After Janet had finished her history there ensued a short silence. Ellis was lost in admiration at the wonderful pluck and resolution of the girl, which had enabled her to face and carry through a difficult matter for the sake of her weaker sister. Now that the worst was over--since she had rescued Laura Moxton from the ordeal of a public accusation--Janet seemed to be in danger of breaking down. After the tension of nerve and will came the inevitable relaxation. The impulse of Ellis was to take her in his arms, and comfort her with assurances of love and protection. But the time was not yet ripe for him to speak of his personal feelings. There was much to do, much to be learnt, before the crooked could be made straight; therefore Ellis, sacrificing self, began to question Janet on points which did not seem quite clear to him. At his first remark she braced herself and gave him immediate attention.
"If you thought that your sister had killed Moxton, why did you not hide the carving-knife?"
"How could I? She threw it away before I could stop her, and there was no time for me to search. When I sent Laura off, I had to call in you and the police, so I could not go out to look for it in the darkness. Next morning, when I could evade the policeman in charge, I slipped out to search. But by that time the knife was gone."
"Busham took it," said Ellis, with a nod. "I wonder how he found it. There was no need for him to search. It looks as though he knew beforehand that with such a weapon Moxton had been stabbed, and came here to secure it."
Janet mused. "I have my doubts of Mr. Busham," she said at last. "He knows more about the matter than he says. Indeed, I should not be at all surprised to hear that he is the guilty person!"
"Impossible! He declares that he can prove analibi--that at the time of the crime he was talking to a policeman, and afterwards followed your sister to Pimlico."
"Have you seen the policeman?"
"No, but I intend to see him as soon as I learn his name or number from Busham."
"He won't tell it to you."
"I can but try, at all events. To do away with my suspicions he may speak out. But, Miss Gordon, I have yet to learn how Edgar Moxton was killed."
"Laura can tell you that," said Janet, rising. "Now that you have heard my story you must listen to what she has to say; then, doctor, you will see how to save her. I was forced into the position I took up."
"I shall be glad to hear Mrs. Moxton's story. Shall I come with you?"
"No, Laura is not so ill as all that; she is merely lying down in the next room and I will bring her in shortly."
She left Ellis alone for a few minutes, which he employed in considering the possibility of Busham being implicated in the crime--indeed, he himself might be the actual criminal. Zirknitz had seen him following Moxton from the Dukesfield Station, and his subsequent acts were related by himself as harmless; but the story of the conversation with the policeman and the following of Mrs. Moxton to Pimlico might be invented to hide the truth. There was nothing to show that Busham had not murdered Edgar, for at that time he was ignorant that Moxton's will was in existence, and by getting rid of his cousin he might hope to clutch a portion of his uncle's money. Ellis made up his mind to do two things--first to see Busham and learn with whom he had been engaged at the time of the crime; second, to interview the policeman hinted at, and discover if Busham was speaking the truth. While he was arguing the necessity of this course in his own mind, Janet returned with Mrs. Moxton leaning on her arm.
The resemblance between the sisters was striking. They were of the same height, their figures were moulded to the same contour, and in face, feature and colouring they were remarkably alike. The difference between them lay in the expression, and in the character of the eye. Laura's glance was soft and wandering, that of Janet steady and calm; the face of Mrs. Moxton was weak, the countenance of Miss Gordon firm. Janet, indeed, seemed to be the masculine counterpart of her sister; she had all the strength of will and resolution of purpose which the other lacked. She was a being of flesh and blood, Laura a shadow, a feather blown by the wind. At the first sight of her face Ellis no longer wondered that she had married a brute like Moxton. She would have married any man had the necessary force of will been exerted. When Ellis beheld this frail creature, when he recalled the evil, scampish nature of Rudolph Zirknitz, he admired Janet more than ever for the wonderful manner in which she had controlled the pair. She was a female Prospero, who ruled at once a weakly, flighty Ariel and a refined Caliban. It must be admitted, however, that the latter part of the above illustration is too severe on Zirknitz, as he was rather a Lazun, a Duc de Richelieu, a Count D'Orsay than the son of Sycorax. However, he was certainly a scamp and dangerous.
Mrs. Moxton, who looked ill and weary, bowed in silence to Ellis, and sank exhausted into the chair vacated by her sister. Janet took a seat beside her and motioned with her head that the doctor should do the same. Ellis obeyed and looked at Mrs. Moxton with some curiosity, but more eagerness, for from her lips he hoped to learn sufficient to indicate the mysterious assassin of Moxton. But the widow, with her eyes fixed on the fire, seemed in no hurry to begin.
"Laura, dear," said Janet, in a coaxing tone, such as a nurse would use to a fractious child, "this is our best friend, Dr. Ellis. He is the only one who can help us out of our difficulties, and I want you to tell him all you remember about Edgar's death."
Mrs. Moxton uttered a low wail, and with a shudder covered her face. When she did speak, it was in so low a tone that Ellis could with difficulty catch what she was saying. "Shall I ever forget that horrible night?" she murmured.
"Tell Dr. Ellis about it, dear," urged Janet, and after a pause Mrs. Moxton did as she was requested. At first her voice was low and nervous, but as she proceeded in the recital it grew powerful. Her nerves responded to the demand made upon them, and gave her a surprising strength of speech in comparison with her frail body. From a physiological standpoint, Ellis was as much interested in her as in the story she told.
