The journalist is the true Asmodeus of the day, and is quite as fond as that meddlesome demon of interfering with what does not concern him. He invades the privacy of our lives, unroofs our houses, reveals our secrets, and trumpets forth things best left untold to the four quarters of the globe.
Gebb had an especial abhorrence of this magpie habit of the Press; as he averred, with much reason, that the excessively minute details of criminal cases set forth in the newspapers put the ill-doers on their guard, and warned them of coming dangers, with the result that they were easily able to evade the futile clutches of the hands of Justice. Yet in the instance of the Grangebury murder, the publication of details had a singular result: no less than the assisting of right against wrong.
As soon as the circumstances of the crime became known, the reporters of every newspaper in the metropolis flocked to Paradise Row with expansive notebooks, eager eyes, and inquiring minds. They surveyed the house, questioned the police, interviewed Mrs. Presk, and gave outline portraits of the landlady and her servant. The Yellow Boudoir especially attracted their attention, and stirred their imagination to descriptions of Eastern splendour. It was hinted that its magnificence was on more than a kingly scale; it was compared to the celebrated room in one of Balzac's romances, and its furnishing and appointments were minutely detailed in glowing descriptions, exhausting the most superlative adjectives in the English tongue. Also the unknown history and strange death of its occupant were commented upon; guesses were made as to her identity; and reasons were given for her secretive life, for her strange belief in, and consultation of, charlatans and fortune-tellers and all those cunning gipsies who live by the gullibility of the public. Appeals were made in these articles to the deaf and dumb driver to appear and declare the mystery of the yellow van, the yellow room, and their queer owner. In short, as the journals were in want of a sensation, they made the most of this material supplied by chance, and England from one end to the other rang with the tidings of Miss Ligram's death, Miss Ligram's boudoir, and Miss Ligram's mysterious life. And all this trumpeting and noise, Gebb, the enemy of the Press, heard with singular complacency, indeed, with pleasure and satisfaction.
"As a rule, I hate these revelations," said he to one who knew his views and wondered at his equanimity, "as in nine cases out of ten they do more harm than good by placing the criminal on his guard; but this is the tenth case, where it is advisable to make the details of the crime as public as possible. I rely on these descriptions of the Yellow Boudoir to trace Miss Ligram's past life."
"In what way?" demanded the inquirer.
"In the way of the yellow van," replied Gebb, promptly. "As Mrs. Presk truly observed, the hard fact of that van shows that Miss Ligram was in the habit of moving from place to place with her tent, and setting it up after the fashion of an Arab, in whatever spot took her fancy. Now, when those other people who have had the Yellow Boudoir set out in its tawdry splendour under their roofs read of Miss Ligram's death, and recognize the description of her strange room, they will come forward, and detail their experiences of the lady. So, in one way and another, we may be enabled to trace Miss Ligram's past life back to a starting-point It is the only chance I can see of gaining any knowledge."
Within the week events of a strange nature justified the judicious belief entertained by the astute detective. Letters in female caligraphy were received at Scotland Yard, stating that the writers could give certain information to the police concerning the murdered woman. Also, a few days later, decayed females of the landlady genus presented themselves in person to detail their experiences of Miss Ligram and her eccentricities. From all these personal and written statements it appeared that for four years, more or less, Miss Ligram had been moving from one part of London to another. In no one place she had remained longer than six months, and in each her conduct and mode of life had been the same. She arrived regularly in the yellow van, and, having obtained permission from the various landladies at the cost of paying double the rent demanded, as regularly set up and furnished her Yellow Boudoir. As in the latest instance of the Grangebury episode, she consulted fortune-tellers, spiritualists, and shady people of a like nature, departing at the end of each tenancy without a word as to her destination. It would seem from this evidence that the woman was consistent in her eccentricities, and conducted her strangely secretive life on the most methodical principles.
One thing which seemed of a piece with the dead woman's desire for concealment, was that in every place she--so to speak--camped in, she gave a different name; each appellation being stranger than the last, and all apparently of her own manufacture. She figured at Hampstead under the name of Margil; in Richmond she was known as Miss Ramlig; when housed in St. John's Wood she called herself Milgar; and at Shepherd's Bush--but for the sake of clearness it will be advisable to let the several landladies speak for themselves--five persons, five pieces of information more or less similar, and five obviously made-up names. So much for the past of Miss Ligram.
Mrs. Brown, of West Kensington, stated that she knew the deceased under the name of Miss Limrag. She arrived at Mrs. Brown's in the month of May, '95, and after a six months' tenancy departed in the month of October in the same year. Mrs. Brown was ignorant as to where she come from, and equally at a loss to declare whither she went. Both in coming and going Miss Limrag used as a means of transport the yellow van, and during her residence she inhabited the Yellow Room of her own furnishing for the consulting therein of the fortune-telling fraternity.
Mrs. Kane testified that a lady who called herself Miss Milgar arrived in Shelley Road, St. John's Wood, on the first day of November, '95, and left the district in the last days of April, '96. Her conduct during her six months' stay was similar to that described by Mrs. Presk and Mrs. Brown. On the evidence of such conduct, and the facts of the van and boudoir (both yellow in colour), Mrs. Kane had no hesitation in declaring that the murdered Miss Ligram, of Grangebury, was her eccentric lodger, Miss Milgar.
