"Out of the night, and into the light,Comes the doer of evil deeds.Out of the light, and into the night,With a sin on his soul he speeds.But the hemp is sown, and the tree is grown,That will hang him high as a murderer known,Himself hath planted the seeds."
"Out of the night, and into the light,
Comes the doer of evil deeds.
Out of the light, and into the night,
With a sin on his soul he speeds.
But the hemp is sown, and the tree is grown,That will hang him high as a murderer known,
Himself hath planted the seeds."
To be an amateur detective requires a certain amount of capital. There are people "who know" to be discovered, and a search after them cannot be successfully conducted without money; and when the people "who know" are brought under the eye of the inquirer, they frequently decline to speak unless well paid for their information. Money, therefore, is essential to the success of solving a mystery, and when Archie Maxwell sat down calmly to consider the aspect of affairs, he found himself at once face to face with the question of funds.
He was young, he had talents, he had a profession; so with all these endowments looked forward to making a fortune, which is the ambition of every well-constituted youth in this age of gold. Unfortunately, like the magical draught of Mephistopheles, time is required to make money, and as every moment was of importance in finding out the mystery of Sir Rupert's death, Archie could not waste four or five years in getting together sufficient to prosecute his inquiries. It was true that he was engaged to go out to Buenos Ayres at the end of the year, but the firm who employed him were hard to deal with, and refused to let him draw in advance of his salary. Toby was not well off, so he could not apply to him for aid, besides which that young man was already on his way to the Antipodes; so Mr. Maxwell found himself with comparatively little money in the bank and a difficult case to solve without funds.
Luckily Archie was of a very sanguine nature, and hopeful in a Micawberish sense of "something turning up;" so making up his mind to at all events make a start in the affair, he collected all the newspaper reports of the inquest, and made himself thoroughly acquainted with the ins and outs of the baronet's death.
It appeared, from the evidence of the butler, that on the night of the murder Sir Rupert had informed him that he would be sitting up late in his study, looking over some papers, and that the household could go to bed at their usual time. Sir Rupert appeared cheerful, but somewhat preoccupied, and went into his study shortly after dinner. The butler, according to his instructions, locked up all the house, leaving the hall lamp burning for Sir Rupert to put out, and then, with the rest of the servants, retired to rest. He heard no pistol-shot, no sounds of any one being in the house, and knew nothing about the terrible event which had taken place until the next morning.
The housemaid stated that she had entered the study, according to her usual custom, to put it to rights, and had there found the body of her master lying half in and half out of the French window, which was open. Her shriek of terror brought her fellow-servants to the spot, and the police were sent for but she knew nothing more.
Miss Pethram deposed that her father had said good-night to her shortly after dinner, and had retired to his study to attend to some business. She remained in the drawing-room for some time with Mr. Dombrain, her father's solicitor, who was then staying in the house, and retired to bed about nine o'clock, as she had a bad headache. She had heard no pistol-shot during the night There was nothing in her father's demeanour that led her to think he contemplated suicide.
Mr. Dombrain, the dead man's solicitor, said that he had come down to Thornstream in order to witness the signing of Sir Rupert's will. The signing took place in the afternoon, and at night the baronet went to his study to look over some papers. He (witness) offered to accompany him, but Sir Rupert refused, as he said it was not necessary. Miss Pethram retired to bed about nine o'clock, and as he was left alone, he also retired half an hour afterwards. Sir Rupert never gave him the least idea that he contemplated suicide--in fact, on the night of the murder he seemed very cheerful. Witness was a very heavy sleeper, but he certainly had heard no pistol-shot during the night, and it was only next morning that he learned about the crime.
Mrs. Belswin, chaperon to Miss Pethram, gave her evidence, which was rather important, as she was the last person who saw Sir Rupert alive. She had been engaged when Sir Rupert was in New Zealand, and on his arrival had gone up to London on business. She only returned on the day when the crime was committed, and went to see Sir Rupert in his study between eight and nine o'clock. She only had a short interview with him, as they had nothing particular to talk about, and had gone up to her room shortly after nine o'clock. Knowing that Miss Pethram had retired with a bad headache, she did not disturb her, but went straight to bed. Some of the servants might have noticed her going upstairs to her room; she did not know. Sir Rupert was a complete stranger to her. He seemed well and cheerful; certainly the idea of suicide never crossed her mind for a moment. She heard no sounds of a struggle nor any pistol-shot, and knew nothing of the committal of the crime until next morning.
The doctor's evidence was to the effect that the deceased had been shot somewhere between ten and eleven o'clock at night. The bullet, penetrating the right eye, had entered the brain, causing death almost instantaneously. From the slanting upward direction of the bullet from the eye towards the back part of the head he would think the pistol or gun had been fired from a low position. According to his idea, the murderer had been crouching behind some shrubs on the terrace. Sir Rupert came to the window, and, as the study was lighted, his form would be clearly defined against the brilliant background. This was the opportunity chosen by the assassin, who had fired from the crouching position he occupied, so that the bullet had travelled upwards and penetrated into the brain through the right eye.
During the evidence of this witness the bullet was produced to the Court, and afterwards the Coroner summed up. Going on the evidence produced, the jury brought in a verdict of murder against some person or persons unknown. In addition to this bold report of the case, there was a short leader, which theorised a great deal, but ultimately came to the conclusion that nothing could be done to unravel the mystery, and (as usual) complimented the police on their vigilance, a compliment wholly undeserved, as, from all appearances, the case had been conducted in a singularly slip-slop fashion, utterly unworthy of English justice.
