it by making a rich marriage. For many years I have traveled the world. Like Ulysses, I have known men and cities, and some years ago, Chance--a deity at whose shrine I always pay my devotions--led me to Barbadoes. While there I was attracted, as I always am, by the weird and mysterious, by the superstitions of the African race. I studied the cult of Obi, the belief of the Voodoo stone, and by a strange train of circumstances, which I need not relate, I gained possession of that powerful talisman which is known to all negroid America. With this stone in my possession, I was king--so to speak--of all the black race. This power I determined to use to my own advantage, and through it to make a rich marriage.
"I discovered that Mrs. Dallas was the richest woman in the West Indies, that she had one fair and marriageable daughter, and that mother and daughter were under the influence of a negress called Dido, who was a profound believer in the cult of Obi. I determined, therefore, to bend the negress to my will by means of the Voodoo stone, and to marry the daughter. Unfortunately, Mrs. Dallas and her child were in England. So thither I went in order to prosecute my suit, and obtain a rich wife in the person of Miss Isabella Dallas. From information obtained in Barbadoes I found that they were living near Deanminster, so to that town I repaired, and established myself as a physician. I made the acquaintance of yourself, of Mr. Alymer, and Mr. Sarby, and also of Mrs. Dallas and her daughter, the young and charming girl whom I intended to make my wife.
"But here, as you may guess, I found an unexpected obstacle. The young lady was in love with Mr. Alymer, and would have nothing to do with an elderly bachelor like myself. I determined to remove that obstacle; not by death, but by gentler means which would do away with all risk, and place Miss Dallas in my power. Need I say that I allude to the devil-stick?
"I knew that you possessed it, my dear major, as I had been informed of its existence and of its owner by Dido. Over this negress, by means of the Voodoo stone, I possessed complete power. She was ready to do whatever I wanted, and I employed her in forwarding my schemes. Her grandmother had come from 'Ashantee,' the native country of the wand of sleep, and knew all about it; also she knew how to prepare the poison. These secrets she transmitted to Dido, and I resolved to obtain the devil-stick, to make Dido prepare fresh poison, and to use the devil-stick against my rival, Mr. Alymer.
"And now a word about this poison. It does not kill, but merely places its victim in a trance state, which so closely resembles death that not even the most expert doctor can tell the difference. If the trance continues the victim dies; but there is an antidote--which, by the way, I obtained from Dido--and this antidote, if used in time, can restore the victim from a state of catalepsy to his pristine vigor. I had made up my mind to use the devil-stick, and so, as I was anxious to give Mr. Alymer a chance to escape, I prophesied to him a state of life-in-death. This phrase describes exactly the trance state of those wounded by the devil-stick--impregnated with its poison.
"However, Mr. Alymer did not take my warning and leave off courting Miss Dallas. On the contrary, he announced his engagement, and carried off the young lady in triumph. As you may guess, from what I have said before, I doomed him from that hour. I made Dido hypnotize Mrs. Dallas in order to have the devil-stick stolen. If you remember, major, I offered to buy it, but as you refused, I had to have it stolen. In order to compromise the mother, I arranged that she should steal it. She did, and without having the slightest notion that she was committing the crime. When Dido obtained the devil-stick she filled it with the poison. Then she--by my directions--hypnotized Miss Dallas, put the devil-stick into her hand, and sent her forth to kill Mr. Alymer. But I should not say kill--as you know the devil-stick cannot kill--let us say, to cast Mr. Alymer into a trance. By this ingenious plot--you must admit, major, that it is ingenious--I got rid of the lover, and obtained a hold over mother and daughter.
"But to make a long story short, I had the body of Mr. Alymer stolen, with the aid of Dido, in order to revive my rival. I did not wish him to die, so I took away his body, and kept him in the trance for some weeks, feeding him in the meantime, so as to preserve life. While I was in prison. Dido attended him by my orders. Mr. Alymer was not concealed in my house; so that is why the police had a useless search for the body. Where was he concealed? Ah, that is my secret.