"Edgar and I quarrelled on that night about Polly Horley," she began, "for Rudolph told me that he was paying attention to that horrid woman. Edgar swore that it was not true, and I wanted to go to the music-hall to see for myself. He refused to take me and flung out of doors in a great rage. Then Janet came, and her company and conversation calmed me. When she went, and I was left alone, I grew frightened, and got out the carving-knife. I heard Edgar come in at the gate and, not thinking, I ran to open the door with the knife in my hand. When I met him he was on the step, but seeing the knife, and knowing how furious I could be, I suppose he grew frightened. At any rate, he ran back to the gate. I followed, calling out: 'Edgar, Edgar, what is the matter?' When I came up to him he must have thought I meant to strike him, for he was half drunk at the time. His face was white and terrified as I saw in the moonlight; although, as the night was cloudy, that was not very strong."
"I remember the night," interpolated Ellis, "it was windy and rainy, with a fitful moonlight showing through the flying clouds. Well, Mrs. Moxton, what did your husband do when you came up to him?"
"He seized me by the throat," said the widow, hysterically. "I believe that, being half intoxicated, he wished to kill me, and I struggled to get away. But he held me tightly, so that I could not cry out. We were pressed right against the gate. I held the knife above my head, as I was afraid of hurting him with it."
"Why did you not drop it?" asked Ellis.
"I don't know. I never thought of dropping it. The more Edgar fought with me the tighter I held it. He was strangling me, and I could not cry out. Then I saw, all at once, a man on the other side of the gate."
"Could you describe his looks?" asked Ellis, eagerly.
Mrs. Moxton shook her head. "Remember it was a darkish night, with only occasional gleams of moonlight. I was struggling with Edgar, and, holding me by the throat, he had half strangled me. As I said, I held up the knife out of the way. The man on the other side of the gate wore a tall hat and a great coat with a fur collar. I tried to call out to Edgar, but he did not see the man. Suddenly the stranger snatched the knife out of my hand, and struck at Edgar's back. Edgar gave a yell which, I wonder, was not heard all over Dukesfield, so loud it was. He fell forward on me, and crushed by his weight, worn with the struggle, and terrified by the murder, I fainted clean away. The last thing I remember was that Edgar lay over me, struggling and moaning."
"Was the man still at the gate after he struck the blow?"
"I don't know. When I came to myself Janet was bending over me, and I was so frightened that I could explain nothing. After that I picked up the knife which was lying by Edgar's body and flung it over some bushes against the fence. Then Janet hurried me away, and told me she would take my place and deny everything. I was so dazed that I did not know what I was doing. I ran down to the cab-rank and told a cabman to drive me to Pimlico. He did so, and I recovered myself sufficiently in the cab to pay him, and to slip into the house with the latchkey which Janet had pushed into my hand. I knew that she still had our old room, so I ran up to it without seeing anyone, and locked myself in."
"Mrs. Amber told me that you isolated yourself for weeks."
"I did so by Janet's advice, lest Mrs. Amber should recognise me. Janet came to see me a few days afterwards, and told me about the inquest."
"Did you call at Geneva Square?" asked Ellis, turning to Miss Gordon. "That is strange, for Mrs. Amber particularly explained that until a few days ago no one called save Schwartz."
"I paid a visit one night when Mrs. Amber was at the theatre," explained Janet, "and I bribed Sarah, the servant--a most venal creature--to say nothing about it. It was necessary that I should tell Laura what had taken place, and hear her story. Now you know, doctor, why I fenced with you and refused to tell the truth. I was afraid lest my sister should be brought into the matter."
"But Mrs. Moxton is innocent, and you knew it," protested Ellis.
"Yes, I am innocent," wailed Mrs. Moxton, "but what could I do in the face of all I have told you. I cannot hold my tongue like Janet, or foresee things as she does. In one way or another I should have betrayed myself and perhaps have been arrested. Janet was right, Janet was wise to advise me to stay at Pimlico. I feigned ill-health, and would not let Mrs. Amber into my room lest she should get to know too much. Only Sarah knew me, as I had to confide in her to get food. But she held her tongue."
"She nearly betrayed you though, Mrs. Moxton, by taking those cuffs to Mrs. Amber."
"That was a mistake," said the widow. "In touching Edgar's body I got blood on my cuffs, and threw them aside in the bedroom. I never thought of hiding them, and Sarah took them downstairs without consulting me."
"How did you manage to keep up the concealment of your identity to the end?"
"I managed that," said Janet, in her firm, clear voice. "I called when I knew that Mrs. Amber was absent, and told Laura that, on account of Busham, I intended to take her away. When Mrs. Amber came back, of course, she thought that I had been in my bedroom all the time, and that Laura had called for me. She was so deceived," added Janet, smiling, "that she told me how ill I looked after lying so long in bed. But I am afraid I did look ill, with all the worry."
"I don't wonder at it," said Ellis, sympathetically. "I cannot imagine how you have borne up through all the troubles you have had. Few women would have taken another's burden so bravely on their shoulders as you have done, Miss Gordon."
"Indeed, she has been the best of sisters," exclaimed Mrs. Moxton, with tears in her eyes. "Never shall I forget what Janet has done for me."
"At some cost to yourself, dear Laura," said Janet, patting her sister's hand. "After all, my defence of you has cost you your fortune."
"I don't mind in the least, Janet. Let Mr. Busham take all so long as he holds his tongue."
"I fancy Busham will keep silent for his own sake," remarked Ellis, drily, "for I feel certain that he has more to do with this murder than you think."
"You don't believe that he killed Edgar?"