Being an engineer, Maxwell was consequently a mathematician, therefore, having been trained in that exact science, he had a singularly logical mind. Two and two, according to his way of looking at things, made four, but in this instance he was doubtful as to whether they did so. Everything in connection with the case was wrapped in mystery, and there seemed to be no one on whom suspicion could rest. All the people present in the house on the night in question had given satisfactory accounts of their movements, except, perhaps, Mrs. Belswin, and the only possible suspicion against her was that she had been last in the company of the dead man.
This was all very well, but the committal of a crime pre-supposes a motive, and as Mrs. Belswin, according to her own account, was a complete stranger to Sir Rupert, it would certainly be very foolish to even hint such a thing against her. She had seen the baronet, spoken to him for a few minutes, and then retired to bed. Nothing could be simpler, and whosoever had a hand in the murder it was certainly not Mrs. Belswin, so Archie dismissed this fancy as a foolish one.
The curious part about the whole affair was that no one had heard any report, and, as Sir Rupert had been shot the sound of the weapon employed would certainly have been heard. Yet all present in the house averred that they heard nothing; which was, to say the least, very peculiar.
Judging from the evidence of the doctor, Sir Rupert was shot from the terrace, which argued that the assassin must have been a stranger to the house. With this idea in his head, Maxwell wondered whether any suspicious stranger had been about the neighbourhood at that time, and made up his mind to inquire. Sir Rupert, from all accounts, was not a loveable character, and, in fact, his conduct towards Maxwell had been anything but courteous, so that he was just the kind of man to have enemies. This being the case, what was more probable than that some man or woman whom he had wronged had followed him to Thornstream and revenged themselves by killing him. It was rather a wild idea, still it seemed the only feasible one, so Maxwell made up his mind to go down to Deswarth, ask the hospitality of the vicarage for a few days, and make inquiries regarding what strangers had been to the village on that fatal day.
This was the conclusion he came to, but then the assertion of every one that they had heard no shot was puzzling, and the more Maxwell thought the more puzzled he became.
Suddenly an idea struck him and he jumped to his feet.
"I have it," he cried, "it was an air-gun."
"Nothing appears,All is concealed;Chance interferes,All is revealed."
"Nothing appears,All is concealed;Chance interferes,All is revealed."
It was a great idea, and one which had never entered the brains of the detectives employed in the case, so Maxwell looked upon it as an earnest of success. He told no one about it, not even Mrs. Belswin, nor Kaituna; but informing them that he was called out of town for a few days on business, made his preparations for going to Deswarth, and finding out all particulars regarding the case which had not come to light at the inquest.
Then Chance interfered.
On the morning of his departure he was having breakfast at his rooms, intending to catch the eleven train to Deswarth, when his departure was postponed indefinitely by the appearance of a visitor.
And the visitor was Mrs. Belk.
She sent up her name to Archie, who told the servant to admit her, wondering on what errand she had come--never for a moment thinking that she could have anything to do with the Deswarth tragedy.
Mrs. Belk entered, neatly dressed in her widow's garb, with her mean evil face looking smug and placid under the white frill of her widow's cap. On seeing Archie she curtsied in an old-fashioned way, and, with the natural deference of the lower orders, waited for him to speak first.
"You wish to see me," he said, looking at her in some surprise, for such an odd figure had never before entered his chambers.
Mrs. Belk, with another curtsey, signified that she did wish to see him, and had come to London for that purpose. This reply having been made, she shut her mouth with a snap, and waited, still giving no hint of her errand.
"Will you not be seated, Mrs.--Mrs.----"
"Belk, sir," said the woman, seeing that Archie was at a loss, "perhaps, sir, you may know my son, Samson Belk."
"Oh, yes! the good-looking bailiff," replied Maxwell, carelessly. "Is he your son?"
"He is, sir," answered Mrs. Belk, her heart swelling with pride at hearing the eulogy on her son's good looks. "He was bailiff to Sir Rupert, but now he is bailiff to the new baronet, Sir Thomas Pethram."
"Indeed. I'm very glad his prospects are so good," said Archie politely, wondering what all this domestic history had to do with him.
"His prospects ain't good, sir; and that's why I've come up to see you."
"But, my good woman, what can I do?" cried the young man in amazement.
Mrs. Belk wriggled in her chair, sniffed significantly, and went on talking apparently in a manner most irrelevant to the subject in hand.
"Sir Thomas," she said, with snappy deliberation, "is a hard man. Sir Rupert was hard, there's no denying, and my boy--who is proud--didn't get on with being crushed. If Sir Rupert hadn't died he would have left his service; but as he did die, and Sir Thomas asked him to stay on--he knowing all the ins and outs of the place--he did so, thinking Sir Thomas would be a better master."
"And he was disappointed?"
Mrs. Belk nodded her head emphatically.
"You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear," she said, sententiously; "and that's what Sir Thomas is. A hard gentleman, sir, who thinks my boy is a slave; so we are going to leave his service."
"But, Mrs. Belk," observed Archie, rather puzzled, "what on earth has all this got to do with me?"
"I'm coming to that, sir," replied the woman, imperturbably; "me and my boy wondered what we'd do when we left Sir Thomas; for situations, Mr. Maxwell, are hard to get--especially for poor folks like us."
Maxwell nodded an assent, and waited until she came to the reason of her visit.
"In the papers," pursued Mrs. Belk, with a faint smile of triumph on her pale face, "me and my boy saw that strong men was being exhibited in London, and all the gentry was mad on 'em."
"Yes, I believe that is the case. This strong man craze is in all the music-halls."
"My son, sir, is called Samson, and he is as strong as a horse."