"After the trial, seeing that Mr. Sarby had behaved so foolishly, I decided to abandon the game. Evidently there was no chance of my winning the hand of Miss Dallas; and also I did not wish Sarby to die. But if I revived him, I would have to revive Maurice also, the more so as I did not want to stand my trial for stealing his body. The rest of my story you know. I revived Maurice and brought him to you; so I suppose he will now marry Miss Dallas. I also revived David to have the satisfaction of seeing the woman he loved in the arms of another. In both cases the antidote was efficacious. So now, my dear major, as I said before, you have your two dear boys once more in the flesh, and I hope you are satisfied. Did I not tell you that the devil is not so black as he is painted?
"Well, my plot has failed, and now I am departing to look anew for a rich wife. Also to find Dido, and get back the Voodoo stone, of which she robbed me. You will never meet me again, and I dare say you won't be sorry to see the back of me. And now, my dear major, I fancy I have told you all, and you know the meaning of the many mysteries which have puzzled you for so long. There remains only to say adieu, and remain your evil genius (now resigned), Max Etwald."
"Barbadoes.
"My dear Major Jen:
"It is over a year since I wrote you my explanatory letter from Deanminster, and I little thought that it would be necessary for me to write to you again, least of all from this place. But here I came in search of Dido; and here I found Mrs. Dallas, and to my profound astonishment her daughter--still Miss Dallas. I sought an explanation. They would not give me one. In despair--having received the most uncivil reception--I left them. Then, to my surprise, I ran across Mr. David Sarby.
"He was glad to see me, and thanked me for bringing him back from the grave. I, on my side, complimented him for saving my neck from the hangman's noose. The first greetings thus being over, he told me the news which concerned those who where implicated in our little Deanminster comedy. I confess that the news surprised me; and I write to you for an explanation.
"In the first place, I learned from Mr. Sarby that Isabella Dallas refused to marry Mr. Alymer, and that, far from being offended, he appeared to be glad of the release from his engagement. I also learned that he has since married Lady Meg Brance, who has always been so deeply in love with him. Will you be so kind, my dear major, as to explain this sudden misplacing of Mr. Alymer's affections?
"I learned, also, from Mr. Sarby, that he has prevailed upon Miss Dallas, the deserted Ariadne of Mr. Alymer, to reward his long devotion by giving him her hand. I hear that they are to be married within the month, and that the match is one which meets with the full approbation of Mrs. Dallas. Under these circumstances I am afraid that there is no chance of my marrying Miss Dallas; so I must content myself with searching for another wife.
"I found in my brief interview with Miss Dallas that she had learned how she had tried to kill Mr. Alymer while under the hypnotic influence of Dido. Perhaps this knowledge broke off the match, and the young couple took a dislike to one another from the peculiar circumstances of that night. Certainly--hypnotism or not--one would not care to marry a woman who had attempted one's life; so that, I conjecture, is the reason of Mr. Alymer's withdrawal.
"Also, Miss Dallas must have had a horror of seeing constantly before her the man whom--innocently enough--she tried to kill. Hence her refusal to marry your dear Maurice. Am I wrong in these ideas? I think not. Still I should like an explanation from you. As I shall be here for some months--searching for the Voodoo stone and Dido--please send your letter to Barbadoes, directed to your anxious inquirer, Max Etwald."
"Barbadoes.
"My dear Major Jen:
"It is now some months since I wrote you, making certain inquiries, yet you have not been courteous enough to gratify my curiosity. That is cruel of you! Miss Dallas is now Mrs. Sarby, the other lady is now Lady Meg Alymer; yet you will not tell me how this strange transfer of wives came about. Never mind, I am sure the explanation I fancied in my last letter is the correct one. But you are a rude correspondent. Fie, major. Fie! Fie! Fie!
"I shall return good for evil, and tell you that I have regained possession of the Voodoo stone. Dido is dead; killed by her own excitement at an Obi orgie. I am now the King of the Black Race throughout the world, by possession of the stone, but to you I shall remain, for the last time, my dear major, Max Etwald."