The information given by Miss Bain, of Crescent Villa, Hampstead, showed that the name assumed there by the wandering lady was Margil, and that she took possession of her lodgings there in the month of November, '93--having arrived, according to her custom, in the yellow van. While the lodger of Miss Bain, she gave herself up to the study of dream-books, and the interpretation of visions. During her occupancy of Crescent Villa, the landlady, in spite of all efforts, could find out nothing about her past or discover where she came from; and the so-called Miss Margil departed with her furniture towards the end of April, 1894. She left no address.
Miss Lamb, resident at Richmond, entertained the unknown from November, 1894, to April, 1895. She knew her by the strange name of Ramlig, and always thought her weak in her mind, owing to her queer mode of life, and belief in omens. When Miss Ramlig made any boastful speech reflecting on her worldly prosperity, she would touch wood to avert the omen. "Absit omen"; "Umberufen"; "In a good hour be it spoken "; "N'importe." These words and phrases were continually on her tongue; and she was a slave to all forms of superstition. She would not walk under a ladder; if she spilt salt she threw a pinch over her shoulder; an unexpected meeting with a magpie, a hunchback, a cross-eyed person, or with a piebald horse, either made her rejoice in the most extravagant fashion, or threw her into a fever of apprehension. She was not communicative, and resisted all Miss Lamb's attempts at social intercourse. During the whole period of her stay, no words were spoken, and no event occurred, likely to throw light on her past; nor, when she departed, did Miss Lamb discover whither she intended to go. In coming, in staying, in going, Miss Ramlig was a mystery.
The owner of Myrtle Bank, Shepherd's Bush, a bird-like spinster called Cass, informed Gebb that a certain Miss Migral lodged with her from the first of May to the end of October, 1894. She arrived in the van spoken of by the other witnesses; she paid double rent for the privilege of dismantling a room, and therein set up her tent-like habitation of yellow satin, furnished with cane chairs and tables, illuminated with candles, and perfumed with incense. She was, said Miss Cass, superstitious beyond all belief, actually divining by teacups, and believing in the future as foretold by the position of the tea-leaves, after the fashion of illiterate servant-girls. Miss Migral never went to church, she had--so far as Miss Cass knew, no Bible in her possession; but read books dealing with fortune-telling and necromancy. One of her favourite volumes was "The Book of Fate," another "The Book of Dreams," and she appeared to have an insatiable desire to know the future; but for what reason, Miss Cass--in spite of all efforts--was unable to discover. This strange creature departed with all her worldly goods for some unknown destination during the last days of October, 1894.
Mrs. Presk was the last landlady who received this mysterious woman, and knew her as Miss Ligram. She arrived at Paradise Row at the beginning of May, 1896, and met with a violent death three months later. Mrs. Presk was as ignorant of the woman's past as the other landladies had been. She arrived from nowhere, and, no doubt, would have departed six months later in an equally mysterious fashion. But in the middle of her Grangebury tenancy, a violent death put an end to her further wanderings.
Gebb heard all this evidence, which was monotonous from its sameness, with much satisfaction and great attention. By means of the details afforded by the five landladies and Mrs. Presk, he traced back the wanderings of the dead woman to the month of November, 1893, but further back he was unable to go, for lack of information. In spite of all publicity given to the case, notwithstanding advertisements, and his own private efforts, no other witnesses came forward to give evidence as to the past of Miss Ligram; so, finding he was at a dead stop, the detective resolved to stand--at all events for the present--on the information he had already acquired. For his own private information and guidance he tabulated an account of Miss Ligram's names, addresses, and former landladies, together with the dates of her various rests, as follows:--
Miss Bain, HampsteadMargil, Nov., 1893, to April, 1894Miss Cass, Shepherd's BushMigral, May to Oct.,1894Miss Lamb, RichmondRamlig, Nov., 1894, to April, 1895Mrs. Brown, West KensingtonLimrag, May to Oct. 1895Mrs. Kane, St. John's WoolMilgar, Nov., 1895, to April, 1896Mrs. Presk, GrangeburyLigram, April to July, 1896
Miss Bain, Hampstead
Margil, Nov., 1893, to April, 1894
Miss Cass, Shepherd's Bush
Migral, May to Oct.,1894
Miss Lamb, Richmond
Ramlig, Nov., 1894, to April, 1895
Mrs. Brown, West Kensington
Limrag, May to Oct. 1895
Mrs. Kane, St. John's Wool
Milgar, Nov., 1895, to April, 1896
Mrs. Presk, Grangebury
Ligram, April to July, 1896
And at the foot of this table he noted the fact that on the night of the 24th July, 1896--according to medical evidence at ten o'clock--the so-called Miss Ligram met with a violent death at the hands of some unknown person.
So far so good; but here Gebb's information came to an end, and beyond a few years' knowledge of Miss Ligram's past, he had no evidence to show him why she had taken to this mode of life, or why her eccentric manner of living should have been cut short by violence. Ready as he was in resource, the detective did not know how to act, or in which direction to turn for information. While thus perplexed he received a hasty note scribbled on a half-sheet of dirty paper. It ran as follows:--
"48, Guy Street, Pimlico.
"Come and see me at once, about the Grangebury case. I have solved the mystery, and can hang the criminal.--Yours,
Simon Parge."