"Yes, I know that," said Archie, with the cordial admiration of physical strength which one Englishman feels for another. "He is tremendously strong. I've seen him do some wonderful things. Well, and your son proposes to come up to London and exhibit his strength."
"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Belk, with a look of triumph; "he does, sir. It's my idea."
"I've no doubt it's a good one. While the craze lasts he may make money; but after----"
"I'll take care of the money, sir," answered Mrs. Belk, grimly. "He'll make hay while the sun shines, and I'll take care when the sun doesn't shine that we'll have something to live on."
"Do you want me to help you in this, then?"
"In a sort of way, sir; but not for nothing."
Maxwell smiled.
"Really, I don't know what you can do for me."
"You wait, sir, and I'll tell. To git a start in London requires money, and me and my son want fifty pounds to give us a start."
"Indeed. I'm afraid I can't advance the money."
"So you say now, sir; but when you know what fifty pounds 'ull buy, perhaps you will."
Archie's curiosity was now fully aroused, owing to the significance of her words. There was evidently something important behind all this apparently idle preamble, and he waited with some anxiety as to what she was going to tell him.
"You are engaged to Miss Pethram, sir, I'm told," said Mrs. Belk, abruptly.
"Yes, I am. What then?" replied Maxwell rather haughtily, not liking his private affairs being mentioned by a complete stranger.
Mrs. Belk bent forward in a mysterious manner, touched him on the knee, then flung herself back in her chair with a searching look.
"Has she found out who killed her father?"
"Good God!"
Maxwell jumped to his feet with an ejaculation, and, one hand grasping the back of his chair, stood looking at the mean figure before him in silent amazement.
"What do you mean?" he demanded in a stifled voice.
The woman carried an obtrusive black leather bag, of no small size, with a metal clasp, and this she shook slowly at him as she replied to his question.
"In here," she said, in her monotonous voice--a voice that neither rose nor fell, but kept on droning constantly in the same dreary monotone--"in here I have something which may lead to the discovery of the criminal."
Maxwell gasped. Was chance going to reveal the secret which he had been so afraid was a secret for ever? He had been about to go down to Deswarth on an apparently hopeless quest, without anything to guide him to a conclusion; and lo! at the very time when he was starting, this woman appeared from the clouds with the asseveration that she knew something which would be a sure guide to the revealing of the mystery.
"In that bag?" he said, mechanically, looking at it in a fascinated fashion. "In that bag?"
With a cry of relief he advanced and stretched out his hands eagerly.
"Give it to me! What is it? Give it to me?" The woman put the bag behind her back with a frown.
"No," she answered, in the same passionless voice. "Nothing for nothing. I have told you what I wanted. Give me fifty pounds, and you shall have it."
"But what is it?"
"A clue to the man who committed the murder."
"Give it to me at once!"
"Certainly--when I get fifty pounds." Maxwell reflected. He was not a rich man, and fifty pounds was a great consideration to him. Still, in his search he would probably spend that amount, and by giving it to this woman he would perhaps learn the name of the criminal at once, so it would be better to save time by acceding to her demand, and thus arrest the assassin before he had time to leave the country. Therefore he made up his mind to give it to her, and secure the evidence she said was in the bag; but first he tried to find out exactly what that evidence was worth.
"Do you know who committed the murder?"
"No, I do not. I found something which I think belongs to him, and may lead to his detection. You shall have it for fifty pounds."
"Why do you come to me?"
"You are engaged to Miss Pethram, and it is to your interest to find out who killed her father. Besides, you will pay me money. If I went to Sir Thomas or to Sir Rupert's solicitor, they would probably refuse to give me a penny, and I want the money for my son."
"If I give you a cheque for fifty pounds you will give me this--this--whatever it is you have in your bag?"
"I will; but I don't like cheques. I'd rather have the money in gold."
"You mistrust me?"
"I don't like cheques," reiterated Mrs. Belk, doggedly.
Maxwell reflected a few moments, then made up his mind what to do, and rang the bell. When the servant who attended to all the chambers in the building entered, he handed him a cheque for fifty pounds, made payable to bearer, and drawn on the Piccadilly Bank, a branch of which was not far distant.
"Take a hansom and cash this at once--gold. Will you be long?"
"About ten minutes, sir."
The servant departed, and Maxwell turned to Mrs. Belk, who observed ail these doings with a satisfied smile.
"You see I am treating you fairly," he said quietly; "and when the messenger returns I will place those fifty pounds in your hands."
"Very well, sir. In return I will give you what is in here,"
"I do not like this distrust!" cried Maxwell, angrily.
"I am a country woman, sir; I know nothing of London ways."
She was evidently obdurate, and there was silence for a few minutes. Then Archie made another attempt to extract information from her.
"Where did you find this--whatever it is?"
"I will tell you, sir, when you have it in your hands."
"Do you know to whom it belongs?"
"No, sir."
"It seems to me that I am paying a heavy price for what is of comparatively little value."
"I may be able to tell you something in addition to giving this to you."
"Likely to be of service in connection with it?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Humph! Is this clue which you have of value?"
"To you, yes."
"Of pecuniary value, I mean?"
"Yes, it is valuable."
"Then why did you not sell it instead of giving it to me for fifty pounds?"
"Sir," said Mrs. Belk, coldly, "I am an honest woman. The thing is not mine to sell. Money obtained dishonestly brings no good luck, and as this money is for my son, I do not wish it to be cursed."
"The fifty pounds I now give you may be the price of a man's blood. You are strangely scrupulous. You will not steal, but you will hang a man."
