When Gebb left Parge he intended to go down to Norminster with as little delay as possible and look over Kirkstone Hall. There he hoped to learn further details of Miss Gilmar's life, and to ascertain, if possible, whether she had other enemies besides the man she had condemned to lifelong imprisonment. Owing to her grasping disposition and penurious mode of life, it was probable that she had been extremely unpopular, and it might be that amongst those who disliked her might be found one who had carried the feeling so far as to kill her.
On considering the circumstances of the case Gebb could not bring himself to believe that Dean was the assassin. All the same he was anxious to ascertain the hiding-place of the convict, and make certain of his innocence of this second crime; with the first, which was before his time, he had nothing to do.
On second thoughts, however, the detective judged it would be wiser to call on Mr. Prain beforehand, and learn his opinion on the matter. Also, Gebb wished to discover why the solicitor had not come forward to identify the body of Miss Gilmar. From the description of the Yellow Boudoir, so often referred to in the papers, he must have been aware that the so-called Miss Ligram was none other than Ellen Gilmar. If so, why had he not assisted the police to trace the woman's past history? It was mainly to elucidate this point--which might be an important one in solving the mystery--that Gebb called at the office in Bacon Lane.
Mr. Prain proved to be a small, lean-faced man, with a sharp pair of eyes and a hard-looking mouth. He was neatly and spotlessly dressed in the plainest fashion, and his office, a somewhat dingy place, was as clear and trim as himself. When Gebb sent in his card Mr. Prain had only to glance at the name to know that his visitor was the Scotland Yard detective, and told the clerk to show him in at once. It was with his hard little face set like a mask that Prain received the officer of the law, for he had quite expected sooner or later to receive such a visit, and was not unprepared.
"You wish to see me, Mr. Gebb?" said the solicitor, in a low crisp voice.
"Yes, sir; about a case you dealt with twenty years ago."
"Oh! Then you have no questions to ask about the case of to-day?" said Prain, composedly, and he darted a sharp look at his visitor to see how the shot told.
"Do you know my errand?" asked Gebb, somewhat uncomfortably, for he was by no means pleased to find that the little solicitor was prepared for his reception, and could not conceive why it should be so.
"Yes, Mr. Gebb, I do. If you had not called on me, it is probable that I should have paid you a visit."
"It is two weeks since the crime was committed, Mr. Prain; so you have had ample time to call."
"No doubt," returned Prain, dryly, "but it so chanced that I was abroad in Italy. However, when I saw the description of the Yellow Boudoir I hastened back at once."
"You guessed by the description of the yellow room that the murdered woman was Miss Gilmar."
"I did! But may I ask how you found it out?"
"An ex-detective told me. He traced her identity by the same means as you did. But for his recollection of the room I should have known nothing."
"Oh! So the Yellow Boudoir gave Parge the clue," said Prain, thoughtfully.
"Yes! But how did you guess that I referred to Parge?"
"He was the detective employed by the prosecution to hang my client; but he did not succeed, for Dean still lives."
"Ah, does he? Do you know where he is to be found?" asked Gebb, sharply.
"No!" replied Prain, shaking his head. "I know that he escaped about four years ago, and that Miss Gilmar, out of fear of him, left Kirkstone Hall lest he should kill her; I know no more."
"You know one thing at least," retorted Gebb, astonished at the coolness of the man, "that Dean killed Miss Gilmar."
"I deny that," said Prain, sharply; then after a pause, he added, "Do you know why I came back to England on reading about her death?"
"No, I do not! How should I?"
"And why I intended to call on you?"
"No! You'll have to answer your own questions, Mr. Prain."
"Then I'll tell you," said the solicitor, slowly. "I wish to find out if Miss Gilmar left a confession behind her stating why, and how, she killed John Kirkstone; it was for that reason I returned so quickly."
"Miss Gilmar kill Kirkstone?" cried Gebb, thinking of his own suspicions. "Why, even your unhappy client did not accuse her."
"My unhappy client, as you call him, was a fool," retorted Prain, coolly; "he thought that Laura Kirkstone was guilty, whereas I am sure that the housekeeper killed her master. But I could not bring the crime home to her, and Dean was condemned to penal servitude on account of a murder which I am certain he did not commit. When I heard of his escape I thought he might find out Miss Gilmar and make her confess. He always intended to escape, if possible, for that purpose."