But that Gebb knew the writer of this curt note, which was hardly civil in its brevity, he would have been much surprised at the untoward chance of its coming at so critical a moment to help him out of his difficulties. As it was, he felt more relieved than astonished, and hastened to obey the summons without delay. It was not the first time he had used Mr. Parge as a finger-post to point out the right path, and in the present instance he was rather vexed with himself that he had not applied before in this quarter for advice and guidance. But better late than never, thought he, while repairing his error, and making up for his neglect by replying in person to the summons.
Towards Parge, the detective stood in the relation of pupil to master; for it was Parge who, observing his abilities, had induced him to join the profession, and had never ceased to praise, and blame, and help him on to the best of his ability. For some considerable time Parge had been a noted detective himself, and he had retired within the last few years into private life, owing to a tendency to obesity and an increase of years which forbade his further exercising his talents in the way of thief-catching and assassin-hunting. The criminal fraternity had rejoiced rather too soon, when they heard that their great enemy had retired on a pension; for Parge left behind him a worthy successor in the person of Gebb, and he still instructed the latter in particularly difficult cases where two heads were better than one. Mr. Parge, by reason of his eighteen stone, was chained to an armchair for the rest of his life; but his brain was still active, and he took a sufficient interest in Scotland Yard affairs to read all criminal cases, and help his more active deputy to bring them to satisfactory conclusions. The old detective sat in his house like Odin on the Air-throne, and--through the medium of the Press--knew much that was going on in the shady section of society, which he had watched for so many years. Frequently he instructed Gebb how to act, and what conclusions to form on slender evidence; and the pupil, when at a loss, invariably turned to his master for a word of encouragement and explanation. But that Parge had forestalled him by sending the note, Gebb, later on, would have laid the case of the Yellow Boudoir before his--so to speak--sleeping partner.
"I guess the old man will be in a rage," said Gebb to himself as he hurried with all speed to Pimlico. "I should have seen him before on the matter, only it has bothered me so. He says he has solved the mystery--that means he has discovered who killed Miss Ligram. I don't believe it--with the greatest possible respect for Simon--I don't believe it."
The ex-detective dwelt in a little house in a little square, and passed his time usually in a huge armchair, placed conveniently near the window, so that he could survey the busy world from which he had withdrawn. He was a Daniel Lambert for size and rotundity, with a large red face like a full moon, and an impressive girth which would have made the fortune of an alderman; but his eyes were keen and bright, and the brain pertaining to this man-mountain of flesh was as active as one cased in the leanest of bodies. He was clothed in a gaudy-figured dressing-gown of blue and red, wore carpet slippers on his large feet, a smoking-cap with a large tassel on his sparse locks, and sat amid a litter of newspapers. Parge took in nearly every morning and evening journal in London, and from dawn till dark read the police news, cutting out all such cases as he deemed worthy of his attention. In the evening he usually played whist with his wife and two cronies, or kept the company enthralled by his stories of the scoundrels he had exposed, and the under-world he had moved in. Mrs. Parge--an anæmic woman, as slender as Simon was stout--waited on her husband, and thought him--intellectually and morally, as he was physically--the greatest of men. She did all the house-work with the assistance of a small servant, and, being an excellent cook, had contributed not a little to the weight and size of her spouse by preparing those appetizing dishes which her Simon loved. The couple had a comfortable income, a comfortable house, and both enjoyed the best of health, so that the Parge household was as happy a one as could be found in London.
"My word, Absalom," said lean Mrs. Parge when she opened the door, "you're going to have a bad time; you've going to catch it. Simon saw you from the window, and is getting up steam to receive you."
A series of growls proceeding from the near parlour proclaimed the truth of this warning, and when Gebb entered the presence of his master, steam was got up so far that Parge's smoking-cap came skimming past the head of the visitor. Gebb picked it up and brought it to Parge, who received him and it with a growl of wrath. At Parge's feet lay a pile of newspapers, some open, some folded, some with evidence of scissors' work and some quite whole. On a near table there lay a large volume bound in red cloth, which Gebb recognized as one of the series of books in which Parge noted down the more important cases, and stored his newspaper cuttings. He wondered if the old man had it at his elbow to throw at him, for Parge's fingers evidently itched to send the book after the smoking-cap; but, as he refrained from further violence, Gebb concluded that the volume had been placed within reach of its owner for some purpose connected with his visit. He was right, as subsequent events proved.
"Oh!" growled Parge, glaring at the young man, "so you've thought fit to come at last?"
"I couldn't come sooner, Simon," protested Gebb, taking a chair, "I've been worried out of my life by this Grangebury case."
"And what good has all your worry done, you fool? You've found out nothing."
"Indeed I have. I've traced back Miss Ligram's life to the year '93. She is--but I forget--you don't know the case."
"Don't I!" retorted Parge, sharply. "I know a deal more than you can tell me. I suppose you are in difficulties over the matter?"
Gebb admitted that he was. "And I candidly confess that I do not see my way out of them," he added, with an anxious look at Parge.
The fat man grunted. "If you had come to me in the first instance I could have saved you a lot of trouble."
"Can you explain the mystery, Simon?"
"I can. If I couldn't, I wouldn't have sent for you."
"Do you know the motive for the committal of the crime?"
"I do I've employed my wits to some purpose, I can tell you."