"If he is guilty he deserves to die. Credit rather than blame is mine for handing him over to justice."
Maxwell looked curiously at her.
"You speak above your station in life."
"Very probably," replied Mrs. Belk, indifferently. "I have had some education."
This strange dialogue was interrupted by the entrance of the servant, who handed Maxwell fifty pounds in gold and then took his departure. The young man placed the money on the table and motioned to Mrs. Belk.
"Count it, please, and see if it is correct."
Mrs. Belk eagerly advanced towards the table, and dividing the money into tens, counted it rapidly. Having done so, she took a small canvas bag out of her pocket and put the gold into it.
"That is all right, sir," she said, with a sigh of relief, opening the black bag. "You have behaved like a gentleman; I have the money I want, and you have in exchange--this."
"This" was a small diamond pin in the shape of a star, with eight points, and Maxwell took it in his hand with a sensation that he had seen it before.
"Ah!" he said, thoughtfully, turning it over in his hands, "this is the thing I have bought for my fifty pounds."
"Yes, sir."
"It is worth about twenty, I should say," said Maxwell, resuming his seat. "But doubtless the story attached to it will render it more valuable."
"There is no story, sir," replied Mrs. Belk, who had placed the gold in her obtrusive black bag. "Simply this: I found that on the terrace of the Hall on the morning after the murder. It was lying close to the window."
"Indeed! And you think----"
"I think that it was dropped by the man who murdered Sir Rupert."
"How do you know it was a man?"
"That is a gentleman's scarf-pin, sir."
"Hah!" cried Maxwell, with a sudden start, "I know now where I saw it."
"You saw it, sir?" asked Mrs. Belk, eagerly.
"Yes, on the scarf of the man I----never mind, I may be mistaken. Did you tell your son you had found this?"
"No, sir. I wished to surprise him with the money. I have told no one except you."
"I'm glad of that. Well, I think I have an idea; but surely he cannot be guilty of the murder."
"Who, sir?"
Maxwell, who had risen to his feet, looked at her keenly.
"Have you any idea of whom I am talking?"
"None in the least, sir."
The young man walked to the other end of the room, then retraced his steps slowly.
"Mrs. Belk," he said, after a pause, "do you know if there were any strangers in Deswarth on the night of the murder?"
"Only one, sir. A furriner at The Chequers, and he went away next morning."
"Do you think he knew Sir Rupert?"
"I do not know, sir. All I know is that I found that scarf-pin near where the murder was committed. If it belongs to the furriner, he killed Sir Rupert."
"What was he doing at Deswarth?"
"I do not know, sir."
"Humph! Well, say nothing about this to any one, Mrs. Belk. I will see you again when I come down to Deswarth."
"You are coming down to Deswarth, sir?"
"Yes, to find out who killed Sir Rupert."
"I think you'll find him in London, sir," said the woman, with a grim smile, as she stood with her hand on the door. "Good-morning, sir."
"Good-morning."
Maxwell stood a long time looking at the pin.
"Yes," he said aloud, "it certainly belongs to that man."
He had seen it in the scarf of Ferrari in the morning he met Mrs. Belswin at the Deswarth station.
"Woman, this strangerKnows not thy shame;Yet there is dangerHears he thy name."Hide it, conceal it,Heed not the cost;Breathe it, reveal it,And thou art lost."
"Woman, this strangerKnows not thy shame;Yet there is dangerHears he thy name.
"Hide it, conceal it,Heed not the cost;Breathe it, reveal it,And thou art lost."
The diamond scarf-pin had been found on the terrace of Thornstream by Mrs. Belk, so the man to whom it belonged must have been there on the night of the murder, and the owner thereof, according to Maxwell's firm conviction--on the testimony of his own eyes--was none other than the stranger who had been in the company of Mrs. Belswin at the Deswarth station. The first thing, therefore, to be done was to find out who this stranger was, and demand from him an explanation of his presence at Thornstream on that fatal night.
Maxwell, however, did not know this man whom he suspected of being a murderer; he did not even know his name; but he could discover all about him in two ways, one of which was doubtful, the other certain.
The doubtful way:
To go down to Deswarth and inquire from the landlord of The Chequers the name, position, and business in the village of the man who had stayed at the inn. This was doubtful in this way: that supposing the stranger had come to Deswarth to commit this crime, he would naturally give a false name to the landlord, so as to obviate the danger of discovery, so Maxwell, with this idea in his head, plainly saw that going down to Deswarth in order to interview the landlord would, in all reasonable probability, be a waste of time.
The certain way:
To ask Mrs. Belswin the name of her companion, and the reason of his coming to the village. Archie felt his old doubts about Mrs. Belswin revive as he thought of the doubtful juxtaposition of this suspicious character with the companion. Why had she gone to London at the time of Sir Rupert's arrival? Why had she returned with a stranger, who had been on the terrace on the night of the murder? And why had Sir Rupert been murdered on the night of her return? Only one person could answer all these inquiries, and that person was Mrs. Belswin. There was certainly something very mysterious about her conduct; but doubtless she would be able to give a satisfactory explanation; otherwise---- A cold sweat broke out on Maxwell's brow as he thought of the alternative.
Suspense is always more terrible than the event itself, and Archie, full of suspicion against Mrs. Belswin and the unknown foreigner, tortured his mind to a frightful extent over the possibility of this woman being concerned in the murder. If, however, she was innocent, she would be able to exculpate herself from any complicity in the affair; but if she was guilty it was terrible to think that she was the daily and nightly companion of Kaituna. She had possibly killed the father! If so she might also kill the daughter. Was she some one whom Sir Rupert had wronged, and who thus avenged herself by the hand of another. The idea was terrible, and Maxwell, filled with the agony of uncertainty, determined to go at once to Mrs. Belswin and demand an explanation.
