On arriving at their lodgings, both men were too excited over the case to feel inclined for sleep. Instead of going to bed, they made up the fire, lighted their pipes, and continued the discussion commenced in the hansom. It was then that Ellis repeated the statement of Zirknitz anent his connection with Mrs. Moxton and her sister.
"So you see, Harry, the man is Mrs. Moxton's brother, or half-brother--not her lover."
"He is really no relation at all," retorted Cass, rather amazed by what he heard. "Mrs. Moxton's mother married the father of Zirknitz, did she? That makes the young man brother by marriage, but so far as parentage and blood go, he could marry Mrs. Moxton to-morrow."
"I tell you the man isn't her lover."
"Possibly not, after what Zirknitz has told you--that is, if it is true. But he may be the murderer for all that."
"Oh, I agree with you there," said the doctor. "The creature is one of those selfish, soulless beings without moral feelings. So long as he could do so, without risking his neck, I quite believe he would go so far as murder. Then he is a spendthrift and a Sybarite; so to get this money it is just possible he killed Moxton. But if he is guilty, Mrs. Moxton does not know of his wickedness."
"Then why did she faint when his name was mentioned?"
"Because no doubt she is aware of his dangerous nature, and perhaps may think him guilty. What I mean is that, up to the moment I mentioned the name, she did not suspect Zirknitz."
"Humph!" said Cass, looking at the fire. "It might be so. What do you intend to do now? The situation is complicated."
"I will see Mrs. Moxton and tell her that I have met Zirknitz."
"Will you tell her also that he accuses Busham?"
"Yes! because from what he said, Mrs. Moxton may know the grounds upon which he bases his accusation."
"Then she must be inculpated in the crime," cried Cass, decisively.
"I don't see that," said Ellis, much annoyed. "Come what may, I believe that poor little woman is innocent."
"Because you are in love!"
"It may be so," assented the doctor, gloomily. "Love warps my mind, perhaps, but the whole case is so extraordinary and mysterious that it is difficult to say who is, and who is not, concerned in it."
"In my opinion the whole lot are concerned in it," said Cass, "and the desire for money is the cause of the crime. By the way, I asked Schwartz about the Gordon sisters."
"He knows both, I suppose?"
"Yes; but he praises only one--Janet Gordon. Mrs. Moxton he appears to think very little of."
"That may be because he does not know her so well. Janet was in the employment of Schwartz as a programme-seller and attendant, but Mrs. Moxton, being a typewriting girl, only occasionally visited the hall. In any case I admit that the Gordon girls appear to be shady."
"Yet you think of marrying one."
"I shall not do so if I find out anything wrong," said Ellis. "It is true that I am in love with Mrs. Moxton, but should her past be a bad one, I am sufficiently reasonable to crush down my feelings. Still, I believe that she is more sinned against than sinning; and it will be my task to solve the mystery of this murder--to prove that my belief is a true one."
"I am with you there, Bob, and I shall help you with all my heart. But I tell you plainly that Schwartz has no very good opinion of Mrs. Moxton. He declares that she is frivolous, vain and foolish."
"She is none of the three, Harry, believe me. And Janet?"
"Janet is staunch, honest, clever and honourable. Schwartz respects her highly, and he is not the man to bestow praise unduly."
"I should like to see this girl," said Ellis, thoughtfully, "particularly as she may throw some light on the murder. From the description of old Ike, I believe the woman he drove to Pimlico was Janet Gordon. She must know something or she would not have been crying on that night, nor would she have given up her situation at the Merryman Music-Hall so suddenly."
"Perhaps you consider her guilty?"
"No. On the authority of those signs on the arm of the dead man, I believe Zirknitz killed him."
Ellis rose and stretched himself. "We have a terrible tangle to unravel, Harry," he said after a pause.
"I don't see why we need trouble ourselves to do it, Bob."
"I do. Mrs. Moxton must be proved guiltless."
Cass shook his head. "Even if she is innocent of the murder her past is shady," he said. "She is not the wife for you, Bob."
"When the crooked is made straight we shall see about that, Harry."
With this confident assertion Ellis retired to bed, but not to sleep. In spite of his love, he could not but see that Mrs. Moxton's reputation was in peril. So much as he had gleaned of her past from herself and other sources was, to say the least of it, shady. The people with whom she had associated were scarcely reputable. Her husband had been a dissolute scoundrel, and Zirknitz, the so-called brother, was an idle vagabond, devoid of self-respect and morals. Then the sister! Schwartz praised her, but Schwartz was not overclean himself in character, and the employment of the girl at a second-rate music-hall was not the style of thing to recommend her to respectable people. Then, again, Mrs. Moxton's conduct was shifty and underhand. She declined to tell the truth, yet from the surrounding circumstances it was plain that she knew it. Taking these things into consideration, many a man would have cut himself off root and branch from the widow; but some instinct told Ellis that she was not so evil as she appeared to be, and made him anxious to sift the matter to the bottom. Therefore he got up in the morning still bent upon dealing with Mrs. Moxton and her doubtful past. After all, she might prove in the end worthy of an honest man's love.