"And the name of the assassin?"
"Yes! Didn't I say in my letter that I had solved the mystery, you fool?"
"And where he is to be found?" continued Gebb, exhaustively.
For the first time Parge replied in the negative. "There you have me," he grumbled, scratching his chin. "I know where he should be, but I don't know where he is. It will be your business to find him."
"If you'll give me a clue to his whereabouts, I'll do my best," was the meek reply of the pupil.
"I can't," said the ex-detective, frankly. "I did my best to hunt him down four years ago, before I retired, and I failed."
"Ho! Ho! So this cove has been in trouble before?"
"Not only in trouble, but in prison."
"On what charge?" asked Gebb, with openly expressed surprise.
"On a charge of murder!"
"What! Is this assassination of Miss Ligram his second crime?"
"It is," replied Parge, enjoying the astonishment of his visitor; "but this man--I'll tell you his name later on--did not intend to kill Miss Ligram."
"But he did kill her--strangled her!"
"Not Miss Ligram!" said the fat man, obstinately. "Ligram was an assumed name."
"I know that, Simon. She has passed under half a dozen names."
"So the papers say. Just run over the names."
Gebb did so promptly, giving the names in order. "Margil, Migral, Ramlig, Limrag, Milgar, and Ligram."
"Good! Now, Absalom, what strikes you as strange about these names?"
"They are all invented," said Gebb, after a pause.
"Quite so," assented Parge, "and their invention does credit to the imagination of the lady. Do you notice that the same letters, differently placed, are used in every instance?"
"Anagrammatic!" said Gebb, with a nod.
"Precisely! She manufactured all these false names out of her real one."
"A very ingenious idea, Simon. And what is her real name?"
"Gilmar!" replied Parge, slowly. "Miss Ellen Gilmar, of Kirkstone Hall, near Norminster, Hants."
For quite two minutes Gebb sat in silence, looking at his chief in blended wonder and amazement Try as he might he could not guess how the fat man had come by this knowledge. What he, with the use of his limbs, and the power of the law, had failed to discover, this invalid--as he might be called--had found out without moving from his armchair. In a darker age Gebb might have judged Parge to be gifted with necromantic power, or divination by second sight.
"Are you certain of this?" he asked in a hesitating voice.
"Quite certain!" cried Parge, furiously. "Quite certain. I'm not a fool."
"But how did you find out?"
"By exercising my memory and joining the past with the present."
"In what way?" asked Gebb, still perplexed "What clue had you?"
"The clue of the Yellow Boudoir."
"The Yellow Boudoir!" repeated Gebb, recalling his own fancy.
"Yes!" said Parge, gravely "Twenty years ago, in a room furnished in the same fashion, in a room under the roof of Kirkstone Hall, there was a murder committed. In this book," Parge here laid his hand on the large volume, "there is a full account of the trial of one, Marmaduke Dean, for the murder of John Kirkstone; and the crime was committed in the Yellow Boudoir."
"But what has a crime committed twenty years ago to do with the assassination of Miss Lig--I mean, of Miss Gilmar?"
"Everything. Miss Gilmar only reaped as she sowed. You must hear the story in full before you can see the connection. But to put the matter briefly, you must understand that Dean was convicted of killing Kirkstone and was sentenced to death. Afterwards, as there was some doubt about the absolute justice of the verdict, the death sentence was commuted to penal servitude for life. Dean swore that he was innocent, and that the accomplishment of the crime had been brought about by the machinations of Ellen Gilmar. He swore, if his life were spared, to escape from prison and kill the woman who had placed him by her craft and cruelty in the dock. About four years ago the man did escape from Dartmoor Prison; and it was dread lest he should keep his word which drove Miss Gilmar from lodging to lodging, under different names. For some reason--best known to herself--she chose to dwell in a room, furnished and draped similar to that in which the first crime had been committed. It was reading the description of that room which put me on the right track.
"And you believe that Miss Ligram and Miss Gilmar are one and the same person?" asked Gebb, breathlessly.
"I am certain of it, on the authority of the Yellow Boudoir."
"And you think that Dean murdered her?"
"Yes; I believe that Dean kept his word."
"But what was his reason?"
"Vengeance!" said Parge, opening the red book. "Listen! I will tell you the case after my own fashion, and you shall learn the reason why Miss Ligram was strangled at Grangebury."
It sometimes happens that a youthful spendthrift becomes an aged miser, and hoards money in the same extreme fashion as formerly he wasted it. John Kirkstone was a fair example of this species of human chameleon. As his father's heir, he drained the estate of all ready money, and squandered the same in London without regard to economy or even reason. In this riotous life he was encouraged by a former college companion--one Marmaduke Dean--who even went to the extent of borrowing money of Kirkstone, and so became his debtor for a large sum. Dean subsequently married a lady of fortune, and repaid a portion of the money; but either could not, or--as was more probable--would not discharge the whole. On this point Kirkstone, who needed money for his pleasures, quarrelled with his friend, and the pair parted to meet no more for some years. It would have been better for both had they never renewed their youthful friendship.