Gebb thought for a moment. "Perhaps he killed her, after all, because she would not confess," said he, with some hesitation.
"No," replied Prain. "Dean was wild and wasteful, and, between you and me, Mr. Gebb, not altogether as well-behaved as he might have been, but I am sure he was not the man to commit a murder. Believe me, he is as innocent of this second crime as he was of the first."
"Well," said Gebb, thoughtfully, "I have my doubts regarding his guilt in both cases. I agree with you, going by the story told to me by Parge, that Miss Gilmar killed Kirkstone, but who killed Miss Gilmar?"
"Some unknown person, for the sake of the diamonds," returned Prain, promptly.
"The diamonds?"
"Yes. Miss Gilmar took possession of Laura Kirkstone's jewels, and amongst them were some valuable diamonds. I read in the papers that Miss Gilmar wore those diamonds nightly, and that when her dead body was discovered the diamonds were gone."
"True enough," replied Gebb, "It might be a case of robbery, as you say. But if the murderer tries to dispose of those diamonds by sale or pawning, I'll be able to catch him."
"I may tell you," said Prain, after some reflection, "that the most valuable of Laura's jewels was a diamond necklace, which I see by the reports in the papers was stolen by the murderer. Now, that necklace was given to Laura by Dean, and Miss Gilmar had no right to it."
"But how could Dean, who was almost bankrupt, afford to give Laura a diamond necklace?"
"The necklace was a family jewel," said the solicitor, quickly; "and I have a description of it. This I shall have copied and give it to you; it may assist you to trace the necklace."
"And thereby snare the murderer," answered Gebb. "Thank you, Mr. Prain; the description you speak of will be very serviceable. And now I wish to ask you a few questions about Miss Gilmar, if you don't mind replying to them?"
"Why should I mind?" retorted Prain, raising his eyebrows.
"Parge gave me to understand you were as close as wax," said Gebb, pointedly. "I use his own words."
Prain shrugged his shoulders. "I don't deny it," he said quietly. "Why should I? Twenty years ago I was trying to save Dean from being hanged, while Parge was doing his best to place the rope round the man's neck. Naturally, I was on my guard, and refused to tell Parge all I knew. Your position is a different one, Mr. Gebb; as, with me, you desire to learn the name of Miss Gilmar's murderer. I am quite at your service, and you can ask me what you please."
"Thank you. Then tell me who inherits Miss Gilmar's property?"
"Do you mean her real or personal estate?" asked Prain.
"Both," replied Gebb, promptly.
"Well, then, you must know that the Kirkstone estates were entailed; but the entail ended with that first murder."
"So I heard from Parge, Mr. Prain. In the male line."
"Yes, in the male line. Afterwards, by the will of the Kirkstone who bought them, and who lived some hundred and fifty years ago, they pass on through the female line. Now, the male line died out with John Kirkstone, so that the estates passed by the will to the female line, represented by Laura. When she died Ellen Gilmar inherited through her mother, who was Kirkstone's aunt on the paternal side. Now that Miss Gilmar is dead the estates pass to John Alder, a barrister, who inherits through his mother, a distant cousin of the Kirkstones. If he died Edith Wedderburn would inherit."
"Who is she? Another cousin?"
"Yes. Even more distant than Alder. She is now at Kirkstone Hall, looking after it for Miss Gilmar, who placed her there. So far as the personal estate is concerned Miss Gilmar can leave it by will to whomsoever she pleases."
"Have you the will?"
"Yes. But I can't open it save in the presence of those likely to inherit: Miss Wedderburn and Alder--in short, the relatives."
"Whom do you think the money is left to?"
"It's not my place to say," said Prain, with sudden stiffness.
Gebb saw that the little solicitor knew the contents of the will, but he was bound by professional etiquette, and could not disclose them.
"Well," he said, covering his disappointment with a cough, "we may leave that out of the question. Tell me about Miss Wedderburn."
"I have told you," replied Prain, sharply. "She is the caretaker of Kirkstone Hall, and is very poor."
"Is she very pretty?"
"Extremely pretty."
"Ho! ho!" said Gebb, in a jocular tone; "in that case she must have lovers."
"She has two," answered Prain, dryly. "One is John Alder."
"What! the heir?"