"I might even go so far as that, but I must collect sufficient evidence to justify such belief. However, we can talk of that later. With reference to the destruction of the will, Miss Gordon, you need not worry about that."
"Oh, but I do. Laura will lose her father-in-law's money."
"Not by the destruction of the will, because the original document is in my possession, and what Busham burnt was a copy carefully prepared by myself and my friend Mr. Cass."
"Do you mean to say that the paper Mr. Busham destroyed was not Edgar's will?" asked Janet, while her sister uttered an exclamation of joy.
"I do mean it. I reported your conversation about our mutual friend to Cass, and we both agreed that he was not to be trusted with the original will. Cass, who is clever at imitating handwriting, procured a sheet of paper similar, to that upon which the will was written, and copied it out, signatures and all. I am afraid it was a species of forgery, but as it had to be done if we wished to checkmate Busham, we contrived the crime. It was just as well we did so, Miss Gordon, as Busham had no compunction in destroying the will. My wonder is that a clever pettifogger such as he is could not see that the document was forged. Singular obtuseness on his part."
"If it had remained longer in his possession, he no doubt would have discovered the truth," replied Janet, "but, if you remember, he merely glanced at it, and not crediting me with so clever an idea as substituting a copy for the original, took it for the genuine will. I can never thank you sufficiently, doctor, for what you have done."
"Nor I either," chimed in Laura, who, seeing that there was a prospect of recovering her husband's money, plucked up her spirits. "Now Mr. Busham will not be able to rob me."
"H'm!" said Janet, with a frown, "putting the will out of the question, my dear, you are still in the same dangerous position as formerly. If he finds out the trick Dr. Ellis has played him, he may denounce you."
"He will do so at his own risk," cried Ellis, promptly. "And you may be sure he will never learn the truth from me until it can be told with safety to Mrs. Moxton. Leave Busham to me. I shall know how to deal with him. In some way or another we must clear up this mystery, and exonerate Mrs. Moxton. If there was only some clue."
Janet and Laura looked meaningly at one another. "Thereisa clue, although it is only a slight one," said Miss Gordon, hesitatingly.
"To the identity of the murderer?"
"No, but a clue which may lead to his discovery. When Laura was lying in a faint, the man who stabbed Edgar robbed him of his pocket-book."
"But how could he do that without Moxton recognising him?" asked Ellis. "You know that Moxton did not die at once, but lived long enough to scrawl those blood signs on his arm denouncing Zirknitz. Now, I know that your brother is innocent, as he has established analibiwith the assistance of his landlady, Mrs. Pastor."
"I cannot explain that, doctor, but undoubtedly Edgar thought that Rudolph stabbed him, and so wrote on his arm to let Laura know."
"You can read the cryptogram, I presume, Mrs. Moxton?"
"Oh, yes, I know the signs very well. Janet taught them to me, and I showed them to Edgar for amusement. He, no doubt, wished me to know that Rudolph had stabbed him, but why he used the signs I cannot say. He hated Rudolph always, and would have got him into trouble if he could."
"Well," said Ellis, after a pause, "I can conceive no reason why he acted as he did. I don't suppose the truth will ever be revealed. But about this pocket-book, Mrs. Moxton. How do you know that the murderer took it?"
"I only think so. It was a red Morocco pocket-book with Edgar's initials on it in gold. He had it when he went out that night, and I saw him put it into his breast pocket. When Janet came to Pimlico I asked her if she had seen it, as I thought that there might be some bank-notes in it, and we needed money badly."
"Did he carry money in it?"
"Yes, when he had any."
"On that night were there any notes in the pocket-book?"
"I cannot say. Rudolph declares that he won twenty pounds from Edgar on that night. Edgar could not pay him save with an I.O.U., so I don't think there could have been money in the book."
"Then why should the assassin steal it?"
"Why, indeed!" echoed Janet, who had been silent for some time; "that is what we wish to find out. As Edgar's jewellery was untouched, robbery could not have been the motive of the crime. I believe myself that the pocket-book must have contained some papers of value to the murderer. No person but he could have taken it, for I examined very carefully the clothes Edgar wore when he was killed, and could not find the pocket-book. Dr. Ellis," said Janet, earnestly, "it seems to me that if you can find that book, you will be able to lay hands on the criminal."
"Possibly, Miss Gordon. But in what direction am I to look. In the autumn many men wear fur-lined overcoats, so that is not a strong clue. Moreover, the pocket-book must long since have been destroyed if the murderer valued his neck. No; on the whole I think it will be best to see Busham, as I said before. My movements will depend upon the sort of information he supplies."
"He will tell you nothing."
"Not of his own free will, perhaps, but I maybe in a position to force his confidence."
It was now late, as this conversation between the three had lasted a considerable time. Laura looked so fatigued and ill that Ellis, in his capacity of medical man, insisted that she should retire. "Take as much rest and sleep as you can, Mrs. Moxton, and don't worry. I will help you all I can in this matter, and I have no doubt I shall be able to clear you of all suspicion. Good-night."
Ellis was accompanied to the door by Janet, who was hopeful of his success.
"You will be certain to solve this mystery--you and Mr. Cass," said she. "Think how much you have discovered already by observation."
"And if I do solve it, and right your sister, what then, Miss Gordon?"
Janet laughed, and, in the kindly darkness, blushed. "We can talk of that when the time comes," she said, answering his thought after the manner of women.
