When Cass returned from his day's work he found Ellis impatiently expecting him. The doctor looked ill and worried. On hearing his friend's footstep he rushed into the passage and half-led, half-dragged him into the room. Harry was much surprised at this unusual excitement on the part of Ellis.
"What the deuce is the matter, Bob? You are as pale as a muffin, and your hair is all over the--"
"Harry! Harry! Never mind my looks. I am nearly worried out of my life by this--this murder."
"Or by Mrs. Moxton--have you made any discoveries?"
"Yes. I have discovered the meaning of the letters R. U. Z., and of the lizard sign."
"By Jove!" Cass in his turn became excited. "Well, well, go on--go on."
"The letters are the initials of a man's name."
"The murderer's name?"
"I don't say that, and yet he might be the criminal. I said so to--"
"But the name, Bob, the name?"
"Rudolph Zirknitz."
"H'm! A foreigner?"
"An Austrian. He takes his name from a town called Zirknitz, in Austria, which has in its environs a peculiar sort of lizard found nowhere else."
"Ho! ho! Now comes in the 'totem' of our assassin. How did you find this out?"
The doctor sat down and rapidly detailed his discoveries, and how they were brought about by the search for the will. "I revived Mrs. Moxton from her faint," he concluded, "but she refused to answer a single question. In the end I was forced to leave her, and for the last few hours I have been in a state of distraction. I am so glad you are back. Put your sharp wits to work, Harry, and tell me what it all means."
"I told you before," replied Cass, coolly, "and you flew in a rage with me, saying that I had no grounds for the statement. Now you have learned the grounds, and I repeat my belief. This Zirknitz is the lover of Mrs. Moxton, and she is shielding him from the consequences of having killed her husband--no doubt at her request."
"I can't--I won't believe it of that poor woman, Harry."
"Facts are stubborn things, Bob. The case is as clear as noonday to me."
Ellis, still believing in the innocence of the woman he loved, would have replied somewhat violently to this declaration, but that Mrs. Basket entered with the supper. It was now seven o'clock, for since Cass had been appointed critic to theEarly Birdthey had altered the meal from nine to seven. In a few minutes Mrs. Basket, not being encouraged to chatter on this particular night, left the room wondering what could be the matter with her gentlemen. Ellis trifled with his food, feeling too worried to enjoy it, but the less nervous Cass did full justice to Mrs. Basket's idea of an Irish stew. Between mouthfuls he talked and answered the doctor's objections.
"It is all nonsense Mrs. Basket saying that Mrs. Moxton had no visitors. Both she and her husband, from what you tell me, must be shady people. Poor devil! He is dead, so let us say no ill of him. But Mrs. Moxton. I daresay she received visitors at night when Mrs. Basket and her tradesmen spies were not about."
"You have no grounds for making such an accusation," fumed Ellis.
"Keep calm, Bob. I am speaking without prejudice. No grounds! Well, if I have not, why did Mrs. Moxton faint at the mention of that name? Why did she lie about the signs? Why did she feign ignorance of the place where her husband went every night? She must have known. I tell you, Bob, that Mrs. Moxton is fighting every inch, and I daresay she is angry at your persistence in following up the case. Come, now, own up! Did she not ask you to leave the matter alone?"
"Well, she did," admitted the doctor, with reluctance. "I confess that I do not understand Mrs. Moxton. Her acts are doubtful, her words are strange, and I agree with you that she knows more about this matter than she chooses to confess. All the same, Harry, I am not an absolute fool, even where women are concerned; and there is something in Mrs. Moxton's looks and manner which satisfies me that she is a true, good, pure, brave woman."
"H'm! her conduct does not justify the use of a single adjective of that sort."
"I know! I know! All the same, I believe in her."
"Because you are in love, and love is blind."
"Rubbish! I don't believe in that worn-out saying. I can see Mrs. Moxton's imperfections as plainly as you can. She is not a saint by any manner of means,--but a sinner? No, Harry, I cannot believe she is what you make her out. If she inspired the murder, why does she not run away?"
"Because she is fighting for her fortune, old boy."
"But she is not even certain that a will is in existence."
"So she says," replied Cass, pouring himself out some beer; "but I beg leave to doubt that artless pose. It is my firm conviction that she knew of old Moxton's repentance and eleventh-hour testament, that she got her husband to make his will in her favour, and that she induced her lover, Zirknitz, to put him out of the way so that they might enjoy the money together. It is to reap the fruits of the crime that she stays on here, Bob."