As might be expected, old Squire Kirkstone was by no means pleased with his son, and did not relish leaving his large fortune to one who probably would waste it in a few years. The Hall and its surrounding acres were entailed, and were bound to pass into John Kirkstone's hands; but the old man possessed a large income acquired by speculation, which was at his own disposal. Wrathful at his spendthrift son, he resolved to leave this personal property to his only daughter; and accordingly, when John became Squire on the death of his father, he found that his sister Laura was in possession of a good income, while he had to be content with a dwelling far too large for his means, and several farms whose tenants did not always pay their rents. The shock of this discovery was unpleasant, but salutary.
In the first place Kirkstone renounced his London profligacy and associates, and came to live at the Hall; in the second, he insisted that his sister should dwell with him, and pay a handsome yearly sum for the privilege; and in the third, he invited his first cousin, Ellen Gilmar, to be his housekeeper. Laura Kirkstone, who was a weak-bodied and weak-natured girl, readily consented to remain at the Hall, and pay what her brother demanded, and as readily welcomed her cousin Ellen as mistress of the household, a post for which she herself had no great love. Having thus arranged matters, Kirkstone--though not yet forty--became as penurious as formerly he had been wasteful; and in this system of economy was ably assisted by his new housekeeper, a shrewd, cold-hearted skinflint.
Laura, in derision, called Ellen Mrs. Harpagon, after Molière's miser; and well did Miss Gilmar deserve the name. She was a little, black, active woman, with a neat figure and a somewhat pinched white face. Her eyes were hard-looking, her lips were thin, and she was a perfect skinflint in the management of the household. Even Kirkstone, inclined as he was to economy, grumbled at times about her excessive economy; but as the months went by, he fell gradually into her saving way of living, and the Hall soon gained a name in the county for all that was mean and niggardly. The larder was always kept locked, the servants were ill fed, and the occasional beggars who came to that forbidden door were not fed at all. Scraping, and screwing, and hoarding of money became the order of the day; and Kirkstone soon found that he was redeeming his former waste, at the cost of a hard and somewhat hungry life. However, the habit of living thus penuriously became confirmed, and both he and Mrs. Harpagon vied with one another in discovering new methods of saving money. The only person in the Hall who did not relish this extreme economy was Laura Kirkstone.
The attitude adopted by Kirkstone towards his wealthy sister was a fairly amiable one. Having a strong will, he compelled her weaker one to bow to it; and kept a sharp watch on her, lest she should marry some one of whom he did not approve, and so take the money--which he looked upon as rightfully his own--out of the family. Many a young man would have been glad to marry Miss Kirkstone, both for her money and good looks; for in a pink-and-white sort of way the girl was pretty; but Kirkstone invited none of these would-be suitors to the house, and turned a cold shoulder to them in public. Laura was forbidden even to speak to them; and being kept closely to her own home, lived in the gaunt, grim Hall, like an enchanted princess guarded by two ogres. And none of the young knights who wished to marry her had sufficient courage to brave the black looks of Kirkstone, or the acidulated sneers of his amiable housekeeper and cousin. Such was the position of affairs at Kirkstone Hall when Marmaduke Dean again entered into the life of his former friend.
It was the death of his wife which led to Dean's visit to Kirkstone Hall. He had squandered the fortune of the unhappy lady, and had treated her with so much coldness and neglect that she had died of a broken heart, leaving him a little son. Dean promptly placed the child with some distant relatives, and being poor again, looked about him for some means whereby he could procure money. Recalling the easy-going and generous disposition of Kirkstone, he resolved to apply to him for aid, quite oblivious to the fact that he was already in his debt. To this end he one day presented himself at the Hall, and was astonished to find that its owner, from a generous friend, had changed into a miserly curmudgeon. Kirkstone not only refused to help Dean, but demanded immediate repayment of the monies already due. Dean, seeing that only trouble would come of his application, was on the point of withdrawing, so as to save himself the danger of being sued for the lent money, when a new idea entered into Kirkstone's knavish brain which made him detain Dean at the Hall as a necessary element to bring it to fruition. The scheme was none other than the marriage of Laura to the disconsolate widower, and comprehended a division of her fortune between the brother and the proposed husband, an amiable arrangement which really amounted to robbery.
Laura herself forced Kirkstone to adopt this plan by reason of her refusal to let him handle the fortune which had been left to her by their father. Like most weak-minded people she was singularly obstinate on some points, and, being cunning enough to see that her sole hold over her brother lay in retaining command of her money, she always evaded his proposals to manage her investments. Beyond the income he derived from the sum she paid for board and lodging, Kirkstone had nothing to do with these monies, of which, as he frequently stated, he had been robbed. Naturally he was angered to think of his loss, and tried several times to bully Laura into surrendering her fortune. The result of this ill-judged conduct was that Laura met force by cunning, and, taking a dislike to her brother, executed a secret will, whereby she left the whole of the money to Ellen Gilmar.
In this case there was no honour among thieves, for the housekeeper tricked her master and cousin by keeping secret the fact of the will, and when Kirkstone tried to marry his sister to Dean, he was quite unaware that Ellen, for her own selfish ends, intended to thwart the match if she could. Furthermore a new and unforeseen obstacle arose to complicate matters, for it chanced that both Laura and Ellen fell in love with Dean. The scamp was a handsome man, with a plausible manner, and Laura was quite willing to marry him, and to settle half her fortune on him, receiving in return a presentable husband with a damaged reputation. It was agreed between Kirkstone and Dean that when the marriage took place the latter should discharge his debt to the former, and also pay over a certain sum of money by way of commission on the marriage settlement. So far all went well, and Kirkstone invited Dean to stay at the Hall until the marriage took place, and all pecuniary arrangements between them were settled. It was then that Ellen threw prudence to the wind, and lost her heart to Dean.
