Late in the afternoon I tramped into Marshminster. It was by no means my first visit to that sleepy provincial town. Under the shadow of the cathedral tower dwelt relatives with whom I had aforetime spent school and college holidays. Their house was the goal of my pilgrimage, and a week's rest was to recoup me for the toils of the walking tour. The tragic occurrence at the Fen Inn altered all my plans. With an assassin to be tracked, there was no time for comfortable idleness. Francis Briarfield had been my friend, and I owed it to his memory to avenge his death. It was no easy task I had set myself; I recognized that from the first.
In place, therefore, of seeking the center of the town and my maiden aunt's, I turned off at the outskirts and made for Bellin Hall. According to the story of Francis, his brother was staying with the Bellins, and it was necessary that I should see him at once about the matter. My acquaintance with Mrs. Bellin and her daughter was confined to casual conversation at crowded "at homes" during the season. I had hardly the right to thrust myself on them uninvited, but my business brooked of no delay. The sooner Felix knew the truth the better it would be for him. If he were guilty, I could punish him for his crime by denouncing him at once to the authorities; if innocent, he need lose no time in hunting down those who had slain his brother. Besides, I wished to put Olivia on her guard against the man masquerading as Francis Briarfield. That I intended to do in any case, whether he was innocent or guilty.
Bellin Hall was a grotesque specimen of architecture, built by Jeremiah Bellin, who had made his money out of blacking. It was uncommonly like a factory, but perhaps the deceased Jeremiah liked something to remind him of the origin of his fortune and keep him from thinking his ancestors came over with William the Conqueror. He married the daughter of a baronet, and then took his departure to the next world, leaving his widow well provided for and his daughter an heiress in her own right. Mrs. Bellin was a pretty woman, with no brains and a giggling laugh. Her daughter had the beauty of her mother and the brains of her father, so she was altogether a charming girl. How she could tolerate her silly dolly of a mother I could never understand. Perhaps twenty-three years of constant forbearance had inured her to the trial.
On arriving at the front door I learned that Mr. Briarfield was within, and sent up my card, requesting a private interview. For the present I did not wish to see Olivia, as it was my intention to warn Felix that I was cognizant of his trickery. My theory was proved correct by the following dialogue:
Myself: "Is Mr. Briarfield within?"
Footman: "Yes, sir. Mr. Francis Briarfield has just returned from town."
After which question and answer I was shown into a room. Observe that I said "Mr. Briarfield," and the footman answered "Mr. Francis Briarfield." Now, as I well knew that the man bearing that name was lying dead at the Fen Inn, it was conclusive proof that Felix, to gain the hand of Olivia, was masquerading as his brother. I had just argued this out to my complete satisfaction when Felix made his appearance.
The resemblance between the brothers was extraordinary. I had some difficulty in persuading myself that the man before me was not he whom I had seen dead that morning. The same pale face, dark hair, and jaunty mustache, the same gestures, the same gravity of demeanor, and actually the same tones in the voice. There was not the slightest difference between Felix and Francis; the one duplicated the other. I no longer wondered that Olivia was deceived. Despite my acquaintance with the brothers, I should have been tricked myself. As it was I stared open-mouthed at the young man.
"This is a pleasant surprise, Denham," he said, looking anxiously at me. "I did not know you were in this part of the world."
"Nor was I until yesterday. I am on a walking tour, and last night slept at the Fen Inn."
"The Fen Inn," he repeated, with a slight start; "what took you to that out of the way place?"
"I came by the marshes, and, as I was belated, had to take the shelter that offered."
"But, man alive!" said Felix, raising his eyebrows, "the inn is empty."
This time it was my turn to be astonished. If Felix thought the inn was empty, why did he appoint it as a meeting place for his brother? He either knew too much or too little, so it behooved me to conduct the conversation with the utmost dexterity.
"It was not empty last night, at all events," I retorted, keeping my eyes fixed on his face.
"Indeed! Are gypsies encamped there?" he said coolly.
"Well, not exactly," I answered, emulating his calm; "it was in charge of a man called Strent, and his daughter."
"This is news to me. I was always under the impression that the Fen Inn was quite deserted."
"You have not been near it lately?"
"No! Nobody goes near it. They say it is haunted."