He made a point of calling that afternoon, and was lucky enough to find Mrs. Belswin alone, as Kaituna had gone out on a shopping excursion with Mrs. Valpy, who had come up to town the previous day. Mrs. Belswin informed the young man of this, and invited him to wait until Kaituna returned at the hour of five o'clock.
"Meanwhile," she said, ringing the bell, "sit down, and we will have some tea."
Maxwell mechanically took a seat and glanced at the clock, the hands of which pointed to four. This would give him a full hour to speak to Mrs. Belswin before the arrival of Kaituna, and in that time he expected to learn all he desired to know.
The lady seemed preoccupied, and as Maxwell was racking his brains to invent some leading question, neither of them spoke for a few minutes. The servant brought in the tea, and while Mrs. Belswin busied herself with the cups, she for the first time noticed the unusual silence of the young man.
"Well, Mr. Maxwell," she said, handing him his tea, with a smile, "speech, I understand, was given to us to conceal our thoughts. You, I perceive, conceal them without speaking."
"I have come to see you on a matter of business," said Archie, abruptly putting down his cup on a small table near at hand.
The paleness of his face, the abruptness of his speech, the agitation of his manner, at once put Mrs. Belswin on her guard, and a thrill of fear shot through her heart--fear lest he should have discovered anything about her past life which would be fatal to her living with Kaituna. Her iron stoicism, however, prevailed, and she awaited with outward calm, but inward perturbation, his next words.
"Mrs. Belswin," he said, slowly bending towards her, "do you know this diamond pin?"
"Oh!" muttered Mrs. Belswin under her breath, recognising it at once, "more misfortune."
"What do you say?"
"Before I answer your question, Mr. Maxwell," she observed, fixing her keen eyes on his face, "I wish to know why you put it."
"Certainly, that is only fair. Do you remember the day I met you at the Deswarth railway station?"
"Yes!"
"There was a stranger with you?"
"A stranger?"
"Pray do not evade the question," said Maxwell, in an annoyed tone; "I mean the dark gentleman whom you sent off to see about your portmanteau, and who accompanied you from town."
"How do you know he accompanied me from town?"
"I saw you both leave a first-class carriage together."
"That proves nothing. Travelling in the same carriage does not prove that he accompanied me from town."
"But he looked after your luggage at your request!"
"Yes! he did so, certainly, but what does that prove?"
"Simply this, that you know the gentleman."
Mrs. Belswin would have liked to deny this, as she saw from the production of the diamond pin, and the mention of Ferrari, that Maxwell knew something; but she was so afraid, lest, failing her, he should ask Kaituna, and so possibly discover more than she wished, that she answered him frankly.
"Yes, I do know the gentleman."
"Ah! and you know his name?"
"Yes! His name is--but why do you want to know?"
"Because he wore this diamond pin on the day I saw him with you, and this diamond pin----"
"Yes! yes!" cried Mrs. Belswin, breathlessly, clasping her hands.
"--Was found on the terrace of Thornstream the morning after the murder."
The woman sprang to her feet, with a cry.
"Ferrari! impossible."
"Is his name Ferrari?"
"Yes! No! that is, Mr. Maxwell," she cried, seizing the young man by the lappet of his coat "What do you mean? what do you suspect?"
"I mean that this diamond pin belongs to Ferrari, whom you have just named. I suspect that he murdered Sir Rupert Pethram."
Mrs. Belswin uttered a cry of terror.
"No! no! It cannot be."
"Then let him prove his innocence."
"Prove his innocence?"
"Yes!" said Maxwell, with an air of determination. "I have made up my mind to bring the murderer of Sir Rupert Pethram to justice. Appearances are dead against this man, and I intend to put the matter in the hands of the police."
"You will never find him."
Maxwell bounded from his seat, and crossing rapidly to Mrs. Belswin, seized her wrist.
"Tell me," he said, imperiously, "have you any reason for wishing this man to escape?"
"I!" she murmured, evasively; "I wish him to escape?"
"Yes! To all appearances he is your friend. He comes down with you to Deswarth. A jewel belonging to him is found at the window of a room. In that room a man is found dead. What does it all mean?"
"Wait!" cried the woman, wrenching herself from his grasp. "Wait; I must think."
Maxwell obeyed, and returned to his seat with a cloud on his brow, for the complicity of Mrs. Belswin in the affair now began to assume gigantic proportions.
On her part, Mrs. Belswin saw at a glance the dangers by which she was environed, and her active brain was already at work seeking some plan by which she could extricate herself. She already saw that Maxwell suspected her, and if he did so she trembled lest he should communicate his suspicions to her daughter. With her hands pressed to her burning face, she rapidly glanced at the aspect of affairs in order to know how to act towards this young man, whose attitude towards her was undeniably hostile.
If she refused to tell him anything he would put the matter into the hands of the police, and they would immediately arrest Ferrari. In doing so they would have no difficulty, as he, being a singer, was easily to be found, and appearances were sufficiently strong against him to authorise the granting of a warrant for his arrest. If Ferrari were arrested he would certainly, urged by a fear of the law, reveal all about her in his examination, and Kaituna would then learn that Mrs. Belswin, the companion, was her mother. If she did so, Mrs. Belswin trembled for the result of such a discovery, so at once she made up her mind to promise Maxwell an interview with Ferrari, and meanwhile warn the Italian of his peril. By this means she hoped that, if guilty, Ferrari would at once fly from England; or, if innocent, he would be able to exculpate himself without incriminating her, so that in either case she would still preserve the secret of her true relationship to Kaituna.