With this assurance the doctor was fain to be content, and departed without gaining the kiss of which he had dreamt. Needless to say, he was more in love than ever, and thanked Heaven that he had been brought into contact with so noble and earnest a woman as Janet Gordon. Anxious to hear the result of his friend's visit, Cass was waiting up for him, and into his astonished ears Ellis poured the whole story which exonerated and cleansed Janet. Cass admitted that he had been wrong in his estimate of her character.
"But how was one to read it properly under the circumstances," he said testily. "I could not believe in the woman without proof."
"I did," said Ellis, smiling.
"Because you are in love; yours was not legitimate belief. On the same mad principle you would have trusted Lucrezia Borgia. Still, your experience is sufficiently strange, and I am glad that your instinct has been justified. Miss Gordon, on the face of it, has proved herself a singularly able, and, I may say, a noble woman; but I must see more of her, and learn to know her better before I can rescind my former opinion--that she is not the wife for you."
"To know her is to love her," said Ellis, with deep emotion.
"Ah, you see I don't know her, therefore I cannot love her; if I did you might object. However, the main question at present is how to extricate her and Mrs. Moxton from their equivocal position. Until the assassin is found, and all is made plain, Mrs. Moxton dare not explain our trick to Busham or claim her property. If she did he might be dangerous."
"Can he be dangerous?"
"So far as inclination goes I should say so, but whether he has the power is another question, and one not so easily answered. However, for your satisfaction, Bob, I can tell you that Busham is a liar. While you were at Myrtle Villa I went round to Drake at the Police Office and tried to find out if Busham had spoken to any policeman on that night. If you remember he declared that he held a long conversation with one at, or near, the station. He trusts to that for analibi."
"But Drake does not know Busham; he could tell you nothing, Harry."
"Quite so, but he could tell me who was on duty on that night. I did not inform him of my reasons, save that I was curious on my own account to learn who killed Moxton, so I found out the names of the police on duty that night. Queerly enough their term of service has come round again for night duty, so I went out and questioned at least half a dozen about Busham."
"Well?" asked Ellis, impatiently.
"Well, Busham is a liar; he spoke to none of them, and none spoke to him. They never saw a gentleman of his description about on that night, so I judged that he dodged after Moxton in the shadows to avoid recognition. Now, Bob, your best plan is to see Busham and accuse him; then we shall see if he can bring forward in his defence this supposititious policeman."
"Good. I'll call on our mutual friend to-morrow. But I shall see Zirknitz first."
"What for?"
"To ask him how Busham was dressed on that night. As the police would not recognise Busham by his face, they might by his dress. In that way we can learn if anyone of them saw him following Moxton after they left the railway station."
Having decided upon this course, which, under the circumstances, was the most sensible, both men retired to bed. Next morning, after a further discussion with Cass, the doctor set out for Bloomsbury. As yet he had not many patients, so he could afford the time, but his practice was increasing, and he foresaw that unless he could bring the matter of the murder to a speedy conclusion, he would be obliged to throw it over altogether. But on Janet's account he was unwilling to do this.
As usual, M. Zirknitz was still in bed, and Ellis waited for some time in the gorgeous sitting-room, which its owner--apparently--had created out of nothing. When the Austrian made his appearance he was as lively as ever, and greeted Ellis in his most genial manner.
"Ah, Ellis,mon ami, mon cher, so you have arrived once more. Is it to take me to a prison or to join me atdéjeuner--the latter, I hope; friendship is so much more charming than enmity."
"I have come only to ask you a few questions, Zirknitz; also to tell you something which may astonish you."
"Astonish me!C'est une mauvaise plaisanterie, mon cher. I am never astonished at anything in this best of all possible worlds. You have not readCandide, in which that saying occurs? No. Ah, you should. Voltaire is the most witty of his race.Eh bien!What is your astonishing news?"
"I know your history and that of your sisters, and I have learnt how Miss Gordon took the place of Mrs. Moxton to fight her battles."
"You know that? Ah, well, Janet must have told you. If she did, she is right. Janet can do no wrong. She is the dearest and most excellent sister in the world."
"Are you the best brother to her?"
"I?Mon, ami, I am a scamp. I have no good in me. If I had it would not be so creditable to Janet that she is fond of me. So she has told you all her intrigues. What can I do?"
"Inform me about Busham. You saw him on that night?"
"Oui da!He followed that poor Edgar from the station."
"How was he dressed?"
Zirknitz reflected. "It was cold that night," said he, musingly. "I put on a fur coat. Eh! Ah, yes. Busham had a coat of the same and a tall hat. I can say no more than that."
A fur-lined coat, a tall hat. This was precisely the scanty description given by Laura of her momentary glimpse of the assassin. What if the lawyer, after all, should be the guilty person? Full of excitement Ellis detailed to Zirknitz his suspicions, and cited the fact of the red pocket-book. The Austrian uttered an exclamation of astonishment on hearing that this was missing.
"Edgar, excellent Edgar, had it in his pocket at the music-hall. Eh! yes, I quite remember. He took out the book to show me a bill."
"A bill? What kind of a bill?"
"A bill of exchange or a promissory note. Now you speak,mon cher ami, it all comes back to me. Edgar showed me the name of his father on the bill and declared that it was forged."
"A forged bill!" said Ellis, "and in the pocket-book which was stolen? Ah, this, then, may be the motive for the crime. Zirknitz, did Moxton say who had forged the bill?"
"Eh? No. He said, 'My Rudolph, see what I got from Busham this night.'"
"Busham! Busham! Could he have forged the bill?"