"Pshaw," I answered angrily, "an old wife's tale. And yet," I added, after a moment's thought, "it may well be haunted after what took place there last night."
"This begins to grow interesting," said Felix. "Had you an adventure?"
"Yes! I met with your brother."
"Impossible! My brother Felix is in Paris."
"I am talking of Francis."
"Francis!" he repeated, with a disagreeable smile. "Francis! Well, Denham! I am Francis."
"I think you are making a mistake, Briarfield," said I coldly; "your brother Francis slept at the Fen Inn last night."
"I slept in this house."
"I quite believe that. But you are Felix!"
"Oh!" said Briarfield, bursting into a harsh laugh. "I see you are making the inevitable mistake of mixing me up with my brother. It is pardonable under the circumstances, otherwise I might resent your plain speaking."
The assurance of the man was so complete that I wondered if he knew that his secret was safe by the death of his brother. Such knowledge would account for his complacency. Yet it was quite impossible that he could know of the death, as he certainly had not been to the inn. I knew that from my own knowledge.
"If you are Francis," said I slowly, "you are engaged to Miss Bellin."
"I am," he answered haughtily, "but by what right you----"
"One moment, Mr. Briarfield. Miss Bellin gave her lover Francis a pearl ring. I do not see it on your finger."
He glanced down at his hand and grew confused.
"I lost it," he muttered, "I lost it some time ago."
"That is not true!"
"Do you dare to----"
"I dare anything in connection with what I know to be a fraud. You are passing yourself off as your brother Francis."
"By what right do you make this mad assertion?"
"From what Francis told me last night."
"But I tell you I am Francis," he said savagely. "Don't I know my own name?"
"If you are the man you assert yourself to be, where is the pearl ring?"
"I lost it."
"You did not! You never had it! I saw it on the finger of Francis no later than last night."
"I think you are mad, Denham!" said Felix, white with passion; "or else you must be talking of Felix, who is in Paris."
"That untruth will not serve," I said coldly. "Felix is before me, and Francis is lying dead at the Fen Inn."
"What, Francis dead?" he cried unguardedly.
"Ah! you admit it is Francis!"
"No, I don't," he retorted quickly. "I only re-echoed your words. What do you mean by saying such a thing?"
For answer I rose from my seat and made for the door. The farce wearied me.
"Where are you going, Denham?" he asked, following me up.
"For the police!" I answered, facing him. "Yes, I am determined to find out the mystery of Francis Briarfield's death. You, his brother, decline to help me, so I shall place the matter in the hands of the authorities!"
"Upon my soul, Denham," said Felix, detaining me, "you are either mad or drunk. I declare most solemnly that I am Francis Briarfield. From this story of yours I should think it was my brother Felix who is dead, did I not know he is in Paris."
"A fine story, but it does not impose on me," I answered scoffingly. "Listen to me, Briarfield. Your brother Francis went out to South America some six months ago. Before he went he was engaged to Miss Bellin. The mother would not hear of the marriage, so the engagement was kept quiet. You alone knew of it and took advantage of such knowledge to suppress the letters sent to Miss Bellin through you by Francis, and represent yourself to Olivia as her lover returned three months before his time. You, I quite believe, are supposed to be in Paris, so that you may the more easily carry out the game."
"This is mere raving!"
"It is the truth, and you know it. As Miss Bellin did not answer his letters, Francis thought something was wrong and returned home. Afraid lest he should find out your plot, you asked him to meet you at the Fen Inn, and there either intended to throw yourself on his mercy or--to murder him!"
"Murder him!" he repeated fiercely; "it is false!"
"That will be for the police to determine!"
"But surely, Denham, you don't intend to inform the police?"
"I am going to do so now."
Felix seized me by the arm and dragged me back to my seat. He was now much agitated, but made every effort to restrain his emotion.
"Sit down," he said in a hoarse tone. "You do me wrong, Denham--on my soul you do me wrong. I was engaged! I am engaged to Olivia Bellin; her mother consented to our engagement after I returned to England three months ago. Felix, I believe, is in Paris! I don't know whom you met at the inn last night. It was not I--it could not have been Felix. There was no appointment between us. I am not masquerading as Francis, because I am Francis."
"I don't believe you!"
"You must! I can bring forward witnesses to prove my identity!"