"That is all theory."
"So was my earlier statement, yet it has been proved true by yourself. I daresay M. Zirknitz came to see Mrs. Moxton in the evening when her husband was at the Merryman Music-Hall."
"I never heard of that place, Harry."
"Perhaps not. It has been in existence only for two years. The usual variety entertainment, you know. A man called Otto Schwartz keeps it."
"A German?"
"A typical lager-beer German. Not at all a bad fellow, either."
Dr. Ellis slowly lighted his pipe. "I wonder why Moxton went so regularly to that place?" he said reflectively.
"Well, he might have gone there to make love to one of the ladies who do the turns, but I rather think," said Cass, significantly, "that his object was to gamble. From all his wife says about Monte Carlo and other places the man was a confirmed card-sharper."
"But gambling is not allowed in London."
"No doubt. A good many vices are not allowed in this most immaculate of cities, in this Tartuffe of capitals, but they exist all the same. I don't know for certain, nobody does, but it is rumoured that there is a secret gambling-hell connected with the apparently innocent music-hall of Herr Schwartz's."
Ellis glanced at his watch. "It is getting on for eight o'clock," he remarked. "Let us go to Soho to-night."
"If you like. I have no particular engagement. But your reason?"
"I want to learn all I can about Moxton. If he went there to gamble, Herr Schwartz will know of him. Also we might learn something of Zirknitz. As the book proves, the autograph also, he was a friend of Moxton's, so it is not unlikely he went with him to this secret hell you talk of."
"Very good; let us go at once," said Cass, rising. "But as you and I seem to have become amateur detectives, let us conduct our case with due discretion. There is one piece of evidence we have overlooked."
"What is that?"
"The cab-stand."
"The cab-stand! And what has that to do with the murder?"
"Bob! Bob! You can write about eyes and their diseases, but you cannot make use of your own optics. It is probable that the murderer of Moxton, this Zirknitz, wished to get away as speedily as possible from the scene of his crime, so it is equally probable that he made for the cab-stand."
"Or the railway station."
"That is much further away. The cab-stand is comparatively near the Jubilee Road."
"But no cabman came forward at the inquest."
"I daresay. No cabman had any right to suspect his fare of murder. But we will question those on the rank before we go to Soho. Let us find out if Mr. Zirknitz took a cab between a quarter-past and half-past eleven."
Ellis shrugged his shoulders. "As you please. But it seems to me futile to waste time in asking questions which cannot be answered."
"We have yet to learn if our time is being wasted," retorted Cass, and ending the conversation for the time being, the young men left the house.
By this time Cass had become quite eager to solve the mystery, and willingly placed his quick wit and indomitable perseverance at the service of his friend. He admired Ellis greatly, and there was quite a David and Jonathan feeling between the two. It annoyed Cass to think that the doctor might throw away his life on such a woman as he believed Mrs. Moxton to be; and he undertook the case in the hope of proving her unworthiness. At the present moment appearances were decidedly against her, yet in the face of such black evidence Ellis still clung to his belief in her. This instinctive feeling, based on no reasonable foundation, was so insisted upon by Ellis that his friend became quite angry.
"It is the most sensible men who become the greatest fools on occasions," he said, with the rough speech of intimate friendship. "You have known this woman only three weeks, and you are absolutely ignorant of her past life save what she has chosen to tell you. The circumstantial and actual evidence points to her not only as a shady person, but as a positive criminal, yet in the face of it all you look upon her as a saint."
"No, I don't. I told you so before; but I feel sure she is a good woman. I can give you no reason, but I myself am satisfied without one. As to your evidence, Harry, you know the most innocent person can be wrongly accused, can be even hanged on evidence which, false as it is, appears sufficient. There is the Lesurques case, for--"
"Oh! the Courier of Lyons. I know. And I can quote you at least a dozen others. All the same, I don't believe in Mrs. Moxton."
"Well, I do. For all you know she may be protecting her sister."
Cass stopped short. "Has she a sister?" he asked.
"I believe so. At least, in the books I told you about, Thomas Gordon had written the names of his daughters Laura and Janet Gordon. The first is, of course, Mrs. Moxton, the second name must be that of her sister."
"Perhaps. But the sister may be dead, may be absent from England. In any event, I do not see how you can connect her at all with the murder."