"Eh? No, I think not, or he would not give it to Edgar."
"Still, a forged bill, obtained from Busham, and he followed Edgar out of the station. He wore a tall hat and a fur coat. As the assassin was dressed the same it might be--By Heavens! Zirknitz, I believe that Busham is the guilty person, after all."
Zirknitz shrugged his shoulders, but did not offer an opinion, and as the doctor did not think that there was anything further to be learnt from him, he rose to go. At the door, however, he paused, and made a chance remark which gained him greater results than any of his previous questions.
"I forgot to tell you," said Ellis, "that I have tricked Busham. He thinks that he has a claim to a portion of Mrs. Moxton's property because he destroyed the will. But what he destroyed, M. Zirknitz, was a copy made by me; the original is in my possession."
Rudolph's eyes sparkled. "Then Laura will inherit all Moxton's wealth?"
"Undoubtedly, as soon as she can claim it, without risking any danger from Busham. He knows too much."
"But not as much as I know. Listen,mon ami. I can tell you a great deal about Busham which will help you to save Laura. Eh, yes, I will see that she gets the money of that poor Edgar."
"So that you may get a share of it, I suppose?" said Ellis, drily. Zirknitz laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "But, certainly-- Why not? I am her brother; I need money. If I help her, she must help me. Listen!mon cher."
With this exordium Zirknitz poured forth into Ellis's ears a story about the lawyer and about his own treachery which at once pleased and horrified Ellis. He did not know whether most to hate or admire the scamp; but in the end he decided that it would be diplomatic to hide his feelings, and so ended his visit.
It was in a state of subdued excitement that Ellis left the rooms of Zirknitz. He now seemed to be nearer solving the mystery than he had ever been before. There was no doubt that Moxton had been murdered in order to obtain the forged bill; but Ellis was uncertain in his own mind whether Busham had actually struck the blow. A silk hat and a fur-lined coat was not a distinctive dress on a cold evening for any man--a dozen might wear it. Still, the coincidence of dress was striking. Busham might be the criminal, after all, and Ellis drove directly to Esher Lane for the purpose of satisfying himself on this point.
What the doctor particularly wished to know was who had forged the elder Moxton's name? If Busham had done so he would scarcely have given the bill to Edgar, who had no great love for him. To hand him over an incriminating document and then murder him to get it back again would have been the height of folly. If, therefore, Busham was innocent of the forgery, he would scarcely risk his life in endeavouring to recover the bill. Thus, if anyone had a reason to desire the death of Edgar, it must have been the forger himself. Having committed one crime he certainly would not hesitate to commit a second, if only to conceal the first. This theory was excellent, and Ellis wished to prove its truth. To do so, it was necessary that he should learn the name of the man who had forged the bill. Busham had given the document to Edgar Moxton, as was asserted by Zirknitz, therefore Busham could inform him of what he wished to know. But would he do so? Ellis, for want of experience of the man, could not answer this question, and arrived at Esher Lane in a state of perplexity. However, his head was clear and his will determined--a most necessary frame of mind for anyone who had to deal with so crafty a creature as Busham.
The office was as dingy and dirty as ever. The lean clerks still scribbled interminable folios, and strained their eyes in the uncertain light. From the inner room came the rasping cough of Busham, which showed that he was alive and plotting. Ellis sent in his card, which was received by the lawyer with anything but pleasure. However, he did not think it wise to betray any fear of his visitor, so gave orders that he was to be admitted at once. More than that, he threw into his greeting as much cordiality as was possible with one of his detestable nature.
"I am glad to see you, doctor," said he, pointing to one of the two chairs. "That seems strange, does it not? We had a tiff last time we met here, eh? Quite so. But I never bear malice, not I. How is Mrs. Moxton?"
"The true Mrs. Moxton is quite well."
Busham's naturally pale face became of a greenish hue. "What do you mean with your 'true Mrs. Moxton?'" he demanded, narrowing his eyes until they looked like those of a cat.
"What I say, and what you know. Janet Gordon, to fight her sister's battles, took that sister's place."
"You are well informed," sneered Busham. "On whose authority?"
"I have the best authority. Miss Gordon told me herself."
"How dare you say that I knew of this plot!" cried the lawyer, savagely. "Ridiculous! I know nothing about the sisters."
"That is a lie!" replied Ellis, coolly. "You know everything about them. For months you have been watching for an opportunity to get them into your toils."
"Who says this?"
"Rudolph Zirknitz."
"Bah! that silly fool! What does he know?"
"More than you think," retorted Ellis. "Zirknitz is a scamp, but no fool, and he told me all about the questions you had asked him. He even mentioned the sums of money you have paid him for his information."
"What information?" said Busham, fighting every inch.
"Is it necessary for me to inform you?" questioned Ellis, with icy contempt.
"What information?" repeated the lawyer.
"He told you that the supposed Mrs. Moxton was really Janet Gordon. He betrayed his sisters for money like the contemptible creature he is, and in turn he has betrayed you."
"I don't understand your hint of betrayal."
"I think you do. But if you wish me to be more explicit, I can inform you that Zirknitz saw you following Moxton on that night."
Busham sneered, and his brow cleared. "So you said when Mrs. Moxton--I beg your pardon--Miss Gordon was here. I then admitted that I was at Dukesfield on that night, and gave my reasons for being there. Also, I gave an account of my actions."
"I know you did, Mr. Busham. A very pretty account which did justice to your imagination."
"I told the truth," cried Busham, gnawing his lip.