"Yes! If she marries him she will still be mistress of Kirkstone Hall. But she won't," said Prain, rubbing his chin with a vexed air, "for the simple reason that she likes her other lover better."
"Who is the other lover?"
"An artist called Arthur Ferris. He is poor, but handsome."
"Good looks won't make the pot boil," said Gebb, sententiously. "Well, I'm not particularly anxious for further information about her love affairs. What I wish to know is, if Miss Wedderburn corresponded with Miss Gilmar."
"I can't tell you that: I don't know."
"Do you think Miss Wedderburn is aware of her cousin's death?" said Gebb, putting the question in another form.
"It's improbable, as she would have written to me on the subject had she known. By the way, is the body buried?"
"Of course; it is two weeks since the murder."
"True, I forgot," said Prain, thoughtfully. "I wonder if Alder knows about her death."
"He can't know, unless he traced her by the Yellow Boudoir."
"Oh, Alder doesn't know much about that room and its crime, as he belongs to the younger generation, and the story is almost forgotten. However, I'll write to him on the subject. It is necessary that he should learn his position as speedily as possible, if only on account of the will."
"That is your own concern," said Gebb, rising. "Still you might arrange for me to have an interview with him, as he might throw some light on the subject."
"I fail to see how he can," said Prain, raising his eyebrows. "Miss Gilmar never corresponded with him during her travels. If any one will know about her, it will be Miss Wedderburn."
"Ah! I'm going down to see her," said Gebb, putting on his hat. "I'll have a look at the original of the Yellow Boudoir at the same time."
"I say," said Prain, as the detective moved towards the door.
"Well!" replied Gebb, turning.
"If you see Edith, ask about her lover."
"Which of them, Alder or Ferris?" said Gebb, stolidly.
"Don't mention the name of either," repeated Prain slowly, "but ask about her lover. Then--well, you'll see what will come of your question."
The detective gazed steadily at the solicitor.
"What do you mean?" he demanded, struck by the significance of the man's words and look.
"You'll find that out when she answers."
"How will she answer?" demanded Gebb, quite mystified.
"Ah!" said Prain, with a long breath, "you ask and see."
The day following his conversation with the little solicitor, Gebb left Waterloo Station for Norminster in Hampshire, and arrived at that quaint little town about midday. On making inquiries he learned that Kirkstone Hall was a mile distant, situate amid some woods near the banks of the Avon.
As it was a fine morning, and Gebb was fond of walking, he used his own legs to reach his destination; and after a pleasant stroll through rural lanes, and across flowering meadows, he reached a pair of finely wrought iron gates which stood wide open. The gates themselves were covered with red rust, the lodge beside them was shut up, and the stately avenue, which curved upward between noble oak trees, was overgrown with grass. Even on the threshold, as it were, of the estate, Gebb espied the ruinous economy of the late Miss Gilmar.
On coming in sight of the Hall, he found the hand of Time still more heavily laid upon the works of man. It was a quaint Jacobean building of red brick, set upon a slight rise, and surrounded by stone terraces. From the main body two wings spread to right and left, but the windows of these were all closely shuttered. The hall door was also closed, and--so far as Gebb could see--no smoke curled from the stacks of chimneys. The terraces were grass-grown, the gardens untended and in disorder, and the whole place had a silent, melancholy aspect as though the soul of the house had departed. It was the palace of the Sleeping Beauty, enchanted and spell-bound, and it seemed as though there were a curse on the place.
"And no wonder!" said Gebb, looking at the gaunt mansion, grim even in the sunshine, "seeing the kind of people who lived in it, and the crimes they committed."
He ascended the steps and rang the bell, but before the sound had died away he was aware of a brisk step approaching, and turned to see a young lady walking along the terrace on the right.
She was tall and dark, with fine eyes and a handsome face. Her figure was shown to perfection by the trim, tailor-made costume which she wore. In her hand she carried a silver-headed cane, and walked smartly towards the detective, with the air of a woman fully alive to the importance of time. When she spoke, her voice was deep and full, but the matter of her speech was remarkably business-like. On the whole Gebb judged Miss Edith Wedderburn--for he guessed that this was the young lady referred to by Prain--to be a clever, plain-spoken woman, with few of the weaknesses of her sex to hamper what she conceived to be her duty.
"Good day!" said the lady, with a comprehensive glance. "May I ask what you want?"
"I wish to see Miss Wedderburn."