Shortly after breakfast Mrs. Basket waddled in with the announcement that Mrs. Moxton was at the door. Ellis was surprised. This was the first time she had come to his house since the terrible night of the murder, and their first meeting since her fainting at the name of Zirknitz. The doctor hailed this unexpected visit as a good omen. If she were guilty, she would scarcely take such a step; and it might be that, weary of fencing, she had come to confess the truth.
It was with Judas-like affability that Mrs. Basket introduced the widow into the room. She believed in Mrs. Moxton's guilt. She wished to see that guilt made clear, and desired that it should be punished. Yet she smiled and gabbled, and was ostentatiously friendly until dismissed by Ellis. Mrs. Moxton breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed on the treacherous creature. She looked pale, but was as pretty as ever, and Ellis felt the charm of her manner sap the doubts he entertained of her honesty. At first he thought that she had come to explain about Zirknitz, but at the outset of the conversation Mrs. Moxton did away with this idea. Her opening remark revealed the reason of her call.
"I have found it, doctor," she said, producing a legal-looking blue envelope. "The will of Edgar is in this packet."
"Where was it hidden, Mrs. Moxton?"
"You will never guess. Under the matting of the sitting-room. I expect he concealed it there in one of his magpie-fits when he was drunk, and forgot its whereabouts when he got sober. This is the will, doctor, and it leaves all his property, real and personal, to me."
"So you are a rich woman, Mrs. Moxton," said Ellis, eyeing her gravely. "I congratulate you."
"Don't be in too great a hurry to do that," she rejoined coolly. "I have yet to reckon with Mr. Busham and his suspicions."
"You can disprove those, can you not?"
"I do not know; I cannot say. I must first learn what his suspicions are, and that will be easy enough. I have only to show Mr. Busham the will and he will come out with his accusation. Whether I can refute it remains to be seen; and it is for this reason that I wish you to visit the lawyer with me."
"Visit Mr. Busham?" said Ellis, considerably astonished at this unusual proof of confidence. "But what can I do?"
"Two things. Firstly, you can be a witness to the charges, which, I feel certain, Mr. Busham will bring against me."
"Then you trust me so far as to let me hear those charges?"
"I do, because in the face of all circumstantial evidence to the contrary you believe that I am innocent. For that reason I regard you as my friend, for that reason I ask you to stand by me in my time of trouble."
Ellis looked at her doubtfully, not knowing what to make of this speech, which, indeed, was puzzling enough. An honourable woman, entangled in the net of villains: a scheming adventuress, bent upon arriving at her own ends--Mrs. Moxton was one or the other; and the love which Ellis had for her inclined him to believe she was honourable. Still, there must have been some shadow of doubt on his face, for Mrs. Moxton became bitter and angry and unmeasured in speech.
"Am I mistaken in you?" she demanded sharply. "Have you repented of what you said to me the other day? Is it with you as with other men--words! words! words! If so, tell me, and I go--go never to trouble you or see you again. You must trust me in all or not at all."
The doctor was astonished at this sudden outburst, and hastened to assure Mrs. Moxton that she did him an injustice. "I firmly believe in your innocence, and I feel certain that you can explain away the charges against you."
"They have yet to be made, doctor," replied the widow, cooling down, "And when they are I wish you to be present. That desire will show you whether I can answer them or not. Another reason why I desire you to visit Mr. Busham in my company is that I am anxious for you to protect me from his violence."
"Confound the fellow!" cried Ellis, firing up. "Will he dare to lay hands on you?"
"Not on me, but on the will. If I defy Mr. Busham, he is quite capable of taking the will from me by force and destroying it."
"We shall see about that," said Ellis, after a moment's thought. "However, I guess from what you say that Busham is a tricky, shifty scoundrel. Certainly I will come with you, Mrs. Moxton. When are you going?"
"To-morrow morning. We can take the underground railway to Esher Lane."
"Very good. I will see you in the morning. In the meantime will you leave this will for me to look over?"
Ellis made this demand with the intention of seeing how far Mrs. Moxton would trust him, as it was scarcely fair that the confidence should be all on one side. To his secret astonishment and openly-expressed pleasure, she agreed at once to the request.
"As you trust me, I shall you," said Mrs. Moxton. "Keep the will by all means till to-morrow morning; but take care of it, as it is an original document."
"I will put it away now "; and Ellis locked the document up in a despatch-box which stood near his desk. "And I thank you for this proof of confidence, Mrs. Moxton; you will not find it misplaced."
"I am quite sure of that, doctor. I trust you thoroughly."
"In some ways, yes, in others, no. For instance, why will you not tell me about Zirknitz?"
Mrs. Moxton turned pale. "I cannot tell you about him--yet."
Ellis was vexed. "Well, there is no need," said he, a trifle crossly. "I know about this man."
"About Rudolph? About--"
"Yes, about your brother by marriage."
The widow, who in her excitement had half risen from her chair, fell back into it again thunderstruck. "Where did you meet him?" she stammered.
"At the Merryman Music-Hall."
"Do you know that place?" shrieked Mrs. Moxton, much agitated.
"I was there last night. There I met Zirknitz, and he told me of his relationship to you. Also," and here Ellis grew grave, "he informed me who murdered your husband."
Mrs. Moxton's capacity for amazement was exhausted by these repeated shocks, and she sat limply in her chair. The last remark, however, seemed to brace her up for the moment.