"Mr. Maxwell," she said at length, suppressing her agitation, "I will tell you all I know, and then you can judge for yourself."
"Thank you, Mrs. Belswin," replied Maxwell, in a tone of relief. "I think that will be the best way, as I am anxious to avoid the interference of the police."
"And why, sir," demanded Mrs. Belswin, with a piercing glance.
The young man made no reply, but looked confused, upon which the woman laughed bitterly.
"Ah, I see," she said with scorn; "you think that I, a stranger to the late Sir Rupert, am implicated in his death."
"I have not said so, madam," murmured the young man, hastily.
"I swear before God," cried Mrs. Belswin, rising from her seat and raising her right hand--"I swear before God that I know nothing of the death of this man."
"But Ferrari----"
"I believe Ferrari to be innocent. Appearances are against him, it is true, but that does not render him guilty. Listen, Mr. Maxwell. Stephano Ferrari is a friend of mine, for I met him in America. Before I came to England I was an opera-singer, and he was singing with me in the same company. We are engaged to be married."
"You?"
"Yes. I wanted to rest my voice, and as I had but little money I became companion to Miss Pethram. You know whether I have been a good friend to her or not."
"You have been a good friend, certainly."
"My duties kept me near Miss Pethram, so I saw Ferrari but rarely, and as he is devoted to me, naturally he missed my society. At the time I left Deswarth, I came to London to see about my marriage, and on my return--which was on a Sunday--Ferrari came down with me, as he was not singing that night. Is there anything strange in this?"
"No; it seems quite natural," replied Maxwell, after a pause. "I would act the same way towards Kaituna."
"Signor Ferrari," resumed Mrs. Belswin, coldly, "stayed that night at The Chequers, and returned, I believe, next morning to town. I did not see him, as, owing to the terrible death of Sir Rupert, I had to stay with Kaituna. I do not know how he spent the night. I do not know at what hour he returned in the morning."
"But this scarf-pin?"
"It is certainly his; but what of that? He may have come to Thornstream to see me, and lost it on the terrace."
"If so, why did he not see you?"
"I do not know. I know nothing beyond what I have told you; but set your mind at rest. Come here to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock, and I will take you to Signor Ferrari, who will doubtless be able to explain all to your satisfaction."
"You will?"
"Yes; at eleven to-morrow. I am sure he is innocent."
"I hope so," said Maxwell, heartily, "if only for your sake."
"You are still suspicious, I see," replied Mrs. Belswin, with a faint smile. "Well, it is only natural, and I hope your suspicions will be dispelled by Signor Ferrari's explanation. But now I must ask you to permit me to retire, as all this exciting talk has given me a headache. If, however, you will wait for Kaituna----"
"Not to-night, thank you," said Maxwell, hastily taking his hat and stick. "I'm too disturbed to see her. Good-bye; I rely on your promise. To-morrow at eleven."
"At eleven I will wait you," answered Mrs. Belswin, truthfully; "so at present good-bye, and don't think worse of me than you can help."
Maxwell said nothing, but, bowing politely, left the room, while Mrs. Belswin, annoyed at his silence, stood frowning angrily.
"He still suspects," she muttered, ringing the bell. "Ferrari must put an end to his suspicions--if he can."
The servant entered the room.
"A hansom at once!"
She put on her cloak and bonnet and returned to the sitting-room to wait for the cab.
"I'm in terrible danger," she said pulling on her gloves--"terrible danger. One false step, and all may be known. Ferrari is my only hope. Can he be guilty? Appearances are against him. If he is a murderer let him suffer, as long as he keeps silence."
"The cab, ma'am."
Mrs. Belswin went downstairs.
"I don't care what happens," she cried, when driving away, "as long as I keep my child."
"You say 'twas I! Indeed, sir, 'tis not so;My hands are innocent of this man's blood.Nay, never fear! I pardon what you say;Your judgment is misled by false report.Why! if you heed the idle tongues that wag,There's not an honest man would 'scape the law;For every act bears two interpretations--One good, one bad--so that our enemiesUse that which fits in best with their desires,As evil witness 'gainst our true intents."
"You say 'twas I! Indeed, sir, 'tis not so;My hands are innocent of this man's blood.Nay, never fear! I pardon what you say;Your judgment is misled by false report.Why! if you heed the idle tongues that wag,There's not an honest man would 'scape the law;For every act bears two interpretations--One good, one bad--so that our enemiesUse that which fits in best with their desires,As evil witness 'gainst our true intents."
There is no doubt that peril sharpens the wits of all, therefore Mrs. Belswin, in her interview with the Italian, proved herself such an able diplomatist, that after some difficulty she obtained what she wanted. According, therefore, to the arrangement she made with Ferrari, he was to tell Maxwell as much as possible of his doings at Deswarth without mentioning the name of Mrs. Belswin.
On first hearing of Maxwell's accusation, Ferrari wanted to fly, as he plainly said it would be difficult for him to defend himself against such a charge, although he swore on the crucifix that he was perfectly innocent. Mrs. Belswin dissuaded him from this course, as she pointed out, that if he acknowledged the truth of the accusation by flight, Maxwell would immediately inform the police, and he would be arrested before he could leave England. On the contrary, however, if he faced the charge boldly, and explained the presence of the diamond scarf-pin on the terrace to the satisfaction of the young man, he would not only by doing so clear his own character, but might possibly lead to the capture of the true criminal.