The doctor had no reply to this pertinent observation, as, after all, his remark about the sister had been made vaguely and without any ulterior meaning. A turn of the street brought them to the cab-stand at which Cass, as a journalist, was well known. He immediately began to question the men in a chaffing, popular way. They were ready enough to answer his questions, the more so as these were concerning the murder; but one and all declared that no particular man had hired a cab between eleven and twelve on the night of August 16th.
"Old Ike is the one to know, though," said a red-faced cabman. "He 'ave a memory like 'is own 'orse."
There was a murmur of assent at this, and old Ike, shaky, lean, ancient, more like a grey wolf than a man, was routed out of the shelter in which he was refreshing himself with tea.
"A fare on that murder night, sir? Lor', I don't quite know wot t' say 'bout that. 'Leven an' twelve was it? Well, now, sir, the chapsies at that time were at the station waiting the thayater trains. Weren't you, chapsies?"
"Ah! that we were, but you worn't, Ike," said the red-faced cabman, replying for the others. "You never does go fur them late fares."
"I wos alone on the rank, Mr. Cass, now I thinks of it, and I 'ad a fare to Pimlico, to Geneva Square, where that Silent 'Ouse murder took place."
"What was the man like?" asked Ellis, eagerly.
"It weren't no man, sir, but a gal, a short gal with a grey dress and a black cloak, straw 'at, fair 'air, plump figger, and small 'ands."
"Why, Cass, he is describing Mrs. Moxton," said Ellis, wonderingly. "At what time did she take your cab, Ike?"
"Just afore arf-past 'leven, sir. Came tearing down the road wild-like and crying fit to break 'er 'eart. Jus' tumbled into m'keb, she did, an' tole me to drive t' Pimlico."
"Mrs. Moxton was in our room at half-past eleven," said Cass, when finding that this was all the information obtainable they walked away. "The woman can't be Mrs. Moxton. Yet the description, fair hair, trim figure, might pass for her. I wonder who she is?"
"I know, Harry. I was right, after all. The woman who cried and fled like a guilty person was Janet Gordon, the sister of Mrs. Moxton."
It would seem, then, from this fresh discovery, that a third person was implicated in the matter, and that person a woman. Cass and Ellis argued the matter at great length in the train, and continued their argument as they drove from St. James's Station to Soho. The doctor was convinced from old Ike's description that the woman could be no other than Mrs. Moxton's sister, but Cass was more than doubtful.
"It might be a general resemblance," he said. "Besides, if Janet Gordon came to see Mrs. Moxton on that night, why does not her sister say so?"
"She is shielding her, I tell you," insisted Ellis. "That accounts for the way in which she keeps silent even to me, whom she knows as her friend."
"Why should Mrs. Moxton shield her sister, Bob? You don't suspect Janet of the crime?"
"Oh, no. From the blood-signs it is plain that Zirknitz murdered him. I don't know what to think. But it is plain that Janet was at the house that night, and perhaps she fled in terror on seeing the crime committed. However, I shall ask Mrs. Moxton about the matter."
"She will tell you nothing."
"Now that I have found out so much I think she will, if only to exonerate her sister," retorted Ellis. "If she refuses, I shall go to Geneva Square, in Pimlico, and interview Miss Gordon myself. She may have seen Zirknitz kill the poor devil, and then have fled to avoid being mixed up in the matter."
"Well," said Cass, as the cab drew up before a brilliantly-lighted portal, "it seems to me that Zirknitz is the man to catch and question. We may hear about him here, as it appears he was a companion of the dead man. But the case gets more involved at every fresh discovery. First we suspect Mrs. Moxton, then our suspicions rest on the Austrian, finally an unknown sister seems to be implicated in the matter. It will be a queer story when all things are brought to light. I hope we shall find Zirknitz here."
"If he is a wise man you will not," replied Ellis, as they alighted. "Remember, afac-simileof these blood-signs appeared in all the papers. Zirknitz may know the cypher, and, having read his own initials, has, no doubt, made himself scarce."
"H'm! There is something in that. We shall see."