"They may be misled by the resemblance. Remember you and Francis are twins."
"I said before, and I say it again, you are mad!" he cried, roughly casting me off. "Who ever heard of an appointment being made at a ruined inn? No one has lived there for months. Anyone in Marshminster will tell you so."
"Strent and his daughter Rose----"
I began, when he cut me short.
"Who are they? I never heard of them. They are figments of some dream. You went into that ruined inn last night and dreamed all this."
"You don't believe my story?"
"Not one word," said Felix, coolly looking me straight in the face.
"Then I don't believe one word of yours!" I cried, jumping up; "let us place the matter in the hands of the authorities and see who will be believed."
"What are you going to say, Denham?"
"Say! that Francis Briarfield has died in the Fen Inn."
"You won't believe that I am Francis?" he said, evidently making some resolve.
"No, you are Felix!"
"One moment," he said, going to the door; "I shall prove my identity, and in a manner that will admit of no denial."
With that he vanished, and I waited to see what further evidence he would bring forward to back up his imposture.
Here was no doubt that Felix intended to continue passing himself off as Francis. For how long I was uncertain; perhaps for the rest of his natural life, or until he made Olivia his wife. In this latter event he could reveal the fraud with impunity and revert to his own identity. I could not help thinking that he had been informed beforehand of the death of his brother, else he would not have dared to keep up his imposture with a possible revelation so near at hand. Even assuming such ignorance, I had now told him of the death myself, and so strengthened his position. I regretted that I had not been more cautious.
I was curious to see whom he would bring forward as a witness to his identity. Scarcely Olivia, as if she once had a suspicion of the truth she would never rest until all was cleared up to her satisfaction. I hardly thought Felix would run such a risk, the more so as his story of losing the pearl ring could not stand against my assertion that it was on the finger of the dead man. If he still persisted in declaring himself to be Francis, I determined that he should ride with me to the Fen Inn and there see the corpse of the man whose name he had so shamelessly assumed. That would surely settle the matter.
Felix was bolder than I gave him credit for, as his witness proved to be none other than Olivia Bellin. She entered the room with assumed lightness, but her face was anxious and she glanced every now and then at Felix, as though to seek his aid and countenance. He, as was natural, wore a haggard expression. His nerves were tensioned up to the highest pitch, a matter of small wonderment, seeing that his life's happiness depended upon this interview.
"What is this strange story you bring, Mr. Denham?" asked Olivia, greeting me coldly. In our best days we were never overfriendly.
"Has not Mr. Briarfield told you?"
"I have not had the time," interposed Felix quickly; "beyond a few hints of the truth she knows nothing."
"Not even that you are Felix Briarfield?"
"Felix!" repeated Miss Bellin in surprise. "But you are making a mistake, Mr. Denham; this is Francis."
"So he says!"
"You see, Olivia," said Briarfield, addressing Miss Bellin, "Denham insists upon taking me for my brother Felix."
"How absurd! I assure you, Mr. Denham, that Felix is in Paris. I only received a letter from him this morning."
"Impossible!" said I, taken aback by the authority of her tone.
"It is quite true," she continued hurriedly. "Excuse me for a moment, and I shall fetch the letter. You must believe the evidence of your own eyes."
When she left the room, Felix turned toward me with a gleam of triumph in his eyes.
"Are you convinced?" he asked mockingly.
"No; I am puzzled."
"In what way?"
"To think how you managed to get that letter sent on from Paris without being there yourself."
"Against stupidity the gods themselves fight in vain," quoth Felix, shrugging his shoulders. "I assure you that my brother Felix is in Paris. Miss Bellin is about to produce a letter received from him only this morning, and yet you insist that I am not myself, and that he whom I pretend to be is dead. You are mad."
"Here is the letter," said Miss Bellin, entering at this moment. "You see it bears the date of yesterday, He is at present staying at the Hôtel des Étrangers, Rue de St. Honoré, but talks of going to Italy."
I examined the letter closely. It was genuine enough; of that there was no doubt, as it bore the French and English postmarks. I quite believed that it was written by Felix, but also that it had been forwarded from Paris by an emissary of the young man in order to keep up the needful deception. Certainly Felix had a marked talent for intrigue.