"Well, you see her now. I am Miss Wedderburn. Can I do anything for you?"
"Yes," replied Gebb, becoming as curt and as business-like as herself, "you can give me a trifle of information."
"Can I?" said Miss Wedderburn, dryly. "That entirely depends upon my humour and what you want to know. Also, why you what to know it. Who are you?"
"My name is Absalom Gebb."
"I am no wiser," interrupted the girl, with pointed insolence.
"Of New Scotland Yard, Detective," finished Gebb, coolly.
This time his reply made a decided impression on his hitherto cool auditor. The rich colouring of her face vanished as by magic, and she became pale even to the lips. Nevertheless, she forced herself to smile with some composure, and controlled her emotion by a powerful effort of will. Startled as she was, she even attempted to speak lightly.
"And what does Mr. Absalom Gebb, Detective, wish with me?" she said in a low voice, her eyes fixed on the man's face.
"He wishes to ask you a few questions," said Gebb in the same vein.
"About what? About whom?"
"About Miss Ligram."
"Ligram! I don't know the name," said Edith, calmly. "Who is Miss Ligram?"
"The owner of this place."
"You are wrong there, Mr. Gebb; the lady who owns this place is called Miss Gilmar."
"I am aware of the fact. But it suited her to take other names while she lived."
"While she lived!" repeated Miss Wedderburn, raising her voice in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that Miss Gilmar is dead!"
"Dead!"
"Murdered."
"Murdered! Oh, God! When? Where?"
"In a suburb of London called Grangebury on the twenty-fourth of last month."
Edith looked rigidly at the detective with horror in her dark eyes, and for the moment seemed scarcely to comprehend his news. She appeared to be genuinely astonished and shocked; yet her next question conveyed to Gebb a hint that she was not altogether unprepared for the information.
"Did he kill her?" she stammered, laying her hand on Gebb's arm.
"He! Who?" asked the cunning detective, trying to trap her into a hasty speech.
"Dean! Marmaduke Dean!" said the girl, breathlessly.
"What do you know about Marmaduke Dean?"
"Everything! No doubt I know more than you do. Have you never heard of the murder which took place in this house?"
"In the Yellow Boudoir. Yes."
"Ah! you know the story!" cried Miss Wedderburn, suspiciously.
"I do; and I have come down to see you about it. Please take me inside, Miss Wedderburn, and show me the Yellow Boudoir in which Dean murdered your cousin Kirkstone."
"My cousin Kirkstone? You seem to know a great deal of our family history, Mr. Gebb," said Edith, drawing herself up.
"I know as much as a report of the Kirkstone murder could tell me: and as much as Prain the solicitor knows."
"You know Mr. Prain?"
"Yes! I was with him yesterday. But I'll learn no good from this desultory conversation, Miss Wedderburn. Please take me indoors and we can discuss the matter quietly. I am the detective in charge of the case, so you need have no hesitation in telling me all you know."
"I know nothing!" cried Edith, vehemently, "nothing!"
"It is for me to judge of that," retorted Gebb, dryly.
The keen look he gave her, and the significance of his tone and words, seemed to startle the girl. She glanced defiantly at his watchful face, and strove to match his gaze with a steady look of her own; but whether from fear or modesty, her eyes fell, and she turned away to obey his request and lead him within doors. Gebb followed her in silence along the terrace and round the corner of the house, until they both paused before an open French window which led into a pleasant, sunny apartment of no great size. Before entering, Edith, who had evidently been considering his last speech, turned to excuse herself.
"Mr. Gebb," she said, with an air of great dignity, "your words seem to imply that I know more than I dare tell. I assure you that such a suspicion is unjust and unfounded. The intelligence of Miss Gilmar's death is terrible and unexpected to me; and any aid I can give you to bring the assassin to justice you shall have. Whatever questions you ask me I will answer; whatever you desire to see in this house I will show you; but in justice to myself, I must ask you not to credit me with guilty knowledge."
"My dear young lady, I am the last person in the world to do so," said Gebb, quickly. "I do not for a moment suppose that you know anything of your cousin's unhappy death. I disclaim the sentiments with which you credit me; and I must admit that there is no necessity for you to exculpate yourself as you are doing."
"I am not exculpating myself in the least," rejoined Miss Wedderburn, coldly, "but you detectives seem to be so suspicious that you see ill where none exists."