The result of this feminine weakness was that Ellen did violence to her instincts by relaxing her stingy rule. She kept the table supplied with better food while Dean stayed at the Hall, she paid more attention to her dress, humoured the man she loved in every way, and altogether behaved in a manner so alien to her natural self that Laura became suspicious. The end of this folly was that Laura discovered Ellen's secret, and lost her temper over it. She accused Dean of making love to Ellen, and Ellen of encouraging his advances. Kirkstone was told this by his sister, and he, seeing a chance of his losing money by the marriage not taking place, had a stormy scene with Ellen. He threatened to turn her out of the Hall as a pauper; whereat the woman turned at bay on her cousin, and revealed the truth about the secret will.
"If this marriage takes place," she declared, "I lose money as well as you, and if I can influence Laura to refuse Dean I shall certainly do so. If it comes to the point, we shall see who is the stronger, you or I."
The upshot of this conversation was that Kirkstone lost his temper altogether, and went to bully his sister into revoking her will. Had he only remembered that the same result would be attained by the marriage taking place, he would have urged on the match and defied Ellen. Instead of acting thus sensibly, he vented his rage on Dean, and accused him of encouraging the folly of the housekeeper. Then Dean lost his temper in his turn, and quarrelled with Kirkstone and Laura; so in the month of July, '76, it chanced that the four people inhabiting Kirkstone Hall quite misunderstood one another, and, for the time being, were hardly on speaking terms. Dean stormed at Kirkstone as trying to thwart the proposed marriage; Kirkstone blamed Dean as having encouraged the love of Ellen; and Laura, in her weak way, fretted herself ill over the whole disturbance. Only Ellen, the cause of all the trouble, retained her placidity. She did not move an inch from her position. She had an end to gain, and in one way or another she was determined to gain it. It was while things were in this unhappy state that the country was startled by the news that Kirkstone had been murdered by Dean.
The tragedy took place in a certain room strangely furnished by the mother of the present squire, which was known as the Yellow Boudoir. It was a favourite apartment with Kirkstone, who had turned it into a smoking-room. On the night of the 16th of July, Kirkstone and Dean were drinking and smoking in this room, when apparently they renewed their quarrel with a fatal result Kirkstone was found dead in the room at midnight with a knife in his heart. This knife had been brought from America--it was a bowie-knife--by Dean, and his name was marked on the handle. Ellen deposed at the inquest that, guessing the pair might quarrel, she had gone downstairs shortly before midnight to implore them to part. Then she had seen Dean leave the Yellow Boudoir in a state of alarm and alcoholic excitement. Afterwards Kirkstone asked her to tell Dean to come down again. She did so, and Dean rejoined Kirkstone. When they parted for the second time Ellen went to the smoking-room, and found Kirkstone lying dead with Dean's knife in his heart The result of this statement was that Dean was arrested for the murder of his friend, and, mainly on the evidence of Miss Gilmar, he was found guilty. The man protested his innocence in vain, and would have suffered the extreme penalty of the law, but that a sympathizing section of the public, not satisfied with the judgment, prepared a memorial to the Home Secretary. The sentence was then commuted to penal servitude for life.
The immediate result of the crime was that Laura, on seeing the dead body of her brother, and learning that the man she loved had murdered him, received such a shock that within three months she was dead. As her will in favour of Ellen had never been revoked, the former housekeeper came in for all her money. Also, as no male heirs of the Kirkstone family were left, Miss Gilmar, by the will of her great-great-grandfather, and as the daughter of John Kirkstone's paternal aunt; inherited the estates. Therefore Ellen Gilmar lost the man she loved, but found herself a wealthy and lonely woman. Only one thing she feared, and that was a violent death; for Dean had declared that his unjust sentence was due to her lying evidence, and that, if his life were spared, he would some day kill her. Apparently he had done so.
Such was the statement of the Kirkstone Hall Crime, which was undoubtedly in some secret way connected with the more recent murder of Ellen Gilmar at Grangebury. The question was--did Dean strangle her out of revenge, since he had escaped from prison about the time Miss Gilmar left the Hall on her lonely wanderings, and was at large to carry out his threat?
If Dean murdered Kirkstone he would have no compunction in committing a second crime to revenge himself on the woman who had delivered him into the hands of Justice.
If Dean did not murder Kirkstone it might be that, enraged at his unjust sentence, he had killed Miss Gilmar to punish her for the lying evidence which had smirched his name and ruined his life.
In either case there was the threat to murder Miss Gilmar, which, on the face of it, implicated the convict in the Grangebury murder. Deeming the man guilty of the first crime, Parge declared that he had committed the second.
Putting aside the first crime, Gebb maintained that Dean was innocent It now remains to discover which of the two is in the right.
It must not be supposed that in informing Gebb of these details in connection with a long-forgotten crime, Parge gave the exact context of the newspaper reports. He used them rather as notes to refresh his memory, and detailed the somewhat barren information in a conversational manner, adding, suppressing, and amplifying evidence in the way most necessary to convey a clear idea of the case to his hearer. Yet at the conclusion of his reading, or rather narrative, Gebb was not satisfied. To him the case seemed incomplete.