"And who does he say killed Edgar?" she asked, with an anxiety she strove vainly to conceal.
"None other than Busham, the man who--"
Mrs. Moxton interrupted him with a burst of hysterical laughter. "Dr. Ellis," said she, in a choking voice, "Iknowthat is false. Mr. Busham didnotkill my husband."
Mrs. Moxton made the statement regarding Busham's innocence with so much decision that Ellis looked at her in surprise. It was strange that she should defend a man she disliked. "How is it that you think him guiltless?" he asked anxiously.
"Because he is a coward, and too timid to kill a man."
"Your husband was stabbed in the back in the darkness. That looks like a coward's deed."
"All the same, I feel sure he is innocent," persisted the widow. "I can see no reason for his killing Edgar. He knew that old Moxton made another will shortly before dying, and that he would not inherit. No! look at it which way you will, Mr. Busham is not the murderer. I detest the man, but I must be just to him. What else did Rudolph tell you, or, rather, on what ground does he accuse Mr. Busham?"
"He refused to tell me the grounds without your permission."
"My permission! Why, I know nothing about the matter."
"From what Zirknitz hinted it would appear that you do," said Ellis, a trifle drily.
"Then he shall tell his story in your presence," rejoined Mrs. Moxton, quickly, "and you will see that I know nothing."
"I shall be glad to be convinced. Tell me, why did you keep silent about this young man?"
"Because of the blood marks on the arm of Edgar."
"Oh, so you knew the secret of the cryptographic signs, in spite of your denial?"
"I did! I do! As a matter of fact, I taught that cryptogram to my--" here Mrs. Moxton closed her mouth with the nervous gesture of one who thinks she is saying too much.
"To your sister," finished Ellis, quietly.
Mrs. Moxton fenced. "How do you know that I have a sister?"
"From the books in your house, some of which contain your name and that of your sister Janet. Also from a cabman on the rank here, who described to me a woman so like you that I am convinced she is your sister--possibly, from the exact likeness, your twin sister."
The widow became the colour of chalk at these words. "Where did the cabman see her?"
"He drove her to Pimlico on the night, and about the time, your husband was murdered."
For a moment or so Mrs. Moxton looked doubtfully at Ellis, and passed her tongue over her dry lips. The doctor could see that she trembled. His unexpected knowledge evidently inflicted a shock on her nerves. Yet, for all her emotion, she still strove to baffle his curiosity. "You seem to know a good deal about my husband," she said irritably.
"I do. Because I am anxious to clear your name and extricate you from a difficult position. Mrs. Moxton"--Ellis rose and bent over her with great earnestness--"why will you not be frank with me? You tell me much, but you will not tell me all."
She moaned and moved away from him. "Heaven help me, I dare not tell you all."
"Yet I am your best friend."
"I know it, but you would shrink from me did you know the truth."
Ellis took her hand gently. "Tell me who murdered your husband?" he whispered urgently.
"I don't know! I swear I don't know!" cried the widow, with much vehemence; "if I did I would tell."
"The blood marks hint at Zirknitz."
"Yes, yes, but I am sure he is innocent. Rudolph is foolish, vain, shallow, but he never killed Edgar, I swear."
"Yet the name on the dead man's arm?"
"I don't know the reason of that; I can't say why Edgar wrote it. I read it myself, although I denied all knowledge to you. It was for Rudolph's sake that I lied. I was afraid lest he should get into trouble. I asked him if he was in Dukesfield on that night, but he denies that he was."
"And your sister Janet?"
A tremor passed through the frame of Mrs. Moxton. "She came to see me on that night, and we quarrelled; she left before Edgar came back, and, I suppose, went crying down the road to take a cab home."
"Did she see the murder committed?" asked Ellis, tentatively.
"I don't know," said Mrs. Moxton, under her breath. "I am--oh," she burst out, "I can't tell you more. I have had to do with villains and rogues all my life, and I am paying the penalty of their sins, not of my own. I have tried to be a good woman, so do not shrink from me. I swear that I do not know who killed Edgar. Some day I may tell you more, but at present I cannot--I cannot."
She hastily let down her veil and stood up to go. "You trust me still? you believe in me yet?" she said entreatingly, and with tears.
"I do," replied Ellis, touched by her emotion. "You puzzle me more than I can say, yet I am sure you are innocent of all evil. But if you would only tell me--"
"Some day! some day!" she interrupted hastily; "but not now. Yet what you should know, you shall know. Come to me between four and five to-day, and you will meet Rudolph. He shall confess what he means by hinting at my knowledge of Mr. Busham's guilt."
"I will come with pleasure, but do you think Zirknitz will come?"
"Yes. I will telegraph for him now. He loves me and trusts me, and I have great power over his weak nature. In my hands he is like wax, and if the truth is in him you shall hear it this afternoon. But I know that Rudolph is innocent. I am certain that Mr. Busham did not strike the blow. Heaven alone knows the secret of Edgar's death. Good-bye, good-bye, Dr. Ellis, and do not think badly of me. Indeed, indeed, when the moment comes I can put myself right in your eyes. What other people say or think, I do not care, but you must be shown that I am more sinned against than sinning. Good-bye!" She stretched out her hand, and withdrew it abruptly ere he could touch the tips of her fingers. "Not yet, not yet," she muttered, and swiftly glided from the room before Ellis could recover from his surprise.