Gebb laughed. "You have been reading detective novels," said he, indulgently; "believe me, we detectives are not so black as the novelists paint us. But, as I said before, this desultory conversation is not useful. I would rather see the Yellow Boudoir."
Edith nodded, and led the way into the house. Gebb followed her through the sitting-room, which faced the terrace, and down a wide passage, on the wall of which hung many pictures, mostly ancestral portraits. At the end of this passage his guide unlocked a door, with a key selected from a bunch which dangled at her girdle, and threw it open, so that Gebb could pass into the room before her. He did so without hesitation.
"This is the Yellow Boudoir," said Miss Wedderburn, following the detective; "it was in this room that the unfortunate Mr. Kirkstone was killed twenty years ago."
"By Dean!"
"Not by Dean," replied Miss Wedderburn, sharply. "From all I have heard. Dean is as innocent of that crime as you are."
"Then who is guilty?" asked Gebb, artfully.
"I am not a detective," said Edith, moving towards the window, "so I cannot give you an opinion. If you will permit me I will admit air and light so that you can see the room to its fullest advantage."
When they entered, the boudoir had been in a kind of semi-darkness, as the shutters of the one window were closed; but now Miss Wedderburn threw these open, and the sunlight poured in. The dust raised by their feet danced in motes and specs in the sun's rays, and Gebb, dazzled by the strong glare, felt his eyes somewhat painful. However, they soon became habituated to the flood of glorious light, and he looked with deep interest at the original of the room which he had seen in Paradise Row.
The apartment was larger than that which had been occupied by Miss Gilmar in Grangebury, but in every respect the furnishing and appointments were the same, as she had carried out her whim with the utmost care. The furniture, in place of being cane, was Chippendale; the window and door were differently placed; and the colouring of the whole room was more subdued and mellowed by Time. But the predominating hue was the same--the carpet was yellow, sprinkled with bunches of pale primrose flowers, the walls were draped with costly hangings of golden tint, and, from a domed ceiling of drawn silk depended an exact copy of the Arabian lamp studded with knobs of yellow glass. The furniture was cushioned and covered with yellow silk; the vases and metal-work were of brass; there was even a brazen tripod and chafing dish standing in the same position as its imitation had occupied in Paradise Row. The main difference in the room lay in the absence of books, knickknacks, flowers and magazines, which showed that it was not in daily use; otherwise all was the same. Gebb almost fancied that some genii of the lamp had transported the Grangebury palace to Norminster.
"It is just the same," he said aloud, having taken in these details.
"What is the same?" asked Miss Wedderburn, who was standing near the window.
"This room. It is similar to that in which Miss Lig--I mean in which Miss Gilmar was murdered."
The girl looked puzzled. "You are making a mistake," she said. "It was Kirkstone who was killed here, not Miss Gilmar."
"Oh, but I am referring to the room at Grangebury," returned Gebb, quickly.
"Miss Gilmar's lodgings, you mean?" asked Edith, still perplexed.
"Yes. Her room was furnished like this."
"Impossible. From what I knew of my cousin she would not have spent the money in furnishing a costly room."
"Nevertheless she did," replied Gebb, coolly. "Of course the imitation was somewhat gimcrack, and done on a cheap scale; but, for all that, I assure you the resemblance between the original and the copy is marvellous."
"Strange!" muttered Edith, sitting down on a primrose-hued couch. "I wonder why Ellen---- Tell me all about this terrible murder," she broke off; "all---from the beginning."
After some reflection Gebb concluded that Miss Wedderburn was quite ignorant of the causes which had led to her cousin's death; also of the details, and of the death itself. He therefore told her as concisely as possible the story of the tragedy from the time Mrs. Presk had been brought to the Grangebury police-station, down to the visit he had paid to Prain the solicitor. Some points in the story he suppressed, others he amplified; but, on the whole, he gave her a very fair and unprejudiced account.
With attentive ears, and her eyes fixed on the face of the narrator, Edith sat listening, her hands clasped loosely on her lap. Several times she asked him questions, but as a rule let the account flow on uninterruptedly. When Gebb ended, she heaved a deep sigh, whether of relief or pity the detective could not say, and rose to pace up and down the room. Evidently she was more moved by the tragic fate of her wretched cousin than she chose to admit. Gebb having told his story, waited for her to recover, and comment on the matter.