"If Felix Briarfield is in Paris," said I, handing back the letter to Olivia, "who was it I met at the Fen Inn last night?"
"The Fen Inn!" replied Olivia, with a puzzled look; "why, no one lives there now, Mr. Denham. It is in ruins, and has been empty for over two years."
"Nevertheless, it was tenanted last night, and I slept there. Also I met Francis Briarfield at the same place."
"Francis was not out of the house last night," declared Olivia decisively.
"Quite true," he replied. "I went to bed early with a bad headache."
"It was not you I met at the inn last night, but your brother Francis."
"How can you persist in so foolish a story?" said Olivia angrily. "This is Francis, and Felix is in Paris. You could not have met either of them at the Fen Inn last night, and, indeed, I can't believe that you slept there at all!"
"I did, Miss Bellin, and there I met Francis."
"If you did, where is he now? Why not clear up the mystery by bringing him here with you?"
"Because he is dead!"
"Dead!" she echoed, catching the arm of Felix. "Dead! Who is dead?"
"Francis Briarfield."
"He is mad," she said to Felix in a low tone, her face white with fear.
"Upon my word, I am beginning to think so myself," I said, losing my temper; "but I declare on my oath that I speak the truth. There is only one way of solving the riddle. Come out with me to the Fen Inn, and look on the face of the dead man I say is Francis Briarfield. A single glance will give the lie to the assertion of this man who pretends to be your lover!"
Felix looked at Olivia, she at him. It seemed to me that they grew a shade paler. I wondered whether any guilty bond existed between them, as certainly they seemed to understand one another very well. Olivia appeared anxious to protect Felix from harm. Either she really believed him to be Francis, or had taken her heart from one brother and given it to the other. It was she who spoke first in and throughout the interview; the woman played a more daring game than did the man. Her attitude puzzled me, and for the moment I was quite in the dark as to what were her real thoughts regarding my story and that of the pseudo Francis.
"We cannot go to-night," she said, with some hesitation, "but tomorrow morning, if you like, we will ride out to the inn."
I glanced at my watch.
"It is now five o'clock," said I; "and will be light up to nine or thereabouts. There is plenty of time for us to ride to the Fen Inn, and I think it advisable to do so at once."
"Why not to-morrow morning?" objected Felix.
"Great Heavens, Briarfield! have you no natural affection? Don't I tell you that your brother is lying dead there? Can't you understand the necessity of attending to so serious a matter without delay? If you have no affection, you might at least have decency."
"I decline to believe that my brother is dead," said Briarfield coolly; "that letter shown to you by Olivia proves that he was in Paris yesterday. He could not have come over so quickly, and, besides, would have no reason to go to the Fen Inn."
"Of course, if you insist upon assuming your brother's name, I can say nothing, but I know the truth, and had it from the lips of Francis."
"What do you mean?" asked Olivia.
"I mean that Francis returned from Chili a few days ago and went to the Fen Inn by appointment in order to hear the explanation of Felix."
"What explanation?"
"The reason of Felix passing himself off as Francis."
"You are utterly mistaken, Mr. Denham. I swear that this is Francis, the man to whom I am engaged!"
"Can you wish for stronger proof?" asked Felix, with the marked intention of insulting me.
I paid no attention to his sneer, but turned round to Miss Bellin, and asked a pertinent question.
"Where is the pearl ring you gave Francis, Miss Bellin?"
"The pearl ring!" she said, much agitated. "Yes, I did give Francis a pearl ring, but he lost it. Did you not lose it, Francis?" she added, turning toward her lover.
"Two months ago."
"Well, Miss Bellin," said I deliberately, "if you come out with me to the Fen Inn, I will show you the pearl ring on the finger of the dead man."
"It cannot be--it is impossible," she murmured, clasping her hands together in great distress. "I am utterly bewildered by your talk. Francis returned from Chili three months ago, and my mother consented to our engagement."
"It was not Francis who returned," I asserted doggedly, "but Felix--Felix, who pretends to be in Paris."
"But this letter!"
"Bah! That was written here by Briarfield, and forwarded to a friend in Paris to be posted back to you."
"Liar!" cried Felix, dashing forward with clenched fists; "if you don't retract that statement, I'll----"
"For pity's sake be quiet," entreated Olivia, throwing herself between us. "Do not bring my mother here. Francis, you do not know the harm you are doing. Mr. Denham," she added, turning to me as he suddenly stepped back, "do you say this gentleman is Felix?"