"No, you did not. You told what suited your purpose. You spoke to no policeman on that night, for those who were on duty then have all been closely questioned. You never followed Mrs. Moxton to Pimlico, but you called there later and bribed the servant, Sarah, to tell you the truth."
"Who says I did?"
"Zirknitz. I am afraid you were a trifle overconfident of his silence, Mr. Busham."
"Zirknitz is a liar!"
"Oh, no, only a traitor who changes sides when he sees a chance of making money."
"He won't make any out of his sisters," growled Busham. "I have burnt that will, and the Moxton property will come to me."
Ellis smiled when he thought on how slight a foundation this belief rested. "Well, we will say nothing about the will But even though you have destroyed it, Mrs. Moxton takes a great portion of her husband's property as his widow."
"She sha'n't have one penny," snarled Busham. "A jade, an adventuress and a murderess! that's what she is. If she refuses to give me the whole of the Moxton property, I'll denounce her. He! he! then she will be hanged."
"I doubt it, Busham. There is a prejudice against hanging women in this country. As to your saying that she killed Moxton, that is a lie, and you know it. The man who murdered your cousin wore a silk hat and fur coat."
"Who says so?"
"Mrs. Moxton herself. She saw the man strike the blow, but could not recognise him."
"Oh, that is an invention to save her neck," scoffed Busham. "A man in a silk hat and a fur coat? Bosh! Who is the man!"
"Well, I am not quite clear on that point," replied Ellis, speaking very slowly, "but I fancied he might be you."
Busham started from his seat with a kind of screech hardly human. "I?" he gasped. "You dare to accuse me of that crime! And on what grounds?"
"You wore a similar dress on the night you followed Moxton."
"Who says I did?"
"Your dear friend, M. Zirknitz."
Busham ground his teeth, and said something not precisely complimentary to the Austrian. After a time he recovered his calmness, but not his colour. "You accuse me of murdering Moxton?" he said.
"Oh, no, I don't accuse you, I merely state that such might be the case."
"Bah! The accusation is not worth considering. What motive could I have for killing my cousin! It is true that his father altered his will at the last moment and left everything to Edgar. What then? I had sufficient influence with him to finger that money, and I certainly intended to do so. Why should I risk my neck to upset all my plans?"
"You might have hoped to get the money after Moxton's death, or, at least, a share of it."
"Don't deceive yourself," snapped the lawyer. "I hoped for none of it. Edgar told me that, after his marriage, he had made a will leaving all to his wife. What motive, then, had I to commit so purposeless a crime. I could manage Edgar because I knew him; but I never met,--I never saw Mrs. Moxton, and could hope to gain no influence over her, especially with that infernal sister in the way. If she--"
"Speak more respectfully of Miss Gordon," interrupted the doctor, angrily. "She is my friend, and I will not permit a word against her. You say that Mrs. Moxton killed her husband. Prove it!"
"She was always quarrelling with him," replied Busham, sullenly. "I know that for a fact, because Edgar told me so. He said that he was afraid of his wife, that she frequently threatened him with the carving-knife. When I heard of the murder next morning I went down to see Mrs. Moxton, as I was certain she had killed Edgar. As I walked up the garden I saw the flash of steel in a laurel bush, and on going to it I found a knife stuck in one of the branches. It was a carving-knife, and there was blood on the blade and the handle. I was certain then that Mrs. Moxton was guilty, but having my own ends to gain I did not denounce her then, but simply slipped the knife up my sleeve and went away. I produced it as you saw to make Miss Gordon--for thanks to Zirknitz I knew my visitor was not Mrs. Moxton--give up the will. She made the exchange and took away the knife. I burnt the will as you saw, and by destroying it could hope to get a portion of the property. Now I mean to have the whole, or else I shall denounce Mrs. Moxton."
"I don't think you'll do that, Busham, for I shall then state that you committed a felony by burning the will. No, no, whatever happens you can't afford to denounce Mrs. Moxton. You might frighten her, and, perhaps--as she is only a woman--Miss Gordon, but you can't frighten me. As to your finding of the knife, Mrs. Moxton threw it into the laurel bush after the murder, but she did not use it."
"You will find it difficult to prove that," snarled Busham, beginning to feel beaten. "If she did not use it, who did?"
"The man in the fur coat, who snatched it from her when she was in her husband's grip."
"And who is the man in the fur coat?"
"I think you know, Busham."
"Indeed, I don't, confound you!"
"At least you know the name of the man who endorsed that bill."
With a gasp the lawyer started out of his chair. "Bill? What bill?"
"The forged bill which you gave to Moxton at the Merryman Music-Hail on the night of the murder."
"I gave no bill. I know of none."
"Oh, yes, you do. Moxton showed the bill to Zirknitz and told him that it was forged on his father. It was placed in a red pocket-book, Mr. Busham, and that pocket-book was stolen from the corpse."
"Lies! Lies! All lies!" raved Busham, stamping. "I know nothing of any bill! I don't know who killed Moxton!"
Ellis did not waste words, but rising to his feet glanced at his watch with a calm air. "I must go now," said he. "I shall give you five days to tell the truth, Mr. Busham. Failing that, I shall place the whole matter in the hands of the police, and re-open the case. Good-day, sir;" and with that last warning Ellis walked out of the room.
With a white face and a haggard expression, Busham sat for an hour or more in his chair. Twice one of his clerks opened the door and looked in, but awed by the expression of terror in the lawyer's eyes, withdrew. At last Busham wiped his brow, which was beaded with perspiration, and rose to his feet. "Shall I fly or stay?" he asked himself; then, bringing down his fist on the table, he cried: "No, by Heaven! I'll stay and fight it out!"