"Poor Ellen!" said Miss Wedderburn at length, but speaking to herself rather than to her companion. "A miserable ending to a miserable life; but I am not astonished."
"How is that?" said Gebb, with a sharp look at her. "Surely the tragedy is unexpected enough."
Miss Wedderburn shook her head. "Ellen always said that sooner or later she would be murdered."
"By Mr. Dean?"
"Yes," replied Edith, quietly, "by Mr. Dean."
"Oh!" said the detective, taking a long breath. "I thought you believed in the innocence of Dean."
"So I do; I never said I didn't. I only remarked that Ellen declared Mr. Dean would kill her."
"Well, she has been murdered, and in the most barbarous manner. Do you say Dean is the criminal?"
"Do you?" said Edith, answering one by asking another.
"I don't know what to think," replied Gebb, crossly.
"Neither do I," responded Miss Wedderburn; and then for quite two minutes there was a dead silence. It was broken by Gebb.
"Was Miss Gilmar unpopular in these parts?" he asked.
"Very unpopular; the people round here called her Mrs. Harpagon, from her miserly habits."
"Did you like her, Miss Wedderburn?"
"No!" replied the girl, coolly, "I did not; neither did she like me. There was no love lost between us. She wanted a caretaker, and I wished for a home. My staying here is a simple matter of business."
"But surely you are sorry to hear of her murder?"
"I am not utterly without heart, Mr. Gebb, although you seem to think so. Yes, I am sorry. I would be sorry for any one who met with so cruel a death."
"Had Miss Gilmar any enemies?" asked Gebb, impatient of this fencing which kept him at a distance.
"I told you she was unpopular," said Edith, slowly, "but I don't know that she had any enemies bitter enough to murder her."
"Except Dean!"
"Of course," she replied unmoved, "always except Mr. Dean."
"Then he must have killed her."
"It's not impossible," retorted Miss Wedderburn, coolly.
Gebb, a rare thing for him to do, lost his temper completely. "Madame!" he cried in a rage, "will you or will you not answer me plainly?"
"There is no need to raise your voice, sir. I am answering you."
"But not plainly!"
"What do you call plainly?" asked Edith, with a provoking smile.
"You know what I mean," said Gebb, testily. "I call black black and white white; you call both a kind of grey."
"I believe they are grey when mixed. However, I see what you mean, Mr. Gebb, so do not lose your temper. You wish to know why Miss Gilmar left this place, how she left it, and why I am in charge."
"Yes, I shall be glad of the information."
"Very good," said Edith, calmly; "then you shall hear my history."
"It will be just as well for you to tell it," said Gebb, dryly; "at least, so far as concerns Miss Gilmar. Every detail is of value in connection with this case. Please go on"--and he took out pencil and pocket-book.
"I am an orphan," said Miss Wedderburn, taking no notice of this action, "as I lost my parents some five years ago. I was then eighteen years of age and at a school in Canterbury, but on the death of my father and mother I was unable to continue my education. Therefore, as I had no parents, no friends, and no money, I was in anything but a pleasant position."
"Did your father leave no money?" inquired Gebb, with sympathy.
"If he had I should not be here, sir. My father died so poor that there was hardly enough money to pay his funeral expenses. I tell you all these details, Mr. Gebb, so that you may understand my position here. When I found myself thrown on the world I did not know what to do, as I was unable to obtain a situation either as companion or governess. Then I remembered Ellen Gilmar--a relative of my father's, who I knew was living a quiet life in this place on the money left to her by Laura Kirkstone. I wrote to her and explained my position; and, as she no doubt found life here extremely dull, she asked me to stay with her as a companion, but without a salary. The offer did not attract me greatly, nor did Ellen on our first interview; but I was in that unenviable position when beggars can't be choosers, so I was forced to accept her offer. I have been here for the last five years, and on the whole I have no reason to complain of my lot in life."
"Was Miss Gilmar kind to you?"
Edith shrugged her shoulders. "As kind as she could be to any one. We quarrelled once or twice."
"About what?"
"I don't see that you have any right to ask that question," said Edith, quietly. "Still, to show you how candid I am, I will answer it frankly. We quarrelled about a certain Mr. Alder."
"What! John Alder the barrister?"
"Yes," said Miss Wedderburn, rather surprised; "do you know him?"