"I know a good deal of what happened before the murder," he said bluntly, "but very little about the crime itself."
"You know all that was reported in the newspapers," replied the fat man, casting the heavy book on the table with some irritation.
"Probably; but now I wish to know such details as were not given to the public You can supply them."
"Certainly! Ask what you like, and I'll answer. You'll arrive at an understanding of the case soonest that way."
Gebb remained silent for a few minutes, and watched Parge lighting his pipe. Then he asked suddenly, "Do you believe that Dean is innocent of this Kirkstone Hall crime?"
"No!" replied Parge, deliberately, "I don't."
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds of his defence."
"H'm!" said Gebb, with an astonished look; "those are queer grounds on which to doubt a man."
"Well, Absalom, you can judge for yourself. Dean declared that he was innocent."
"They all do; and no doubt, having regard to this new crime, he said that Miss Gilmar was guilty."
"No, he did not accuse her. He ascribed the crime to Laura."
"What! to the sister?"
"Yes! the mean hound, to the woman he was about to marry. Is not such a foul accusation enough to make you believe the wretch to be guilty?"
"Not quite," rejoined Gebb, dryly; "a man may be a blackguard without being a murderer. Besides, this Laura seems to have been weak--in fact, half-witted; so Dean might have had some grounds for his belief. However, if you can recall his defence, I shall be in a better position to judge."
"Briefly," replied Parge, "his defence was as follows. He declared that he was left alone with Kirkstone in the Yellow Boudoir, or rather smoking-room, about half-past ten o'clock."
"Who left him and Kirkstone alone?"
"The ladies. They accompanied the two from the drawing-room, and chatted with them for a few moments before saying good night."
"What!" cried Gebb, suspiciously, "in spite of the disturbed atmosphere of the house, and the quarrelling?"
"Yes! there existed, it seemed, a kind of armed neutrality, and, notwithstanding the situation, the quartet were civil enough to one another."
"I have my doubts about so improbable a situation," said Gebb, shaking his head. "Well, and what took place after the ladies retired?"
"Kirkstone and Dean quarrelled over the marriage. Kirkstone, it seemed, began to taunt Dean about his attentions to Miss Gilmar. Dean turned round, and declared that he was not attached to Miss Gilmar; nor, for the matter of that, to Laura. Both women, he said, were in love with him, and he could marry either without consulting Kirkstone. He furthermore swore that if Kirkstone insulted him any more, he would marry Laura without her brother's consent, and refuse to pay the money."
"And no doubt at this point Kirkstone lost his temper," suggested Gebb.
"So Dean declared; and the quarrel reached such a pitch that Dean----"
"Killed Kirkstone," finished Gebb, quickly.
"No," replied Parge; "he denied that. He left the room, according to his own story, about eleven o'clock, and retired to his bedroom. Shortly before midnight, when he was considering how to act, Ellen Gilmar knocked at his door and said that Kirkstone wanted to see him in the smoking-room. Dean descended and found Kirkstone dead. At first he was tempted to give the alarm; but reflecting on the quarrel, which must have been overheard by some of the servants--a fact afterwards proved--and finding that the knife with which the crime had been committed was his own, he fled back to his room. Then Miss Gilmar came to see what had occurred--found the dead body, and gave the alarm. She accused Dean of being the murderer, because she had left Kirkstone alive when she brought the message, and afterwards found him dead when Dean fled from the room."
"But how did Dean implicate Laura?"
"He declared that he had given her the bowie-knife at her own request to prune some plants with in the conservatory."
"Now, that is ridiculous!" cried Gebb.
"Of course it is; and a further proof of his own guilt Ladies don't use bowie-knives to prune plants. Dean, however, stated that he left Kirkstone alive when he first retired to his room. Miss Gilmar stated that her cousin was not dead when she conveyed the message to Dean: so for the defence it was maintained that between the time Miss Gilmar left Kirkstone and the time Dean returned to the Yellow Room for the second visit, Laura must have killed her brother with the bowie-knife, which she had obtained two days previously from Dean."
"But why should Laura kill her brother?"
"Because, as prisoner's counsel argued, it was probable that after the last conversation, Kirkstone fancied that Dean might not pay the money if the marriage came off, so he resolved to stop it by exercising his influence over Laura while there was yet time. Laura, so Dean declared, must have revolted and killed Kirkstone in a moment of uncontrollable anger."
"Still, why should she bring the knife into the smoking-room if she committed the crime on the impulse of the moment?"
"Dean did not--could not--explain that point," replied Parge, with contempt; "all his defence was that he gave Laura the bowie-knife, that he left Kirkstone alive in the Yellow Boudoir about eleven, and that when summoned by Miss Gilmar he found the man dead. Also, that he held his tongue because he was afraid of being accused, as there had been a quarrel between himself and Kirkstone."
"I don't wonder he was afraid," said Gebb, thoughtfully; "and in any case his defence was extremely weak. What evidence did the prosecution bring forward?"