"I do! Most decidedly.
"I tell you, sir, it is not so. This is my affianced lover, Francis. Great Heavens! could a woman make a mistake in so serious a matter?"
"I believe the resemblance between the brothers would deceive anyone."
"Let us settle the question by going to the Fen Inn," said Felix sharply. "I'll wager that there we find neither landlord nor anyone."
"You don't believe me," said I quickly.
"I do not, sir. I believe you have dreamed all this rubbish. I am here--I, Francis Briarfield; Felix, my brother, is in Paris; and as to your cock and bull story of a murder at the Fen Inn, I don't believe a word of it."
"Very well, Briarfield," I said, picking up my hat. "You have chosen your course, I will now choose mine. Hitherto I have kept the affair quiet for your sake and for that of Miss Bellin. Now I will place the matter in the hands of the authorities, and wash my hands of the whole affair."
"Do what you think fit," retorted Briarfield fiercely, and turned his back on me. Stung by his contemptuous manner, I walked smartly toward the door, but was stopped on the threshold by Miss Bellin.
"It is no use your going to see the police, Mr. Denham," she said anxiously. "I assure you it will only get you into trouble. Your story is too wild to believe. They will say you are mad."
"I'll take the risk of that. I am not yet so mad as not to believe the evidence of my own eyes. Let me pass, Miss Bellin."
"Stay!" she said in a peremptory tone. "Let me speak a moment with Francis."
I bowed my head in token of acquiescence, and she glided back to where Felix was looking out of the window. For a few minutes they spoke together in low, hurried voices. She seemed to be entreating and he refusing. At length he evidently yielded to her prayers, for he sank into a chair with a gesture of despair, and she returned to my side.
"I don't wish you to get into trouble, Mr. Denham," she said coldly, "nor do I wish you to use my name, as you assuredly will do in making your report to the police. I believe this story of yours to be an hallucination, and, in order to convince you of it, am willing to ride out to the Fen Inn to-morrow with you and Francis. When we arrive there, I assure you we shall see nothing."
"I am certain you'll see more than you bargain for," said I dryly. "I would rather you went there tonight."
"I cannot. My mother would not allow me to go. Be a little considerate, Mr. Denham."
I saw the justice of this reasoning, and forebore to press the point. After all, so long as they went the time did not much matter.
"Then let it be to-morrow morning," I said coldly, "at ten o'clock. I will be at your park gates. If you and Briarfield are not there, I go at once to the police office and give information concerning the murder of Francis."
After that momentous interview I presented myself to my astonished relatives. These were two lovable old maids, sisters of my mother, who had passed the best part of their existence in the Cathedral Square of Marshminster. They knew everybody and all about everybody, and pottered through life with the assistance of a comfortable income which they shared in common, a trifle of gossip, and a series of afternoon teas. At the daily services of the cathedral they were always to be seen, and were intimately acquainted with the dean and chapter. Even the bishop condescended to take tea with them on occasions, and they held their heads high in consequence. Moreover, they loved me greatly, though I was but a graceless nephew to the good souls.
When I made my appearance, the Misses Durrant received me with open arms. They had not expected me till much later in the month, but had already prepared for my reception. My portmanteau, which I had ordered to be sent down from London, had arrived, the bedding of my room was thoroughly well aired, and Rachel, their handmaiden, spread for me a sumptuous meal. When I washed and clothed myself anew, I made an excellent meal, for the long tramp from the Fen Inn made me hungry, I then sat down for a chat and a smoke.
"I think he may, Jane," hinted Sophia gently.
"If he sits near the open window, Sophia," was the firm reply, whereupon, this little comedy having been gone through as usual, I produced my pipe and took my appointed station. Thus settled I made inquiries about Bellin Hall and its inmates.
"I see you have the London beauty down here, aunt."
"Olivia Bellin," said they both in a breath, and then sighed.
"Is there anything to mourn about, Aunt Jane?" I asked, pricking-up my ears for useful information which I knew these gossips could supply.
"Ah," sighed Aunt Jane, folding her withered hands, "who knows the wickedness of the heart?"
"Olivia's heart?"