In compliment to the great poet of his nation, Herr Schwartz dignified his English home with the name of Goethe Cottage. It was a one-storeyed house of no great size, built somewhat in the style of a bungalow, and standing in a fairly large garden, at the bottom of a ruralcul-de-sac, termed Alma Road. Shortly after his visit to the lawyer, Dr. Ellis called at this place, and having advised Schwartz of his coming, found the German and Captain Garret awaiting his arrival. So eager were they to welcome him that they appeared at the gate before the bell ceased to jingle.
"Mine goot doctor," cried Schwartz, beaming, with outstretched hands, "you haf gome at last to zee boor liddle Hilda!"
"Glad to see you, Dr. Ellis," said Garret, jerking out his words in abrupt military style. "We have long expected your visit. Come in."
The three walked towards the house through a theatrical-looking garden, with many coloured glass balls ranged on squat pedestals along the borders of the flower-beds. There was also a tiny fountain, in which a small Triton spouted a smaller stream of water out of a conch-shell, an arbour fiery red with Virginia creeper, and wide walks of white pebbles, which threw back a glare, even under the pale rays of the late autumn sun. The house was surrounded by a wide verandah with gaily-striped red and white sun-blinds, cane lounging-chairs and marble-topped iron tables. Within, Ellis found the place luxuriously furnished, but also theatrical in taste, and he was shown into a drawing-room where intrusive colours of scarlet and magenta inflicted torture on a sensitive eye. Schwartz had money and a love of comfort; but the complacent way in which he looked round this terrible apartment showed that he was absolutely without the artistic sense. A woman might have softened the general glaring effect of the room; but the only woman in the house was blind, and could have no idea of the crude, ill-matched colouring by which she was surrounded.
When they sat down Ellis looked at his companions, and was astonished how ill Schwartz appeared to be. Garret, as formerly, was haggard, lean and gentlemanly, with the same military bearing and bored expression. Evidently he was a man who had, as the saying is, "gone the pace," and now, in his middle age--he was between forty and fifty--lacked vitality and zest. As usual he was carefully dressed, and looked eminently well-bred and well-groomed beside his patron and friend. Schwartz himself was less complacent and jolly, also he was lean in comparison with his former portly figure, and his clothes hung loosely on his limbs. Instead of his face being smooth and red, it was now pallid, and wrinkled, and although he attempted to be his usual happy self, the attempt was an obvious effort. Occasionally he stole a troubled glance at the Captain, but that gentleman hardly looked at him and manifested supreme indifference. Only when the conversation had to do with Hilda did he wake up and take any interest in what was going on.
"You are not looking well yourself, Herr Schwartz," said Ellis, when the trio were seated and refreshments had been produced by the hospitable German.
"Ach! I am ferry vell," replied Schwartz, hastily. "The hot dimes of the zun haf made me thin, and I haf moch thinking apout the liddle Hilda."
"Oh, you must keep up your spirits about that. I may be able to restore her sight. Was she born blind?"
"No," interposed Garret. "Took notice like other children for a few weeks, but afterwards the sight went. Do you think you can cure her?"
"I must make an examination first. It is impossible for me to give an opinion before then."
"Das is right, doctor. You vill zee the liddle Hilda at vonce. I would gif all my moneys if you could make her zee."
"You are very fond of her, Herr Schwartz?"
Tears came into the German's eyes, for after the manner of his nation he was emotional and sentimental and easily touched. "The liddle Hilda is the light of mine life," he said, in tones of deep feeling. "I haf lofed her for years, and she is to me mine own child. I am her zecond vater."
"Father and mother and everything else," jerked Garret. "Much better than a scamp like me."
"No, no," protested Schwartz, but with a ring of insincerity in his voice, which Ellis at once detected. "You are a goot man, mein frind."
"Can I see Miss Garret now?"
"Dis ferry moment," cried the German, getting up in a violent hurry. "Will you gome with me, doctor? And you, Garret?"
"I shall stay here, Schwartz. Better have as few in the room as possible, or Hilda will be nervous."
"Ach! is dat zo? Then I vill not sday. Gome, doctor."
The room at the back of the house, into which Schwartz introduced Ellis, was like a fairy palace. A large, airy, high-roofed apartment, decked and furnished with rainbow hues. Chinese paper of the willow-plate pattern figured on the walls, curtains blue as a midsummer sky draped the French windows, the carpet was of the same cerulean tint, and the furniture was upholstered in azure and white. Hothouse flowers were placed in every corner, there was a grand piano, and many birds in gilded cages made the room re-echo with tuneful strains. The windows were many and large, admitting ample light, and looking out on to a velvet lawn bounded by a tall hedge of laurel. Ellis had never seen a more pretty or cheerful apartment, and felt sad at the irony which placed amidst all this beauty and light so attractive to the eye a blind girl. She was seated at the piano when they entered, but rose when she heard the door open.
Hilda Garret was tall for her age, in spite of the tender diminutive bestowed on her by Schwartz. Her face was as pale as marble, and as beautiful as that of the Venus de Medici. Indeed, in her white robe, with pallid face and still looks, she was not unlike a statue. The lack of eyesight took away all expression, and she lived and moved in a world of shadows. Ellis was profoundly touched by her beauty and helplessness, and by the tender little cry she uttered when Schwartz took her hand.