This woman was more inexplicable than ever. Apparently she knew a great deal, as could be seen by the information which Ellis had dragged out of her. Yet she refused to be candid, although at the same time she admitted that she wished to preserve her friend's good opinion. The hints dropped in her last hasty speech showed Ellis that he was right in trusting to his instinct concerning her nature. Whatever Mrs. Moxton might be,--mysterious, shady, dangerous,--she had a straightforward, honest mind. It was warped by the circumstances in which she found herself placed through no fault of her own, and she was forced to fence and lie, and act a tricky part for some strong reason which she refused to impart to Ellis. Privately he thought that all her energies were bent upon shielding her sister, as formerly she had striven to shield Zirknitz by denying all knowledge of the cryptogram. Could Janet Gordon be the guilty person? Ellis twice or thrice asked himself this question, but could find no answer to it. Her hasty flight on the night of the murder, her tears, her silence, her absence from the music-hall hinted--if not at personal guilt--at least at guilty knowledge. If she did not kill Moxton herself,--and on the face of it she could have had no reason to do so,--she must have seen the crime committed. Perhaps she had met with the assassin face to face, and had fled horror-struck and weeping to the cab-stand. The way to learn the truth would be to see her. No doubt she had confessed the cause of her terror to Mrs. Moxton, and it was this secret which Mrs. Moxton, loyally doing violence to her nature, wished to conceal. But if the widow would not speak, Ellis made up his mind that Janet Gordon should; therefore he resolved to find out the number of her lodging in Geneva Square, and call upon her. Failing Mrs. Moxton, Zirknitz might supply the information. In her own despite Mrs. Moxton must be rescued from the dangers which appeared to surround her. She had confessed with less than her usual caution that she was paying for the sins of others, and Ellis was bent upon bringing the truth to light and making the actual sinners suffer for their own wickedness. The fact that he was more deeply in love than ever, greatly assisted him in arriving at this conclusion. Yet a wise man, a worldly man, would have called him a fool to still love and trust Mrs. Moxton in the face of all he knew about her. But in this instance instinct was stronger than argument, and Ellis was satisfied that the woman he loved would yet emerge vindicated and spotless from the dark cloud of troubles which obscured her true nature.
Precisely at half-past four he presented himself at Myrtle Villa. The door was opened by Mrs. Moxton herself. Apparently she had been watching for his arrival, and Ellis, guessing as much, felt his heart swell with joy. Strange that his love at this moment should move him to emotion.
"Rudolph is here," whispered the widow. "Let me question him. I know how to make him speak out."
Ellis nodded, and when ushered into the sitting-room was sufficiently composed to meet Zirknitz with a smile. The Austrian looked an Adonis in the daytime, and was admirably dressed in a smart frock-coat, fawn-coloured trousers, and patent leather boots of high polish. He was a modern D'Orsay in looks and dress--just the handsome kind of scamp to attract silly women. Ellis had no doubt that one day or another Monsieur Rudolph would pick up an heiress, and become respectable. The young man was shallow and selfish, yet--if one could judge by his smiling face--harmless enough in other ways.
"I am delighted to see you, doctor," said the Austrian, blandly. "You must forgive me for leaving you so abruptly the other night. But you were beginning to ask me indiscreet questions, so I--vanished."
"Rudolph always considers himself first," observed Mrs. Moxton, who was making tea. "He is the most selfish creature in existence."
"The most selfish!" assented Zirknitz. "I think of no one by myself. Why should I?Quelle bêtise."
"Every man should think of others!" said Ellis, hardly knowing what to say in the face of this cool confession.
"Oh,mon chermonsieur, that doctrine is out of date. Thank you, Laura. I will have some tea. Three sugar bits, my dear. I love sweets, and sunshine, and pretty girls--as a butterfly should."
Mrs. Moxton looked at the pretty youth with something of contempt. "You need not blazon forth your follies, Rudolph. I know what you are; and Dr. Ellis will soon find you out. What is this story you have been telling him about me?"
"Story? None! What is it, monsieur?Point de moquerie!"
"You accuse Busham of this murder!"
"Ah, yes, now I remember; and I refused to tell you my reasons until permitted by my sister. Have I your consent,ma chèreLaura?"
"Tell everything you know," cried Mrs. Moxton, with a frown. "Why you should bring my name into the matter I don't know. There is no need for you to explain, Rudolph; you will only romance. Why do you suspect Busham?"
Zirknitz looked at Ellis. "Can I speak freely?" he asked doubtfully.
"Certainly. The doctor is my best friend."
"Ah! so charming to have a best friend. Hear, then, monsieur, and you, my dear Laura. When I was at Dukesfield on the night Edgar was killed--"
"Why," said Ellis, with something of anger in his tones, "you told me you were not at Dukesfield on that night."
Zirknitz shrugged his handsome shoulders. "I told a lie! Oh, yes, I always tell a lie when necessary. I did not know Laura wished me to speak, so I told what was not true. What would you, monsieur? Your questions were indiscreet. My answers were false.Voila!"