The music-hall was vast and palatial, with a domed roof, two galleries, and much ornate decoration. The seats were cushioned with red velvet, the promenades were carpeted. In many corners tall mirrors reflected back the moving crowd, and everywhere there was gilding, light, crystal and colour. The whole place was filled with changing hues like a king-opal, and glittered with overpowering splendour in the floods of white radiance pouring from clusters of electric lamps. A fine orchestra was playing a swinging waltz, the last movement of a ballet, and the stage was filled with a multitude of gyrating, pirouetting women, constantly moving and tossing in gorgeous costumes, like a bed of tulips in a high wind. For a few moments the two men, coming out of the dark night, were dazzled by the glare, and stunned by the crash of the music and babel of voices. Cass drew his friend aside to a marble-topped table and ordered drinks while he looked at the programme. Suddenly he caught sight of a man he knew and jumped up to shake hands.
"Hullo! Schwartz," he cried. "Here is a friend of mine I wish to introduce. Captain Garret, I hope I see you well?"
The German was a fat, fair man, quiet in looks and dress, and with a somewhat careworn face. His companion, a tall, dissipated, military gentleman, in accurate evening dress, answered to the name of Garret, and bowed distantly. This latter had a bad expression and a pair of shifty eyes.
"Ah, mine goot Cass," said Schwartz, with a beaming smile, "you haf not peen here for dis long time. And your frend?"
"Dr. Ellis," said Cass; "a well-known medical man, who has written a standard work on 'Diseases of the Eye.'"
Ellis laughed, and was about to protest against having this greatness thrust upon him, when Captain Garret turned his worn face towards him with a look of keen interest.
"Dr. Ellis," said he, in an abrupt voice, "glad to see you, very glad. Have read your book, so has Schwartz here."
"Dat is zo, mine frend. It is a goot book, and I am glad zat you gome here, doctor. Why did you not zay you gome, Cass? I would haf given tickets."
"Both of you have read my book?" said the doctor, considerably taken aback by this unexpected fame. "In Heaven's name why? It is unusual for laymen to read a treatise of that kind."
"Ah," replied Garret, with infinite sadness, "Schwartz and I are old friends, and we have good reason to read your book." He paused for a moment, then added abruptly: "My daughter is blind."
"Ach! Zat liddle Hilda She has gatterack of the eyes, poor anchel."
"My daughter has cataract of the eyes, doctor," translated Garret, "and we have tried every surgeon in Europe to cure them, but without success. Your book impressed us greatly, and now that we have met you I hope you will come and see my poor girl."
"Come and zee her effry tay, doctor. I vill pay money. If zat--" Schwartz never finished his speech. At that moment a tumult, created by some drunken man, called him away, and with a nod to Ellis he hurried off. The Captain waited only long enough to thrust his card into the doctor's hand, and also departed, while the two friends resumed their seats at the table.
"Captain W. E. Garret, Goethe Cottage, Alma Road, Parkmere," read Ellis from the card. "Why, that is the next suburb to Dukesfield."
"Oh, Schwartz lives in that quarter, does he?"
"No! not Schwartz--Garret."
"That is the same thing," replied Cass, sipping his brandy and soda; "they live together--have done so for years. Garret has the gentlemanly looks, and Schwartz the money."
"A strange pair. Who are they?"
"A couple of adventurers. Schwartz is the better of the two, though, for, from what I hear, Garret was kicked out of the army for cheating at cards. The German started this show two years ago, and took Garret to live with him; why, I don't know, unless it is that he is so fond of the daughter."
"Hilda Garret," said Ellis, recalling the name; "is she blind?"
"I believe so. Schwartz is an old bachelor, and has given all his heart to the poor girl. She is sixteen years old, I believe, and he takes care both of her and her father."
"Garret seems to be fond of his child."
"Oh, that is a pose for the benefit of Schwartz. If he didn't love Hilda the German would kick him out. Garret killed his wife with ill-treatment, and was on the fair way to exterminate Hilda when Schwartz interposed and became her good angel. Now the old scoundrel, Garret, behaves well to her, knowing that in such way he can manage Schwartz."
"You seem to know all about it, Cass!"
"I hear all the gossip, Bob. It may be true or it may not, but I am certain that Schwartz and Garret have been together these ten years carrying on their rascalities."
"Are they rascals?"
Cass laughed and nodded. "Rumour says very much so, but Schwartz is the more lovable scoundrel of the two. There is something pathetic in the way in which he clings to that blind girl."
"'There lives some soul of good in all things evil,'" quoted Ellis. "Well, I shall call at Goethe Cottage and see what I can do for the girl. If I can cure her after all the European surgeons have failed it will be a feather in my cap. Business is rolling in at last, old fellow."
"About time," said Cass, in satisfied tones. "You'll ride in your carriage yet, Bob."