"Dear me, no, Lionel," said Aunt Sophia, scandalized; "she is a good girl,--as good as she is lovely,--and not so silly as her mother," concluded the old lady, with feminine spite.
"Then to whose heart do you allude?"
This question started a duet between the two old ladies.
"Francis Briarfield! You remember, Jane."
"Yes, Sophia! That hussy with the feather boa----"
"Was seen speaking to him in the cathedral by Bishop Jevon's tomb."
"And he seemed very intimate with her."
"Still, Jane, he was glad when she left Marshminster."
"Rather relieved, I think, Sophia."
"And poor Olivia Bellin knew nothing about his wickedness," they concluded together.
My heart beat rapidly. In this idle talk I saw a link which would bind Felix Briarfield to the girl at the Fen Inn.
"Was she a pretty girl?" I asked with well-simulated carelessness.
"Handsome is that handsome does," snorted Aunt Jane, who was remarkably plain herself.
"Sure, sister, she was not ill-looking," said the gentler Sophia, who had been a toast in her youth; "she had a good figure and dark hair and eyes. I admired her complexion, Jane! it was like cream, and a dimple here," finished Sophia, touching her chin, "a pretty-pretty dimple."
"Sophia!"
"Well, it was a pretty dimple, jane. No one can deny that."
In this description I espied Rose Strent, especially as regards the dimple. I had noticed it myself. Evidently there was an understanding between this woman and Felix which had led to her taking up her quarters in the Fen Inn with her father--if indeed the landlord was her father, a fact I was beginning to doubt. I set the garrulous ladies off on another tack.
"Do you know anything about the Fen Inn, Aunt Jane?"
"The Lone Inn, child! Never name it! In my youth it was the scene of a terrible murder, and since that time no one has lived in it, save one man."
"It is now in ruins," said Sophia, with bated breath, "and is said to be haunted."
"Does anyone go near it?"
"No one: I don't think there is a man in the country who would venture near the Lone Inn after dark. Two years ago a stranger refurnished and repaired it. But he did not stay longer than a week."
"What became of him?"
"He disappeared," said Aunt Sophia, nodding her head solemnly, "vanished altogether. It was supposed that he was drowned in the marshes. The house is still furnished, I believe, but no one goes near it."
"What about the landlord?"
"It's in Chancery," said Aunt Jane wisely; "it has no landlord."
After this discussion I went to bed with plenty to think about. I saw well enough that Strent and his daughter had taken up their abode in the ruined house for a certain purpose. That purpose was, I verily believe, to encompass the death of Francis Briarfield, and now that it was accomplished they disappeared. As Aunt Sophia said, the furniture of the former proprietor was still there, so a touch or two had rendered the house habitable. This accounted for their unwillingness to receive me as a guest, and for the mildewed aspect of the rooms which had struck me so forcibly. A second tragedy had accentuated the evil reputation of the house. But while the first tragedy was known to all, the second was known only to myself and to--Felix Briarfield.
I felt certain that he was connected in some way with the unexpected death of his brother. Francis had been lured to that lonely inn for the purpose of being murdered, and the crime had been accomplished by Strent and his daughter. So far as I knew, Felix had not been near the house on the night in question, yet he was without doubt morally guilty of the crime. Olivia, believing him to be her lover Francis, did not place much faith in my story, but surely, when she was convinced by the sight of the dead body, and I had torn the mask from the face of Felix, she would let me deal with him as he deserved.
Next morning I was up betimes, and, telling my aunts I would not be back till late, went round to the sole livery stables possessed by Marshminster. These were kept by Bob Fundy, a bow-legged little man, who had been a jockey in his youthful days, and who was a great friend of mine. He expressed great joy at my reappearance in Marshminster, and mounted me on the best of his steeds. I was in too great a hurry to exchange more than a few words with the genial old fellow, and set out at once for Bellin Hall. Later on I regretted my haste, as a few words of explanation from Fundy would have saved me much money and a long journey.