"Not personally; but I heard about him from Mr. Prain."
"Mr. Prain seems to have been very confidential. However, this gentleman wished to marry me, and Miss Gilmar thought that I ought to accept him, as he was the heir to the Kirkstone estates and also because she intended to leave him her money."
"Without a provision for you?"
"Oh," said Miss Wedderburn, indifferently, "Ellen was not bound to leave me her money, seeing that she had provided me with free board and lodging. But she advised me to marry Mr. Alder, and so make certain of being comfortable for life. But I did not like him, so I refused to become his wife. Now I suppose he will turn me out-of-doors."
"Would he be so cruel?" said Gebb, with a glance at her handsome, haughty face.
"He might, and he might not. He is much liked by his friends, and, I suppose, has as much charity as most people; but whatever he decides, I can't stay on here, now that he is the master. Does he know that his cousin is dead?"
"I can't say. I don't think so; unless, like myself and Prain, he discovered her death through the newspaper descriptions of the Yellow Boudoir."
"He'll find out soon, I've no doubt," said Edith, "and come down to offer me a choice of being his wife or leaving the Hall. I shall certainly go. But to continue my story. I remained with Miss Gilmar, and got on fairly well with her. She told me all about the murder, and her fears of being killed by Dean. Often she congratulated herself that he was in prison."
"And what did she do when she heard of his escape?"
"She was beside herself with terror; and, thinking he would come down here to murder her, she determined to leave the Hall. She made all arrangements as regards money with her solicitor, and asked me to take charge of this place. I agreed, and she went away over three years ago. I have never," said Miss Wedderburn, with emphasis, "set eyes on her since."
"Did you know the course of her wanderings?"
"Sometimes, when she wrote to inquire if Dean had made his appearance at the Hall, but as a rule I heard nothing, and knew not where she was. The last time she wrote was about six months ago, but she did not say then where her next resting-place would be, and as she was not inclined to be confidential I did not ask questions."
"Did you know that she carried about a duplicate of this room?"
"No, not until you told me. I never see the newspapers down here."
"Can you tell me why she did so?"
"It is hard to explain," said Edith, with a puzzled look. "When Ellen was here she sat constantly in this room, and seemed greatly attached to it. I do not know why, seeing that it had been the scene of her cousin's murder. But I suppose she wanted to keep the threats of Dean to kill her constantly in mind, and so framed a duplicate of this room, that she might not forget her danger and run the risk of being lulled into a state of dangerous security."
"That would hardly account for her strange fancy for the room," said Gebb, shaking his head.
"I can supply no other reason," answered Edith, reflectively. "Ellen was very eccentric, and one could not always account for her whims."
"She was superstitious?"
"Very! Believed in omens and fortune-tellers and all kinds of rubbish. Yet I fancy she had not always been so weak-minded. It was the dread of a violent death that made her consult these people."
"Did she ever drop any hint about the murder?"
"She dropped no hint, as you call it," said Edith, stiffly, "but told me the whole story very plainly. She quite believed that Dean was guilty."
"Yet she might have killed Kirkstone herself," said Gebb, after a pause.
"That is impossible. She had no reason to do so; and moreover if she had been guilty, she would certainly have betrayed herself to me. It is no use speaking ill of the dead, Mr. Gebb."
"Yet you cannot say that your cousin was a good woman."
"Perhaps not," retorted Miss Wedderburn. "On the other hand, I cannot say that she was a murderess. Well, sir, I have told you all I know, and you see I cannot help you in any way."
"I am not so sure of that," replied Gebb, coolly. "I have not yet closed my examination."
Edith flushed and looked uneasy. "I don't like that word," she said in irritable tones; "it sounds as though I were a criminal in the dock."
"That is a strong way of putting it, Miss Wedderburn. Why not compare yourself to a witness in the witness-box?"
"Oh, call me what you like," cried the girl, rising impatiently, "but let us finish our conversation as quickly as possible. I have told you about Miss Gilmar, about this room, about Mr. Alder; I know nothing more."
"Nothing, Miss Wedderburn? Think again."
"I tell you I know nothing," said Edith, now crimson with rage. "What do you mean by your hints?"
"I mean that you have another lover," remarked Gebb, acting on the advice of Prain, but quite in the dark as to what it would bring forth.