The doctor laughed at this prophecy. It did not seem so impossible of realisation now as it had once been. Then he turned his attention to the stage, on which a stout lady in the shortest of skirts was favouring the audience with a song and interpolated dance of the orthodox pattern:--
"For I 'ave a little feller on the string,(Dance)And on me 'and he's put a little ring,(Dance)To the little chorch this little gal he'll taike,She'll kiss 'im for his own sweet saike,And he'll love 'er as 'is little bit of caike."(Dance)
"For I 'ave a little feller on the string,
(Dance)
And on me 'and he's put a little ring,
(Dance)
To the little chorch this little gal he'll taike,She'll kiss 'im for his own sweet saike,And he'll love 'er as 'is little bit of caike."
(Dance)
"That is Polly Horley," said Cass, referring to the singer of this gem. "She is a great favourite here."
"I don't wonder," replied Ellis, drearily; "the song is senseless enough to please even this brainless audience. Why must a music-hall ditty consist of bad English and worse grammar, delivered with a Cockney accent? Polly Horley! I know her! When I was house surgeon at St. Jude's Hospital she was brought in with a broken leg. We were excellent friends."
"Or great pals, as Miss Horley would put it. Let us send round your card and ask for an interview.'
"For what reason? I don't want to see that stout female."
"My dear fellow, Polly has been a star here since Schwartz opened the hall, and she, if anyone, will know about Moxton and Zirknitz."
"By Jove! that is true, Harry. You are a better detective than I am. Get that waiter there to take round our cards."
A small fee soon accomplished this, and the venal waiter vanished, shortly to reappear with the message that Miss Horley would be pleased to see Dr. Ellis and friend in her dressing-room after the singing of her great patriotic song. Almost immediately afterwards she marched to the footlights in the costume of Britannia, and carrying the Union Jack. Then followed the usual piece of Jingoism about "never shall be slaves, while the banner waves, earth is thick with British graves," etc., etc. The flag was duly waved at the end of each verse, and the audience, as in duty bound, joined in with imperial ardour. While Miss Horley treated the listeners to an extra verse bearing on the local situation, Ellis and Harry Cass were guided into the back regions of the stage by a smart page-boy. He led them through a wilderness of scenes, along dark passages, and past rooms thronged with ballet girls, ultimately ushering them into a small apartment, barely furnished and flooded with unshaded electric light. Here the visitors were accommodated with two chairs, and shortly Britannia, flag and all, made her noisy appearance. She literally threw herself on the doctor.
"I'm that glad to see you again, doc," cried Britannia, effusively. "Where have you been hiding all this time?" Then, without waiting for an answer, she turned to Harry: "You're a stranger, too, Mr. Cass, but better late than never. I am glad to see you. You'll both have drinks, I s'pose?"
"No, thank you, Miss Horley. We just wish to congratulate you on your new song."
"Ah, it knocks 'em, don't it?" said the fair Polly. "They never let me off without a triple encore. You are looking ill, doctor. It's that 'orrid murder, eh?"
"What murder?"
"Why, the Dukesfield murder, silly! I saw all about it in the papers; your name was there, too, and I said: 'Here's my dear old pal Ellis, who mended my spar.'"
"Oh, you said that, did you?"
"Rather. It was queer that you should be the doctor to see after that poor chap. I call him poor chap because he is dead," explained Miss Horley, "but I never did like that Moxton. A miserly, insulting crab-stick."
"Oh, so you knew Moxton?"
"Of course I did. He came here nearly every night. What is more, he took his wife from here."
Ellis was painfully excited. "Mrs. Moxton? Was she a music-hall singer?"
"Not she," replied Polly, disdainfully. "She hadn't the brains to sing. She typed for a living, I believe, but her sister was a programme-seller here."
"Janet Gordon?"
"Oh, you know her, Mr. Cass, do you?"
"No, I don't, but I have heard of her."
"Then I'll bet you heard nothing but good of her," cried Miss Horley, warmly. "That girl is as square a woman as ever lived. If it hadn't been for her, goodness knows what would have become of that silly little Laura."
"I don't call Mrs. Moxton silly," said the doctor, annoyed by this description.
"Oh, don't you, doctor, then I do. She was silly to marry that beast of a Moxton, the horrid little cad. It was against Janet's wish that she did so, and Janet was right. A nice mess she made of her life. He neglected her, and came here to make love to me--me, a married woman with five of a family. But I slapped his face for him," said Polly, complacently, "that I did."