"Never mind excusing yourself, Rudolph. What about Mr. Busham?"
"Eh, my dear sister, I believe he killed our poor Moxton! Why not? I saw the excellent Busham in Dukesfield on the night of the death."
Lounging in his chair, Zirknitz made this astonishing statement as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Mrs. Moxton looked at Ellis in surprise, and both looked at Rudolph.
"Is this true?" asked Ellis, doubtfully.
"Eh,mon cher, most assuredly. I tell lies only when necessary."
"Rudolph, you must explain how it was you came to be in Dukesfield on that night."
"My dear sister, did I not say I would come for Janet?"
"Yes, and you never kept your promise."
"No," chimed in Ellis. "Polly Horley said the same thing."
Rudolph smiled in a most engaging manner.
"Ah, that excellent Horley! How much she knows of what she knows not. My sister, have I your permission to smoke?"
Mrs. Moxton impatiently nodded an assent. "But I am waiting to hear how you did not come for Janet and yet were in Dukesfield on that night."
With great deliberation, Zirknitz selected a cigarette from his silver case and lighted it before making any reply. Selfish in his every act, he offered none to Ellis--an omission which troubled that gentleman very little. He had no great love for this egotistical butterfly.
"My Laura," said Rudolph, blowing a whiff of smoke, "on that night I was playing cards in thesalonof the music-hall, and I won twenty pounds from Edgar. He had not the money, but he gave me an 'I O U.' Then, most furious at his loss, he drank and drank till he was as a wild beast. I was going for Janet, and at the station I saw our Edgar; but to avoid him I went in another carriage. At the station of Dukesfield, I tried to run from him; but he saw me and followed;quelle bêtise. There was trouble, and he wished to fight. So when he went home I saw it was foolish to come for Janet, as Edgar would be raging. I took back another train, and a cab to my rooms in Bloomsbury.Voila, the story!"
"Not all the story!" said Ellis. "You have left out the most important part--about Busham."
"Ah, that dear Busham. When Edgar was angry with me on the platform of the Dukesfield station, I see out of my eye's corner that clever advocate. He was watching our dear Edgar, but did not come near him. I knew him. Oh, yes, I knew his face very well."
"I did not know you were acquainted with him, Rudolph!"
"Best of sisters, I do not tell you all I know, or do. Our Edgar one day took me to see the excellent Busham in his office, where they did fight. Oh, I tell you, monsieur, the good Busham sent us away with a flea in our ears. Edgar spoke of his father, and said that Busham was a rogue wanting the money; so we had trouble, and we left very enraged. So I met Busham, the pig," finished Zirknitz, smiling, "and I do not forget his face."
"He was watching Edgar on the night of his death?"
"Oui da!He thought I saw him not, but I did see him.Ma foi, I have quick eyes, Laura, as you well know. He ran out of the station after Edgar, and I am certain followed to kill him."
"About what time was this?"
"On eleven. I did hear the clock of the station strike when I was enraged with Edgar."
"And Moxton was drunk?" inquired Ellis, anxiously.
"He was straight drunk, for he could walk; and cross-drunk, assuredly, since he wished to fight with me. But I care not for boxing," said Mr. Zirknitz, gracefully. "And I go home to bed before twelve of the clock, like a good little boy. Aha, monsieur, you think I kill Edgar, do you not?Eh bien!You demand of my landlady if I was not in my bed before twelve of the clock. I did not kill our poor Edgar. Why should I when he owes me twenty pounds?CherEllis, you are in the wrong box."
"You had better wait until I accuse you before excusing yourself," said Ellis, drily. "But even with this story of Busham having been at Dukesfield, I do not see how you can be certain of his guilt."
"Eh? To me it appears clear. This clever Busham wanted the money of his uncle, and murdered Edgar to get it."
"But, Rudolph, at that time Mr. Busham knew that a second will had been made."
"Most certainly,chèreLaura. If no second will had been made, this excellent Busham would not have killed Edgar."
"We can say nothing for certain until we see Busham," said Ellis, after a pause, "but there is one thing probable, Mrs. Moxton. If Busham accuses you in any way we can turn the tables on him."
"You call on Busham, Laura."
"To-morrow. I must see about the will."
"And the money," smiled Rudolph. "Eh,ma s[oe]ur, forget not the most important thing."
"To you, perhaps, not to me," replied Mrs. Moxton, with contempt. "My object is to get free of all this trouble."
"Of course. I will help you; eh, most certainly. But ask me not to meet the police. I do not like the police. For if--"
"Monsieur Zirknitz," said Ellis, cutting short this speech, "how came it that your name was indicated on the dead man's arm?"
The Austrian was in no wise discomposed by this remark. "Ah, Laura spoke to me of that. I do not know; I cannot say. But I think, ah,ma foi, I think."
"What do you think, Rudolph?"
"My sister, I quarrelled with your good husband at the Dukesfield Station, and he went away enraged with me. When Busham struck him in the back--"
"You can't be sure of that," interrupted Ellis, impatiently.
"Eh, but I am sure," insisted Zirknitz, politely; "and Edgar, not seeing who stabbed him so cruelly, thought that I did so. Then he wrote on his arm to tell Laura."
"But why in cryptographic signs?"