At ten o'clock I was at the park gates, but Felix and Olivia had not yet put in an appearance. I intended to denounce Felix as a murderer in the presence of his brother's dead body, and to tell Miss Bellin of his friendship with Rose Strent. Jealousy, if nothing else, might make her guess the truth, and prevent Felix carrying on the shameless imposture in which he now indulged so insolently. Once I proved the identity of the dead man by means of the pearl ring, which Olivia would recognize, I hoped to make short work of the pretensions of Felix. It was a difficult task, but I was now seized with what is known as detective fever, and determined to run the assassin to earth. His name, I firmly believed, was Edward Strent; and that Felix was an accomplice. It was questionable whether Rose Strent had taken any active part in the commission of the crime.
In a few minutes I saw them riding down the avenue. They looked a handsome couple, and I sighed to think how the outward appearance of Felix belied his foul spirit. Olivia looked remarkably beautiful and managed her horse to perfection. As they drew near I noted their haggard looks, as though they had passed the night without sleep, and again the thought flashed through my mind that there might be an understanding between them.
But however much Olivia knew, I felt sure she was ignorant that Francis had been done to death by his brother, else even she would have recoiled from so base a scoundrel.
"Here we are, you see," said Felix defiantly, as I raised my hat to Miss Bellin, "quite ready to set out on this wildgoose chase."
"I am afraid you will find it more serious than you think, Briarfield."
"At all events we won't find that body you speak of."
"I am certain you will, Mr. Felix Briarfield."
"You still insist that Francis is Felix," said Olivia, as we rode on together.
"I am absolutely certain of it."
"What about this?" interposed Felix, reining up his horse and handing me a telegram; "Olivia received it this morning."
I glanced at the telegram. It was from Felix in Paris to Olivia at Marshminster, and stated that he was going to Italy in a few days, but hoped to return for the wedding. I handed it back without remark, but it struck me as strange that such matter should have been sent by wire instead of by post. The telegram to my mind was only another move in the game Felix was playing so boldly.
"Well, Denham," he said, restoring it to his pocket, "you see by that telegram that Felix is in Paris, and if so I must be Francis."
"In that case," said I, looking at him keenly, "who is the dead man at the Fen Inn."
"There is none there!" he answered jestingly, yet with a lurking anxiety which I was quick to note; "I have no third brother. We are twins, not triplets."
I vouchsafed no reply to this witticism, which I judged to be in bad taste, but rode on rapidly. By this time we had left the town far behind, and were some way on the winding road which crossed the marshes. Miss Bellin evidently did not desire to talk, for she pushed forward well in front, and as Felix also relapsed into silence, we rode on smartly without uttering a word. A more dismal riding party I never saw. The keen wind brought a touch of color into the pale cheeks of Olivia, but she had dark circles under her eyes and looked considerably worried. Felix rode by her side and addressed her every now and then, but I was too far in the rear to know what they said. I felt anything but comfortable while in their company, as they regarded me with great disfavor.
"Never mind," I thought, touching my horse with the whip, "once I bring Felix face to face with his dead brother he will be forced to abandon these airs. At whatever cost I must tear the mask off him, if only for the sake of that poor girl who believes so firmly in such a villain."
There was no change in the appearance of the Fen Inn as we rode up to it, save that it looked more ruinous than ever. The solitary building had a sinister aspect, and even in the bright sunshine hinted at secret murder. I noticed how thick grew the grass round the house, thereby marking more strongly its desertion and desolation. Sure enough, it had not been inhabited for a considerable period, and this fact alone roused my suspicions as to the motives of Strent and his daughter. They could have no good design in staying in so haggard a dwelling.
"You see the inn is a ruin," said Olivia, pointing toward it with her riding whip; "no one could find shelter there even for one night."
"I did, Miss Bellin."
"It was a dream," she answered, "an idle dream. You may have slept there, but you never met Francis within its walls."
"We are on a fool's errand," said Felix derisively; "I thought so all along."
"Come and see," I said, dismounting at the door of the inn; "he laughs best who laughs last."
It seemed to me that Olivia made as though to turn her horse's head away from the house, but by this time the hand of Felix was already on the bridle rein, and she suppressed the momentary inclination to flee. The action revived my suspicions. With a half sigh she dismounted with the aid of Felix and we entered the house.
All was as I had left it. The blinds were down, the rooms mildewed and desolate, the fireplaces filled with heaps of gray ashes. Olivia drew her riding skirts closely round her and shuddered. I led upstairs to the room of Francis. Here the door had fallen down and we walked on it into the room. To my surprise the bed was empty.