Ferrari agreed, therefore, to grant the interview desired by Maxwell, and tell the truth without betraying Mrs. Belswin's true position towards the dead man in any way; but during this very curious conversation, both the man and the woman asked each other the same question, "Are you guilty?" Mrs. Belswin solemnly swore that she was innocent, and told Ferrari the same story as she had told Dombrain concerning her doings on that night. This explanation satisfied the Italian, and then in response to Mrs. Belswin's question as to his innocence, he gave an account of how he had passed the night.
"After you departed, carissima," he said, volubly, "I went to seek you, but the time was darkness. Cospetto! how black. I knew not the villaggio, so I returned to the osteria in one few minutes."
"Were you in the hotel before eleven?" demanded Mrs. Belswin, artfully.
"Cara mia, you fled at ten hours. I went. I came back at ten and ten. So I could not have killed Il Marito."
Mrs. Belswin believed this story, as had he been out longer the landlord would certainly have talked about it, and Ferrari would have been arrested at once on suspicion. As it was she felt quite satisfied that he was innocent; and having thus come to a complete understanding with him, she departed.
Mrs. Belswin, therefore, declared that she was innocent.
Ferrari also declared his innocence.
If this were the case who was guilty?
Ah! that was to be revealed the next day to Archie Maxwell.
True to his promise the young man called for Mrs. Belswin at eleven o'clock the following morning; and after a short interview with Kaituna, to whom he talked on the most indifferent subjects, he departed with the companion. Mrs. Belswin was fearfully pale, as all her future depended upon the caution observed by Ferrari; and she was afraid lest, carried away by his impulsive southern nature, the Italian should reveal more than was desirable to Maxwell. She was not afraid of being accused of the crime, as Dombrain alone could give evidence as to her being in the room after the murder; and she had a perfect understanding with him; but she was terribly afraid of Maxwell's finding out her true relationship to Kaituna, in which case she would certainly lose the companionship of her child, to retain which she had fought so hard.
Maxwell was also somewhat preoccupied, as in spite of his desire to think the best of Mrs. Belswin, all her conduct, her hesitations, her equivocations, appeared so mysterious that he was forced to believe that she knew more than she chose to tell. Her conduct, however, in conducting him to a personal interview with Ferrari, was one argument in her favour, for it never for a moment struck this simple-minded young man that she had in any way prepared the ground beforehand. Perfectly honest and straightforward in himself, Maxwell foolishly supposed all other human beings to possess the same desirable qualities; and, in the hands of two practised diplomatists, like the Italian and Mrs. Belswin, he could not possibly hold his own. His life had always been a perfectly open one, and although he was not rich, he had never been put to any shifts for money in any way, consequently his wits had grown somewhat rusty from want of exercise. Mrs. Belswin and her friend, however, had led a reckless Bohemian existence, which called for craft, courage, coolness and dexterity, in a very high degree; therefore they were thoroughly competent in dealing with a delicate affair like the present, which required subtle management. Still, a blundering blue-bottle often breaks the web spun by the craftiest spider; so Mrs. Belswin feared lest the straightforward honesty of the young man should rush through all her careful schemes, and by sheer boldness arrive at the truth.
On their arrival at Ferrari's chambers he was already waiting for them, and Mrs. Belswin having introduced him to Archie, the three sat down to talk. It was a fencing match, and the third fencer was Maxwell, who not only had two opponents against him, but those same opponents were gifted with powers of attack and parry of which he was completely ignorant.
"You speak English, I see," said Archie to Ferrari, after the first greetings had passed.
"Certainly, signor," replied the Italian, showing his white teeth. "I have been long from Italy? Oh, yes. The estates of America."
"Where I had the pleasure of meeting Signor Ferrari," observed Mrs. Belswin, ceremoniously.
At this the signor bowed, but made no remark, so Maxwell, seeing that he would not commit himself to speech unless questioned, began at once on the main object of the interview.
"Mrs. Belswin, I presume, told you I wished to see you, Signor Ferrari?"
The Italian bowed.
"About an article of jewellery belonging to you?"
Ferrari bowed again.
"Which was found on the terrace at Thornstream, the residence of the late Sir Rupert Pethram?"
The signor bowed for the third time and Maxwell, hot-blooded in all things, began to lose his temper at this persistent silence.
"Well, sir," he said, sharply, "perhaps you will be kind enough to inform me how this scarf-pin came to be on the terrace in question."
"One moment," said Ferrari, politely lifting his hand. "Will you kindly tell me who found what you have?"
Maxwell hesitated a moment, but seeing no reason why he should conceal the part Mrs. Belk had taken in the affair, spoke out boldly.
"A woman you don't know--Mrs. Belk."
"Dio!"
"Great Heavens!"
These ejaculations proceeded, the first from Ferrari, the second from Mrs. Belswin, and in hearing them Maxwell looked suspiciously from the one to the other.
"You seem surprised."
"So will you be surprised," said Mrs. Belswin, gloomily, "when you hear what the signor has to tell you."
"I am at Signor Ferrari's service."
"Per Bacco! it is most strange," cried Ferrari, throwing himself back on his sky-blue sofa. "Alfieri himself could have thought nothing so terrible."
"The story, sir, the story."
"Eh, signor, I excite your wonder," said the Italian, equably. "Is it not so? Dio, I myself am lost in fear. Signor, I will tell all."
Maxwell bit his nether lip with impatience at the leisurely way in which Ferrari was acting, as he saw from the agitation of Mrs. Belswin that the name of the woman who had found the scarf-pin moved her powerfully.