"That I cannot say. The sign of a lizard was always the good Edgar's little jest on me. For my name is that of a town in my country where there are many lizards. Edgar found it in a book and always jested. Very little jests pleased the good Moxton. But now I must go," said Zirknitz, rising. "I have told you all you wish. My sister, do you desire me to speak more? No! My good doctor, have you a policeman without for my arrest? No! Ah, then I will take my leave. Notadieu, dear friends, butau revoir."
When Zirknitz sauntered out of the room, Mrs. Moxton looked after him with a singular expression. "What do you think of him?" she asked.
"He is clever. It is a great pity he does not put his talents to better use."
"Oh," Mrs. Moxton shrugged her shoulders, "I don't ask you about his character. I know about that well enough. But do you think he is speaking the truth?"
"Yes. He has no reason to tell a lie. I daresay he did see Busham."
"And do you think Mr. Busham is guilty?"
"I can't say. We have not sufficient evidence to go upon."
Mrs. Moxton turned the conversation abruptly. "Did you read the will?"
"Yes. I see that all the money is left to you. I will give you back the document to-morrow. What time do you wish me to call?"
"About eleven o'clock. I have written to Mr. Busham making an appointment for mid-day. I am glad you are coming with me," said the widow, sighing; "it will be a difficult interview."
"That remains to be seen. At any rate, we are not so defenceless as we were before. If Busham accuses you--although I don't see on what grounds he can do so--we can denounce him on the evidence of Zirknitz."
"He will deny that he was at Dukesfield."
"Zirknitz can swear to his presence."
"No doubt, but will Rudolph do so? He is so afraid of the police."
Ellis reflected for a moment. "You are not so candid with me as you might be, Mrs. Moxton," said he, seriously, "therefore you render my task the more difficult. But answer me truly now. Has Zirknitz ever done anything for which he is wanted by the police?"
"Not to my knowledge," replied the widow, frankly, "but he is such a coward, and his life is so open to danger, that the very name of the law terrifies him beyond expression. It is for this reason that I am certain of his innocence, and for the same reason I shielded him by feigning ignorance of the cryptogram. But we can talk of these things later. I am tired now."
In this abrupt way she dismissed Ellis, and he left the house sorely puzzled, his constant state of mind in reference to Mrs. Moxton. If he did marry her he would marry the sphinx. That was clear enough.
Mr. Richard Busham inhabited a dingy set of offices in Esher Lane, adjacent to the Temple. His staff of clerks consisted of two under-fed, overworked creatures, who scribbled in an outer room for dear life at a miserable wage. The inner room, which had two dusty windows looking on to Bosworth Gardens, was occupied by their employer. This apartment was piled all round the walls with black tin boxes with the names of various clients painted on them in white. A brass-wired bookcase contained a few calf-bound volumes of legal lore; there was a large table covered with green baize, two chairs, and--nothing else. A more dreary or barren room can scarcely be conceived, but Mr. Busham being a miser, it suited him well enough. He called himself a lawyer, but he was really a usurer, and gained a handsome income by squeezing extortionate interest out of the needy. If the walls of Busham's private apartment could have spoken they would have protested frequently against the sights they were compelled to witness. The Holy Inquisition tortured people less than did this rat of a lawyer. He ground down his victims to the lowest, he lured them into his spider-web, and rejected them only when he had sucked them dry. His law was a farce, his money-lending a tragedy.
The man himself resembled in looks Fraisier, the rascally lawyer so admirably drawn by Balzac in "Le Cousin Pons." Like Fraisier, Busham was small, sickly-looking and pimpled; his expression was equally as sinister, and his heart as hard--that is if he had a heart, which his clients were inclined to doubt. He scraped and screwed, and swindled, and pinched to collect all the money he could; yet what benefit he thought he would gain from this hoarding it is impossible to say. He never spent it, he lived like a hermit, like a beggar, and gratified his sordid pride with the knowledge that he was becoming a wealthy man. And when he arrived at wealth? What then! Busham never gave this consideration a thought, perhaps because he fancied he would never become as wealthy as he wished to be. Altogether the man was an unwholesome, evil creature, who should, for the good of humanity, have been in gaol. But he was clever enough to keep on the right side of the law he so misinterpreted.
At mid-day Mrs. Moxton and Ellis presented themselves before this engaging being, and looked round the frowsy office with disgust. Another chair had to be brought in from the outer room for the accommodation of the doctor, and when his visitors were seated, Busham welcomed them with a nervous titter, which showed that he was not quite easy in his mind regarding the interview. Indirectly he resented the presence of Ellis.
"Well, Mrs. Moxton," said he in a whistling whisper, his usual voice, "is there a will?"
The widow produced the blue envelope and laid it on the table. "There it is," she said, "it leaves all the property to me."
Busham went green and gasped, "All the property to you!" He snatched up the will and hastily read it over. "I see it does," was his answer; then after a pause he cast an evil look on Mrs. Moxton, and opened a drawer of his desk. Evidently he was about to bring forward his accusation.
"Since you have shown me the will, I have something equally interesting to show you," said he, quietly. "What do you think of this, Mrs. Moxton?" And on the table he laid a bone-handled carving-knife, on the blade of which were dull, dark stains of blood.