Miss Wedderburn sat down promptly again on the couch as though her limbs refused to support her, and the flush on her face gave place to a deadly pallor. She shook in every limb, as though overcome with terror.
"Arthur!" she faltered. "You know about----" Her voice stopped, and she fell back in a faint.
Gebb was not easily surprised, being used by reason of his profession to traffic in mysteries; but the unexpected fainting of Edith at his apparently innocent question perplexed him beyond measure. Of course, the girl had not told him the whole of her history, so no doubt in the portions thus kept back lay the explanation of her violent emotion. Gebb, being ignorant of the cause, was amazed at the result.
"Hullo!" said he, throwing open the window to admit fresh air, "there is something queer about this. Prain hinted that if I asked about her lover I might hear something strange, and her actions speak quite as loud as words. This fainting has some meaning in it. Well, well! I must revive her first and question her afterwards."
This was easier said than done, as there was no restorative of any sort at hand. Miss Wedderburn lay back on the couch motionless and white, the image of death; even the breeze from the open window could not restore her senses. Gebb was about to throw wide open the door, and shout for assistance, when through the window he caught sight of a man crossing the lawn, and immediately hailed him loudly. The man jumped round suddenly as though startled by the call, and after some hesitation moved forward slowly and unwillingly to crane his head into the room. He was a queer old creature, with shaggy white hair and untrimmed beard, and two glittering eyes set so closely together as to give him an uncanny look. He was dressed in a suit of old clothes discoloured and rusty; and, with his elbows on the window-sill, moped and mowed in a smiling vacant way at the detective. At the first near glance Gebb saw that the newcomer was not in his right mind.
"Here, my man," he said, making the best of this doubtful assistant, "bring some water; the lady has fainted."
The man grinned, and turned his eyes towards the white face of Edith. Over his own a shade passed, with the result of altering it from gay to grave. He even looked terrified, and with a kind of hoarse cry, pointed one lean finger at the unconscious girl.
"Is she dead? Did you kill her?" he asked in a harsh whisper.
"No! No!!" replied the detective, soothingly, as he would speak to a child, "she has fainted. Bring some water."
"Kill her!" whispered the man, nodding; "it's a good room to kill people in; we use it for that here. I won't tell. I'd rather see her dead than alive; it's better for her. The grave's the bed for a weary head."
"Hush! Bring the water," cried Gebb, shrinking back from the horrible creature. "Be off with you!"
The madman shrank back in his turn at the peremptory tone of the detective, and vanished with a nod, just as a sigh sounded through the room. The cool draught playing on the forehead of Edith had at length produced its effect, and with a second sigh longer than the first, she opened her eyes, and looked vacantly at Gebb. The detective caught her hand, and slapped it vigorously, whereat the girl sat up with an effort, and her faintness passed away. Still her brain was not quite clear, and she looked languidly at Gebb, as though she were in a dream.
"What did you say?" she asked in a low voice. "Am I--have I--what is it?" and she passed a slow hand across her forehead.
"You fainted, Miss Wedderburn," replied Gebb, softly.
"Yes! I remember! I fainted! You asked about---- Oh, God! I know;" and she covered her eyes with one hand.
Before she could speak again, a harsh, cracked voice was heard singing in the distance:--
"The raven is the fowl for me,He sits upon the gallows tree,And bravely, bravely doth he sing,In a voice so low and rich:While flaunting in a garb of pitchThe murderer's corpse does gaily swing.Ho! Ho! Ha! Ha! He! He! He!The raven and the gallows tree."
"The raven is the fowl for me,He sits upon the gallows tree,And bravely, bravely doth he sing,In a voice so low and rich:While flaunting in a garb of pitchThe murderer's corpse does gaily swing.Ho! Ho! Ha! Ha! He! He! He!The raven and the gallows tree."
"Ah!" Miss Wedderburn shivered nervously as this gruesome ditty sounded nearer, and put her fingers in her ears to shut out the singing. "It is Martin with his fearful songs!" said she, softly.
"Martin! And who is Martin?" asked Gebb, amazed at these extraordinary proceedings.
"Martin! Martin! Mad Martin!" croaked the harsh voice; and there at the window stood the crazy man, leering in a fawning manner, and holding a tin basin half full of water. Dipping his hand into this, he sprinkled a few drops towards Edith, singing tunelessly the while:--