"Mine lofely laty, I haf brought Dr. Ellis to zee you. He is mine goot friend, and glever. He vill mak you to zee, mine heart."
"Oh, doctor," said Hilda, clasping her hands, and speaking in a low, but musical voice, "can you give me back my sight?"
"That I cannot say as yet," replied Ellis. "I cannot perform miracles. If your sight can be restored, I hope to restore it. But I must first ask you a few questions and examine your eyes."
"Aha! I vill go away."
"No, no, papa, you must stay. I wish my father would come in also. I want him to hold my hand and give me courage."
"Zo!" replied Schwartz, with a sad expression at this preference. "Vait, mine liddle Hilda, I vill pring your vater to you."
Hilda nodded and a charming smile overspread her pale face. When Schwartz left the room she asked Ellis to let her pass her hand over his face, as she wished to know his looks. Ellis readily consented, and Hilda, with the delicate touch of the blind, ran her fingers over his features. "You are nice-looking," she said naïvely, when this was done. "I like nice-looking people."
"Thank you," answered Ellis, laughing. "I am obliged for the compliment, Miss Garret. And now I must ask you a few questions."
To this Hilda readily consented. It is not necessary to set forth the conversation or examinationin extensor, as the questions were purely technical.
Captain Garret entered, and held Hilda's hand while Ellis made an examination of her eyes. This took some time, but was unsatisfactory, as Ellis could not bring himself to pronounce an opinion. Privately he thought that he could cure the cataract by an operation; but lacking the self-confidence which a great man should have, he hesitated to express his private views.
"I must make another examination," he said, after an exhaustive conversation, "before I can commit myself to an opinion. Yet I think I can give you some hope."
"Oh, father!" Hilda uttered the words in a thrilling voice, and Ellis glanced at Captain Garret. He did not look pleased; indeed he frowned and withdrew his hand from that of his daughter. It occurred to Ellis that the Captain did not wish Hilda to regain her sight. The expression of anger was only a flash, but Ellis saw it, and gained the above impression. Had Schwartz been in the room, the Captain might have controlled himself better, but Schwartz had not returned after Hilda's cry for her father. Even on his short acquaintance, Ellis could not but think how the good German must have suffered from his voluntary exclusion from his darling. However, Garret said nothing at the moment, and the doctor addressed himself to Hilda.
"I shall come and see you in two or three days," he said. "But you must keep yourself cheerful and not mope. Have you no companion?"
"Schwartz and myself," put in Garret.
"I mean no female companion?"
"Janet Gordon comes to see me sometimes," said Hilda. "I am very fond of her. She is so kind and good. I wish she would come again."
"She shall come again, Miss Garret. I will speak to her myself."
Garret uttered an exclamation. "Do you know her, doctor?"
"Very well. She is staying at Myrtle Villa with her sister, Mrs. Moxton."
"H'm!" said the Captain, with a glance at Hilda. "I don't know if Schwartz will like her to come here again."
"Why not?"
"I will tell you outside, or perhaps Schwartz will tell you himself."
"But I want Janet to come," cried Hilda, piteously. "I love her!"
Again the flash of anger passed over Garret's face, but he only patted her hand softly. "If Schwartz permits her to come, she shall come," he said; "and now, doctor, we had better go."
"I think so. Good-bye, Miss Garret. I may be able to cure you, and if you want Miss Gordon, you shall have her for a companion."
"Thank you, doctor, thank you," and as they left the room Hilda began to play a triumphal march on the piano. The words of Ellis had inspired her with hope and confidence.
Captain Garret immediately addressed the doctor when they left the room. "I could not speak to you plainly, in there," he said abruptly, "but I have the strongest objection to Miss Gordon coming here."
"On account of the murder?"
"Yes. Hilda knows nothing of that, therefore I did not explain. If Miss Gordon is her companion, she may hear of the crime; and think of the shock it would be to her delicate nerves!"
"She will never hear anything of the crime from Miss Gordon. That lady is most discreet."
"She is clever, I don't deny, doctor--too clever, in my opinion. But she is shady. She sold programmes at the Merryman Music-Hall; she is not the kind of companion I should choose for my daughter."
This came well from Captain Garret, who had been cashiered for cheating, who lived on another man's money, and who was an out-and-out adventurer. Ellis felt such a contempt for him that he did not argue the question. "Let us hear what Herr Schwartz has to say," he said.
"Schwartz will be of my opinion," said the Captain, gravely.
But here, it appeared, Garret was wrong. Schwartz listened attentively to the recommendation of Ellis that Miss Gordon should be brought to Goethe Cottage as a companion for Hilda. His face grew a shade paler to the doctor's attentive eye, and he appeared to be uneasy. After a sharp glance at Ellis, he made up his mind and spoke it.
"Miss Corton shall gome!" he declared decisively.
"Schwartz!" said Garret, in a warning tone, whereat the usually placid German flew into a rage.
"I say she shall gome!" he cried, in his deepest tones. "Chanet is a goot girl; she vill not dalk of murders and wickednesses. She is glever!"
Garret muttered something not precisely complimentary to Janet, and turned away. The German looked after him with an anxious expression; but finally turned to Ellis with a look of relief. "Dell Chanet to gome," he said, "but she must zay notings of the murders."
"I'll answer for her there," said Ellis, cheerfully.
"And you can make right the liddle Hilda?"
"I think so; but I can answer you for certain next time I come. I shall bring Miss Gordon with me," and so, in spite of Captain Garret, it was arranged.