The widow turned pale when she saw the knife, and, unable to speak, looked at Ellis. The doctor understood that pleading glance and at once threw himself into the breach. "Where did you get this?" he asked Busham, sharply.
The lawyer, scenting an enemy, looked mistrustfully at the speaker out of his rat's eyes. "Your pardon, sir, who are you?" he demanded, with a kind of snarl in his voice.
"I am Dr. Ellis, who examined the body of Moxton. I am also the friend of Mrs. Moxton, and I came here to assist in this interview."
"And suppose I refuse to allow you to assist?"
"In that case, I shall know how to account for your possession of that knife."
Busham gave a kind of screech, and threw himself halfway across the table, shaking with anger. "You dare to insinuate that I killed my cousin?" he asked, in a whisper.
"Why not; you were with your cousin on that night."
"It is a lie!"
"It is the truth!" cried Mrs. Moxton, finding her voice. "Rudolph saw you following Edgar from the station."
"And who is Rudolph?"
"Monsieur Zirknitz, my brother."
"Another of your shady gang. I dare you to--"
"Speak more civilly," interrupted Ellis, starting up, "or I shall twist that lean neck of yours."
At once the innate cowardice of Busham became apparent. Shaking and white, he dropped back into his chair, terrified at the doctor's angry look and menace. Yet, withal, he could not curb his venomous tongue.
"Violence," he gasped. "You do well, Mrs. Moxton, to bring your bully here."
"What! You will have it!" cried Ellis, angrily.
Busham flung himself out of his chair, and shot up one of the dirty windows. "Another step and I call the police," he whispered.
"Do so, and I shall give you in charge."
"Me in charge, and for what?"
"For killing Moxton. You were with him shortly before his death."
With a scared look Busham drew down the window and returned to his desk. "I am safe from your violence I hope?" he said, looking apprehensively at Ellis.
"So long as you are civil to Mrs. Moxton I won't touch you," replied the doctor, coolly, and in his turn sat down.
"He! he!" laughed Busham, nervously rubbing his hands, "it will be as well to conduct this interview quietly."
"I think so," observed Mrs. Moxton, with an expressive glance at the knife, "for your own sake."
"Say rather for yours, Mrs. Moxton."
"What do you mean?"
"He! he! that will take some time to explain. If you would rather be alone with me--"
"Alone with you," repeated the widow, in tones of disgust. "I would rather be alone with a serpent. Dr. Ellis shall stay--at my particular request."
"Dr. Ellis has no intention of leaving," remarked that gentleman, and folding his arms relapsed into a grim but observant silence.
Busham, with a vexed air, scratched his chin with one lean finger. "As you please," said he, with apparent carelessness, "but he will not think much of you when I tell all."
"You know nothing about that," retorted Mrs. Moxton, very pale, but in a steady voice, "and I have come here to learn all. Of what do you accuse me?"
"All in good time, dear lady," said Busham, harshly. "This knife was found by me in your garden, on the morning I called to see you after the murder."
"Are you sure you did not find it there on the previous night?" asked the widow, sneering.
"I was not in the garden on that night."
"Neither was the assassin," interposed Ellis, quickly. "Moxton was stabbed as he stepped in at the gate."
"Or as he turned to close it," retorted Busham, smartly.
Mrs. Moxton held her handkerchief to her mouth and shivered, but with her eyes on Busham's mean face nodded to him to continue. The man, seeing that she had a vague terror of his threats, did so with a chuckle. "Since you know that I was at Dukesfield on that night," he went on, "I admit it. Why should I not? I am innocent and can prove as much. So Monsieur Zirknitz saw me? H'm! I know that scamp; no one better. He called here one day with my cousin to extort money on the plea that I had undue influence over my uncle, but I soon turned the rascals out, I can tell you. I am a dangerous man when roused." Mr. Busham chuckled, and repeated the phrase with relish. "A dangerous man."
"Oh, I daresay," said Mrs. Moxton, with a contemptuous air, which accorded ill with her pale face and uneasy manner. "Dangerous as a fox, or a stoat, or a weasel may be. You belong to the vermin tribe, you do."
"Go on with your story, man," directed Ellis, curtly.
"Civil, civil, oh, very civil," snapped Busham, "but I'll teach you both manners before I'm done with you. At Dukesfield was I? Yes, I was. He! he! do you know what I saw there, Mrs. Moxton? You don't. Well then, I'll tell you, and take this for my fee."
"The will!" gasped Mrs. Moxton, as Busham clawed the document. "I thought that was what you wanted."
"Leave that will alone," growled Ellis, scowling.
Mr. Busham immediately pushed the paper away. "It will come back to me soon," said he, nodding. "Oh, I know, I know."
"What the deuce do you know? Speak out, can't you?"
"Softly, Dr. Ellis, softly, all in good time. Maybe you won't be so pleased with my knowledge when you are possessed of it."
"I am the best judge of that; go on. You were at Dukesfield on the night of August 16th?"