"Mrs. Moxton met her husband here?"
"Yes. Janet let her come to the hall sometimes, and she met Moxton. Both girls are decent, doc, so don't say that I run 'em down. Janet is a girl in a thousand. She left us a week or two ago. I expect she has gone to live with her sister now. They will have old Moxton's money, I daresay."
"Who do you think killed Moxton?" asked Cass.
"My dear boy, ask me something easier," said Polly, applying the powder-puff to her nose. "I haven't the slightest idea. He was nasty enough to have any quantity of enemies."
"Do you know a man called Zirknitz, Miss Horley?"
Polly turned round with a smile. "Do I know the nose on my face?" she said lightly. "Of course I do. It is funny you should talk of him, for he is coming to see me in a few minutes. If you'll wait, I'll introduce him to you."
Ellis and Cass exchanged looks of congratulation at this good fortune, and the unsuspicious Polly, little thinking she was weaving a halter for a man's neck, babbled on. "He might have found out the truth if he'd only gone to Dukesfield on that night as he intended."
"Did he go there?" asked Ellis, eagerly.
"No. Janet was there on that night. She got leave from Schwartz to see her sister. Zirknitz, who is a friend of Janet's, intended calling for her to take her home, but Moxton got drunk here, and Zirknitz didn't go lest there should be a row. So--come in." She broke off as there was a sharp knock.
The door opened, and a handsome, light-haired young man appeared.
"Oh! here you are," cried Polly, jovially. "Doc, this is Mr. Rudolph Zirknitz."
Cass and Ellis examined the new-comer swiftly as they returned his bow. It was a foreign bow, including a smart click of the heels. Zirknitz was tall, slim, and remarkably handsome, his good looks being set off to the fullest advantage by the quiet perfection of his evening dress. He wore no jewellery, the whitest of linen, the neatest of bows, and a silk hat with a wonderful lustre. As the night was chilly he had on a fur-lined coat with sable cuffs and collar, and his slender hands, encased in grey gloves, held a gold-topped bamboo. Altogether Mr., or Monsieur, or Herr Zirknitz was, to all appearances, a man who valued his looks as part of his stock-in-trade to enable him to carry on his business of adventurer. But, in spite of his care, the hoof betrayed the devil, for there was a rakish, fast air about him which stamped him as dangerous. Ellis thought that such a scamp would not draw the line at murder, so long as he could save himself from punishment.
"I am charmed to meet your friends, madame," said Zirknitz, in good enough English, but with a pronounced foreign accent. "And the names?"
"This is Mr. Cass; that gent is Dr. Ellis."
The smile died away on the Austrian's lips. "Ellis!" he said, in a hesitating manner, "and a doctor--of Dukesfield?"
"Yes, M. Zirknitz," replied Ellis, grimly, "of Dukesfield."
"You saw the body of my poor friend Moxton?"
"Yes. Were you a friend of his?"
"The best friend he had, monsieur. If I knew who killed him so cruelly, I would spend my life trying to bring him to justice.Helas!"
"H'm!" repeated Cass. "So you think a man killed Moxton?"
"I go by the evidence at the inquest," said Zirknitz, with a bow. "The doctor explained at the inquest that a man must have struck the blow."
"I said that indeed, M. Zirknitz. But a woman may be mixed up in the matter."
"Here, all of you!" cried Polly, with impatient good humour, "I can't have you three talking here all night. I want to dress and go home to my chicks. Rudolph, you must come and see me on another night. Mr. Cass, doctor, look up yours truly whenever you get a chance, and good-night to you, my dears."
In this way the star bustled them out of her dressing-room, and the three men repaired to the front of the house. It seemed, indeed, that Zirknitz was inclined to leave them, but after a glance at the haggard face of Ellis he changed his mind. Cass invited him to sit at their table, which he did, and accepted a lemon-squash.
"I never take anything stronger," he said gracefully. "It is bad for the nerves; it makes the hand shake."
"I can understand that as applying to a doctor like myself, M. Zirknitz, but to you--how does it apply to you? What profession do you follow that requires nerve?"
"I play cards, doctor. I earn my living in that way; and, let me tell you, one who does so must have a steady hand, a clear brain, and nerves of steel."
As he spoke, Schwartz, all alone, strolled past. He nodded to the Austrian, but frowned slightly when he saw him with Ellis. Then pausing by the table, he tapped Cass on the shoulder with a plump, beringed hand.