"Miss Gilmar was their principal witness, as she was the last person to see Kirkstone alive. She denied any knowledge of the bowie-knife; but stated that she had come downstairs to prevent further quarrelling. Kirkstone was alone, but asked her to request Dean to come back to the Yellow Boudoir. She went up to Dean's room and asked him. At first he refused, but later on consented. It was twenty minutes between the time Miss Gilmar left Kirkstone alive and Dean found his dead body. One point of the evidence against Dean was that blood was found on his shirt-cuff. He explained this away by stating that he had felt Kirkstone's heart to see if any life remained, and so got his cuffs soiled with the blood from the wound."
"What did Laura say to Dean's accusation?"
"She denied it altogether. But it was the horror of thinking that the man she loved deemed her capable of such a foul crime which was one of the causes to bring about her death."
"She was half-witted, you say?" said Gebb, after a pause.
"No!" replied Parge, sharply. "I don't say so. She was weak-witted and soft-natured, but, as I truly believe, perfectly sane. I see that you think she might have killed her brother in a fit of insane rage. Well, that was Dean's defence; or at least part of it. But Laura, when in the witness-box, declared that after leaving Dean and her brother in the Yellow Boudoir she had not left her room all night; and in this statement she was supported by Miss Gilmar. Now you can see for yourself, Gebb, that Dean was rightfully convicted."
"Well," said the detective, reflectively, "it looks like justice; but it may not be so. For my part, knowing what I do of women, I should not be at all surprised to learn that Miss Gilmar was the guilty person."
"Some people suggested as much at the time," said Parge, in no wise disturbed by this suggestion. "But I did not believe it then, and I don't now. What possible motive could she have?"
"Quite as feasible a motive as the one ascribed to Laura," replied Gebb. "Did not Kirkstone threaten to turn her out-of-doors? Was it not his intention to deprive Miss Gilmar of Dean by marrying him to Laura? And did he not try to induce Laura to revoke her will in favour of the housekeeper? Oh, there are plenty of motives."
"But when do you suggest she committed the crime?"
"Why, between the time Dean left the Yellow Room and returned to it again. I dare say she had a row with Kirkstone on her own account, and killed him, then went up to Dean with a lying message to implicate him in the matter."
"But," objected Parge, again, "why should she accuse Dean? He was the man she loved."
"Yes; but he did not love her, and no doubt since she was old and ill-favoured, he showed his dislike to her advances too plainly. I fancy that it was a case of a woman scorned, and that Miss Gilmar revenged herself by accusing Dean. However, this is all theory," added Gebb, with a shrug, "and, as such, is worth little. Dean was condemned on Miss Gilmar's testimony, and, no doubt, intended to kill her if he could escape. Although," added the detective, inconsequently, "I don't believe he did."
"Why not?" said Parge, emphatically. "He did escape, and I believe he did kill her. As sure as I sit here, it was Dean who strangled that wretched woman."
"Humph! Humph!" said Gebb, perplexed. "I'm not certain."
"I am, Absalom. Why, she expected to meet with a violent death at his hands. That was why she left Kirkstone Hall, and concealed herself in these various lodgings under several false names. Besides, as I read in the papers, she constantly consulted fortune-tellers as to whether she would die by violence: a behaviour which showed how lively were her fears."
"That is all very well," admitted Gebb, "but there was no struggle: there was wine drunk; a cigarette smoked by the murderer: and Miss Gilmar let him wander about the room. What does all this prove? That she knew her visitor and trusted him. She could not, and would not, have trusted the man who had sworn to kill her."
"He might have gone to her disguised as a fortune-teller," suggested Parge.
"That is rather an imaginative suggestion," said Gebb, smiling. "By the way, when did Dean escape?"
"Towards the end of '93; and you say yourself that Miss Gilmar began her wanderings in that year."
"Quite so; and I admit that she fled to escape Dean's vengeance, but I am not so certain that he killed her. Remember, the diamonds were stolen; so it may be a vulgar murder for robbery, after all."
"No," said Parge, sticking obstinately to his point. "Dean killed her out of revenge, and stole the diamonds to provide himself with the means of escape. Have you been round the pawnshops?"
"Not yet; but every pawnbroker has been warned. Also, I have sent detectives over to Amsterdam and to Paris to watch if the diamonds turn up."
"Very good," said Simon, with a nod; "if Dean tries to pawn the jewels you'll catch him."
"I don't believe the thief is Dean."
"I do; and also that he killed Miss Gilmar. Well, and what do you intend to do now?"
"Go down to Kirkstone Hall and see the original of the Yellow Boudoir."
"Good! And afterwards?"
"Interview the solicitor who conducted the defence for Dean."
"You mean the barrister."
"No, I don't; I mean the solicitor. Who was Dean's solicitor?"
"Mr. Prain, of 40, Bacon Lane. You won't get anything out of him, Absalom," said Parge, warningly. "He's as close as wax."
"Who was Dean's counsel?" asked Gebb, ignoring the hint.
"Clement Basson," replied Parge; "you'll induce him to talk freely--for a drink."
"Oh! he is dissipated?"
"In a sort of way. A Bohemian barrister: ruined his career through love of pleasure. Has had a few briefs, but not enough to pay, and lives on a small income."
Gebb noted this nutshell biography in his pocket-book, and prepared to take his departure. He had a parting glass with the fat man, and after promising to advise him of all that took place in connection with the case, he left the house.
"And tell me!" cried Parge after him, obstinate to the last; "tell me when you find Dean."