"Yes, I was," cried Busham, with sudden energy. "I received intelligence of my uncle's death, and knowing that a new will had been made, that Edgar was the heir, I wished to inform him of the good news. From that scamp, Zirknitz, I learnt that Edgar went night after night to the Merryman Music-Hall in Soho, so I sought out that place in the hope of seeing him. I did see him," sneered Busham, "and, as usual, he was drunk--not in a fit state to talk business. When he left the hall to go home I followed his cab in another, thinking that the fresh air would sober him. But at Charing Cross underground station he had two more drinks, and, more intoxicated than ever, stumbled into a carriage. I went into another, thinking it best to see him home lest he might come to harm."
"You were very solicitous for the safety of one who had robbed you of a fortune," said Ellis, with a cynical look.
"That's just it," cried Busham, slapping the table with the open palm of his hand, "he was to get the money, and I wished to gain his good will, and take what pickings I could. Half a loaf is better than none, isn't it? If Edgar had lived I would have got the money--somehow. Even you, Mrs. Moxton, would not have prevented that."
"Even I," repeated the widow, bitterly. "Heaven help me, I would have been the last person to prevent your robbery. I never had any influence over Edgar. Go on, Mr. Busham. Did you succeed in ingratiating yourself with my husband by announcing the good news of his father's death?"
"No, I didn't," snarled the lawyer. "I saw him quarrel with Zirknitz on the platform of the Dukesfield station, and then I watched him leave."
"Not only watched him, but followed him," said Ellis.
"Yes, I wanted to see how he would get home. I tried to speak to him, but being drunk he swore at me, and struck out with his cane. Seeing that there was no good to be got out of him in his then state, and that it would be useless to tell him the news, I resolved to defer the appointment until the morning, when I hoped to find him sober and repentant. He went away. I did not follow, but remained for some time talking to a policeman. Then I missed my train, and as I had to get home, made up my mind to take a cab."
"An unusual expense for you," jeered Mrs. Moxton.
"Oh, I wouldn't have taken the cab if I could have walked," said Busham, naïvely, "but I was not strong enough to do so. All the cabs at the station had carried away the theatre people, and I went down the road to the cab-rank in the middle of Dukesfield. There was one cab there. But just as I turned the corner a woman came running down the road and jumped into it. She was crying, and trembling and wringing her hands. I saw her face in the light. It was you, Mrs. Moxton."
"One moment," said the widow, as Ellis was about to contradict this preposterous statement. "I never saw you until after the death of my husband, and you never saw me. How, then, did you recognise me?"
"Oh, that was easy. Edgar gave me your picture."
"I should not have thought that Edgar was sufficiently friendly with you to do that."
"He was when I lent him money," said Busham, quietly.
"Why did you lend him money?"
"Because several times he called on me and threatened to see his father. I did not want him to do that lest he should be forgiven, so I lent him money on condition that he did not go. Uncertain of what his reception would be, he took my bribe and stayed away. On one of those occasions he showed me your photograph, Mrs. Moxton."
"Edgar was forgiven after all," said the widow, ignoring this last remark.
"Yes, but the forgiveness did not do him much good. He! he!"
"Mr. Busham!" burst out Ellis, who could no longer be restrained. "You did not see Mrs. Moxton enter a cab on that night. The lady was her sister."
"I know about the sister," said Busham. "The twin-sister. Zirknitz told me."
"Are you friendly with Zirknitz?" asked Ellis, with unconcealed surprise.
"Very!" retorted the lawyer, with an ugly grin. "I lend him money."
"Lend money to a scamp like that, whom you hate, who will never repay you?"
Busham scratched his chin. "Oh, as to that," said he, "I know what I am about, you may be sure. So it was your sister, Mrs. Moxton? Bless me, how like she is to you; a twin, of course? I see. Why was she crying and flying?"
"She may have cried because we quarrelled on that night," said the widow, in an agitated tone; "but she was not flying. She merely went home."
"To thirty-two Geneva Square, Pimlico? I know! I know!"
"How do you know?"
"Because I picked up another cab and followed her!"
"Why did you do that?"
"I thought she was you, and wished to know where you were going at that hour of the night. Your sister going home? Ah, that explains it."
"So far, so good, Mr. Busham," said Ellis, weary of this talk; "but what about the knife?"
"I called next morning at Myrtle Villa, after hearing of the murder. I searched the garden for traces of the criminal, and found that knife hidden behind some laurel bushes."
"It was not hidden," cried Mrs. Moxton. "It was thrown there by Edgar."
"Ah! you acknowledge that the knife is your property," said Busham.
"Why should I deny it? That knife is ours. It was tossed into the garden by Edgar."
"And this is rust on it, no doubt," said the lawyer, touching the stains. "Not blood, then, Mrs. Moxton?"
The widow rose with an agitated face, and, snatching up the will, thrust it into Busham's hand. "Take it, and say no more," she said harshly.
"Mrs. Moxton! The will!" cried Ellis, jumping up.
"Let him destroy it! Let him take and keep the money!"
"Thank you; and in return I will hold my tongue. If you like you can take the knife," said Busham.
Mrs. Moxton picked it up, thrust it into the pocket of her cloak, and, without a glance at the amazed doctor, left the room. As she did so Busham stepped across to the grate in which a starved fire was burning and deliberately placed the will on the coals. Before Ellis could prevent it, the document was ablaze, and shortly nothing remained but black tinder.
"Now," snapped Busham, pointing to the door, "you can follow her."