"Mr. Cass, mine goot frend, vill you with me gome? I haf pisness with you that gannot wait."
"Is there money in it, Schwartz?"
The German cast another look at Zirknitz, who was trifling with a cigarette which he took out of a handsome silver case. "I dink zo," he said pointedly.
"In that case I'll come. Wait for me here, Ellis. M. Zirknitz, I wish you good-evening," and Cass went off in high spirits with the fat Schwartz, so that Ellis and the Austrian were left alone.
The table at which they were seated was placed at a comparatively secluded corner, out of the crush of people and the glare of the light. Yet, quiet though it was, Zirknitz, after a glance round, appeared to be annoyed by the position.
"Will you come to my box, monsieur?" he said, rising. "I fancy it is more comfortable there."
"But my friend Cass?"
"I shall instruct the waiter to bring him to the box when he returns here. Come, doctor," added Zirknitz, in a whisper, "I wish to speak with you--about the murder."
A thrill ran though Ellis as he followed the Austrian up the stairs. Was the man about to confess to his crime? That was hardly probable. Perhaps he intended to explain the cypher. Yet that, also, was doubtful. By this time Ellis had seated himself in a shady corner of the box. He was thoroughly puzzled, and could conceive of no reason why Zirknitz should seek this interview. The young man closed the door, removed his coat and hat, and offered Ellis a cigarette. The doctor refused on the plea that he had smoked enough, for he could not bring himself to accept anything from the hands of M. Zirknitz. They were those of a card-sharper, a swindler--a murderer! In this belief Ellis decided to let the Austrian do most of the talking, hoping to trap him--if not into confession at least into damaging admissions. His ownrôlewas to say nothing--to know nothing and to give M. Zirknitz a sufficiency of rope to weave a halter. The situation was uncomfortable, and Ellis felt as though he were dealing with a graceful but dangerous tiger which required dexterous and diplomatic handling.
"I am glad to meet you, doctor," said Zirknitz, in his quiet voice. "Indeed, had I not done so here by chance I should have called on you."
"With reference to the murder?"
"Say with reference to Mrs. Moxton and her husband's will. Also, monsieur, with reference to her husband's cousin. Ah,scélérat!"
"Busham?"
"Ah, yes, that is the name. Mr. Richard Busham, the advocate."
"Do you know him?"
"Moi, monsieur? Non!but I hope to know him if he does not behave well to my sister."
Dr. Ellis leant back in his chair with a gasp of astonishment. "Your sister!"
"Mrs. Moxton, or, rather, I should say, my half sister. Did you not know?Quel dommage!"
"How should I know?" muttered Ellis, not yet recovered from his amazement.
"Because my sister, Mrs. Moxton, told me that you were her best friend."
"I hope I am her friend. But I confess that I am astonished to hear that you are her brother. Are you not a foreigner?"
"Yes, to speak truly there is no blood relationship. Mrs. Gordon, the mother of my sister, married my father, Adolph Zirknitz, who was a widower. The marriage of our parents is the bond between us."
"I see. And you have two sisters?"
"Oui!Mrs. Moxton, who is Laura, and Miss Janet Gordon. Who told you?"
"Polly--Miss Horley."
"Ah," muttered Zirknitz, with a look of displeasure, "she talks so much, oh, so very much."
Here was a discovery. The mythical lover of Mrs. Moxton, the murderer of her husband, if the blood signs could be believed, turned out to be her brother by marriage. A queer sort of relationship truly, which Ellis had not met with before, still, one sufficiently close to put any question of love out of the case. If so, what was Zirknitz's motive for committing the crime? Ellis felt that he was floundering in deep water.
"Why do you tell me all this?" he asked suspiciously.
"Because Laura says that you are her friend, and will help her through with this matter."
"Of the murder."
"Partly, and of the will. Busham is not an easy man to deal with, and he is annoyed that old Moxton's money should go to Laura."
"How do you know it will go to her?"
"Laura told me she thought there was a will leaving it to her."
"M. Zirknitz," said Ellis, after a few moments of reflection, "will you answer a few questions?"
"Oh, yes, most certainly. I have much confidence in you, Dr. Ellis."
The other did not reciprocate this sentiment, but had sense enough to keep his doubts to himself. "You knew Moxton very well, I presume?"