"Signor," said Ferrari, gracefully, "I departed with the signora here to the villagio on the day you saw me. Myself I waited at the osteria you know of, I doubt not. The signora departed to the casa of Il----"
"Of Sir Rupert," interrupted Mrs. Belswin, quickly.
"Grazia, signora. To the casa of Seer Ruperts. I am alone, and I weary of being myself at the osteria. See, then, signor, I take a leetle walk for amusement. I come to the ground of Seer Ruperts, and there I meet a galantuomo, handsome as the Apollo."
"Samson Belk?"
"Yes, the signora tells me that is his name. Well, this large one orders me away from the place. I say 'no,' and he would fight me--the box, signor, you understand. I am not afraid, and I tell him I am not afraid. Then he says, 'I will put you in prison because you are on the estate of Seer Ruperts.' At this I fear. I know not the English laws, so I say, 'Addio, I will go,' but he, signor, answers, 'Not so.' Then what am I to do? I cannot fight that large man; I have not the box. I do not know the English laws, and he may truly place me in prison for being on the grounds of Seer Ruperts. Then, signor, I think, 'Aha, the money!' but not he refuses the money. Again I say, 'Signor, I will give you my pin of diamonds if you let me depart.' He says, 'Alright.' I give him the pin of diamonds. I go away; and that, signor, is all I am informed of."
"But, signor," cried Maxwell, jumping to his feet in a state of uncontrollable agitation, "by this story the diamond pin was in the possession of Belk."
"Cospetto! I believe so!"
"And Belk must have lost it on the terrace."
"Doubtless, signor."
"Great heavens!" said Archie, violently, "his own mother found it. If he committed the crime he is betrayed to the law by his own mother."
"Through ignorance," interposed Mrs. Belswin, quickly.
"Nevertheless it hands her son over to justice. Oh, it's horrible! it's horrible!" and the young man covered his face with his hands.
"I regret this sorrow, signor," said Ferrari, composedly. "Dio, it is a tragedy like Lucrezia Borgia. But I have told you the truth."
"Yes, yes!" muttered Maxwell, resuming his seat; "you could not make up such a horrible thing."
"As to myself, signor," resumed Ferrari, quietly, "if you think a doubt of me, the man of the osteria will tell you I was in the casa on that night."
"You can prove an alibi?"
"But I do not understand, signor," said the Italian, in a perplexed tone, looking inquiringly at Mrs. Belswin.
"Oh yes, he can prove an alibi," said that lady, quickly. "The landlord of The Chequers can give evidence as to his being in the house all night."
"I did take a leetle walk."
"A walk!" ejaculated Maxwell, lifting his head.
"But I returned at ten hours," finished Ferrari, triumphantly. "No, signor, I have nothing to do with this death. I can swear it to your police. The man I spoke to had my diamond. It is found on the terrace. Ebbene! He alone can have lost it there."
"What motive could Belk have for killing Sir Rupert?" muttered Maxwell to himself.
"Eh, who knows?"
Mrs. Belswin said nothing. Her eyes were cast down, and she was tapping the ground nervously with her foot. The fact is she was in a state of considerable trepidation, as she fancied she knew the motive Belk had in killing Sir Rupert--a motive of which all but herself were ignorant. Belk loved her. He was in intelligence little raised above the brute of the fields; so if he had overheard the interview between herself and Sir Rupert, and seen how ignominiously she was treated, he might have--but no, it was too horrible; and with a cry she covered her face with her hands.
"What is the matter, Mrs. Belswin?" asked Maxwell, looking at her quickly.
Mrs. Belswin at once told a lie.
"It's so horrible to think of a mother being the means of her son's death."
"We don't know if he is guilty yet."
"Then how can he explain his presence on the terrace on that night?"
"His presence there does not mean that he committed the crime. He may be able to explain as well as Signor Ferrari."
"You doubt me, signor," cried Ferrari, wrathfully, starting to his feet.
"I have not said so."
"But you think. Dio, I am not blind. Well, if you doubt, bring me to this man, signor. I will make him tell all to you before me."
"Will you, then, come down to Deswarth with me on Sunday?"
"That is to-morrow! eh! yes, signor, I will come."
"And I too, Mr. Maxwell."
"You, Mrs. Belswin?"
"Yes; I cannot believe this horrible thing of that poor young man," said Mrs. Belswin, hurriedly. "I will also come. Do you intend to have Belk arrested on Sunday?"
"No!" cried Maxwell, vehemently. "I want to hear what he has to say first."
"I'm afraid your nature is too soft for a detective, Mr. Maxwell," said Mrs. Belswin cruelly.
"Do you think so," he answered angrily. "No! But look, Mrs. Belswin, at the horrible position of the case. A mother betrays unconsciously to death the son whom she adores. Oh! it's terrible."
"He may be innocent."
"Per Bacco, I hope so," cried Ferrari, anxiously. "I myself think it is too much a tragedy."
"I will not speak to the police," said Maxwell, taking up his hat. "We three will go to Deswarth together and confront this man. If he is innocent so much the better. If he is guilty----"
"Well?" asked Mrs. Belswin, seeing him pause.
"I will do nothing!"
"Nothing?"
"No. If I took advantage of what Mrs. Belk told me to hang her son, I should never have a moment's peace for the rest of my life!"
"But Kaituna?"
"She will think the same as I do," said Maxwell, quickly. "And you, Mrs. Belswin--surely you would not counsel otherwise?"
Mrs. Belswin looked heavenward with a look of almost sublime pity on her strongly marked face.
"No; I am a mother, and I know how a mother feels for her only child."