"Oui da!" Zirknitz shrugged his shoulders; "but we were not friends. He was always drinking and quarrelling. I do not like such men."
"You disliked him?"
"No. I dislike no person. It is troublesome to do that."
"Did you visit him at Dukesfield?"
"I did not. He hated me, you understand. Sometimes at night I went to see my sister when all was quiet."
Ellis reflected that these visits must have been conducted with considerable secrecy, seeing that Mrs. Basket was ignorant of them; but, to be sure, they took place after dark. "Were you at Myrtle Villa on the night of the murder?"
"No," answered Zirknitz, coolly and promptly. "I thought of going for my sister Janet, but I changed my mind. Moxton was drunk, so I fancied he might make trouble."
"Then you saw Moxton on that night?"
"Oh, most certainly! He was--he was--" Zirknitz hesitated.
"He was in the secret gambling-room of Schwartz," finished Ellis, guessing his thoughts.
The Austrian's face became as blank as a sheet of white paper. "But I do not understand," he said with a shrug.
"Oh, well, as you please," returned the doctor, coolly. "I know nothing about the matter myself. To continue where we left off. Where did you see Moxton last on the night he was killed?"
"Oh, at the bar in there," Zirknitz was clever enough to take his cue; "he was drunk--not very bad--but noisy and troublesome. He drove away in a cab."
"Right down to Dukesfield?"
"That I do not know. I went home to bed myself."
This was a lie, as Ellis shrewdly guessed, but the Austrian carried it off with an air which showed that he was an adept at falsehood.
"When did you hear of the murder?"
"I saw it next day in the papers."
"Then why did you not go to Dukesfield to help Mrs. Moxton?"
"Why should I?" said Zirknitz, with a charming smile. "Murder is not pleasant. I don't like such things. And I might have got into trouble. I do not mind saying, doctor, that mine has been a life of adventure, and I care not for the police."
"You are afraid," said Ellis, wondering at the selfishness and brutal candour of the confession.
"Certainement!I am afraid. Oh, think badly of me if you like. I am so bad that I can be no worse. But I shall help my sister over the money."
"Because you hope to get some?"
"Eh! why not? I am extravagant."
Ellis felt a strong desire to kick this handsome, smiling rascal, but he doubted if even a kick would rouse any shame in him. The man seemed to have no moral sense; just such a soulless, brainless being who would commit a crime. The doctor began to look upon him as a psychological curiosity, and felt more convinced than ever that he had killed Moxton. The want of money supplied the motive.
"Who do you think murdered Moxton?" he asked, resolved to startle the man into a confession.
"Who do I think murdered Moxton," repeated Zirknitz, blandly. "Why, my dear Monsieur, I think Mr. Busham did."
Ellis jumped up. "On what grounds do you make such an accusation?"
"Ah, I will not tell you that now," replied Zirknitz, coolly. "I do not yet know you well. If Mrs. Moxton agrees I may do so."
"But if you will--"
"Oh, no, I tell nothing. See, the performance is over. We must go."
While the Austrian was reassuming coat and hat, Ellis felt sorely tempted to tell him about the blood signs and accuse him of killing Moxton. But as yet he had not sufficient evidence, and it was unwise to put Zirknitz on his guard until he could get him into a corner. Before he could decide, the Austrian nodded and, still smiling, slipped out of the box. Ellis stooped to pick up his stick and followed almost immediately, only to find that Zirknitz had vanished into the crowd. What his attitude was towards himself, the doctor could not quite determine. "I shall question Mrs. Moxton about her brother," he reflected, as he went in search of Cass.
The journalist was in the office of Schwartz, but came out when he heard Ellis inquiring for him.
"How did you get on with Zirknitz?" he asked, as they hailed a hansom.
"Oh, pretty well. He talked a great deal, and declared that Busham killed Moxton."
"The deuce! How can he prove that?"
"I don't know. He refused to give any proof, and cleared out before I could question him further. What did Schwartz want to see you about?"
"To warn you and me against cultivating Zirknitz."
"Is he a bad egg?"
"The worst in the nest, from all accounts. I believe he killed Moxton on his own hook."
"He denies that he was at Dukesfield on that night."
"Denies it? Like his brass. Why, he left this hall to take Moxton home."
"Who says so?"
"Schwartz."
"Do you believe Schwartz?"
Cass drew a long, long breath. "I don't know what to believe," he said. "All these men form part of the gang of rogues. There is more devilry in this case than we know of, Bob."