"Well, Denham," said Felix, after a pause, "where is the dead body to whom you have given my name?"
"Someone has been here and taken it away!"
"I don't think so. The absence of the body only proves the truth of what I said from the first. You dreamed your adventure!"
Before I could reply Olivia burst into hysterical tears. The strain on her nerves was very great, and now that the climax was reached she broke down utterly. Felix took her in his arms and soothed her as he best could, while I, utterly bewildered by the turn events had taken, carefully searched the room. All was in vain. I could find neither body, nor clothes, nor aught pertaining to Francis Briarfield. I began to think to myself that I must be dreaming. But that was out of the question. The only conclusion I could come to was that Strent had watched me leave the house and then returned to make away with the body. Without doubt it was Strent who had slain my unfortunate friend, and now had hidden the corpse in some quaking bog.
When Olivia broke down Felix led her from the room, and I went to the front door--there to find them mounted on their horses.
"We are going back to Marshminster," said Felix, gathering up his reins; "thanks to this wildgoose chase Miss Bellin is quite ill. I trust now, sir, that you are convinced."
"I am not convinced that you are Francis!" I answered doggedly.
"You still think I am Felix," he asked, with a sneer.
"I do! notwithstanding the disappearance of the body, which has been made away with by Strent. I firmly believe that Francis is dead, and that you are Felix Briarfield."
"As we have seen nothing, Mr. Denham," said Miss Bellin coldly, "I must decline to believe your statement. This gentleman is Francis, and Felix is in Paris."
"Very good," said I quietly; "then I leave for Paris to-morrow."
"For what reason?"
"I go to seek Felix. You say he is in Paris, I say he is now before me on that horse. You came to the Fen Inn and found no body, Miss Bellin; I go to Paris--to the Hôtel des Étrangers, and I'll wager that I shall find no Felix."
They looked at one another in silence for a few moments. My remark evidently scared them.
"Are you going to put this matter in the hands of the police?" asked Felix.
"It is useless to do so now, as the body of your brother has disappeared. I shall go to Paris, and if I do not find Felix there----"
"Well?" she said, seeing I hesitated.
"I will tell the police all and have this neighborhood searched," I said, concluding my sentence.
Olivia laughed scornfully and rode away, while Felix, preparing to follow, uttered a last word.
"Consult a doctor, Denham, at once. You are mad, or subject to hallucinations."
And with that he set off at a smart trot, and I was left alone at the door of the inn.
After the extraordinary experiences I had undergone I began to think there might be something in what he said. Nevertheless, I determined for my own satisfaction to go to Paris and see if Felix Briarfield was at the Hôtel des Étrangers. If he were not, then my suspicions might prove to be correct; but if he were, then I might believe that my adventure at the inn was a dream.
Having made up my mind what course to pursue, I returned to Marshminster, took leave of my relatives, and left that evening for London. There I remained two days reviewing the strange events in which I had lately been an actor. At one moment it was in my mind to abandon what certainly seemed to be a hopeless search, for I could not but see it was a matter of great difficulty to lay my hand on the assassin of Francis. It would be better, I thought, to place the matter in the hands of the police, and let them thrash it out for themselves. Two reasons prevented my taking this ignoble course.
One was that Francis Briarfield had been a college friend, and I was unwilling that his death should go unavenged. The story of his love for Olivia which he had told me at the inn contained the elements of a strange romance, fitly capped by his tragic end. I felt certain that Felix through his hired bravo--for I could call Strent by no other name--had encompassed the death of his brother. Felix was passionately in love with Olivia, and the unexpected return of Francis not only threatened to take her away from him, but also to reveal the scoundrelly fashion in which he had behaved. At one blow Felix would lose her love and respect, therefore his motive for averting such a catastrophe was a strong one. That he should determine on fratricide was a terrible thought, but there was no other course left to him by which to secure the woman he loved, and the respect he valued. It was the mad action of a weak, passionate man such as I knew Felix to be. Too cowardly himself to strike the fatal blow, he had hired Strent to carry out his plans, and the death had been duly accomplished, though in what way I was quite unable to say. It was sufficient for me to know that Francis was dead, and I felt myself called upon to avenge his death.
The other motive was perhaps the stronger one of detective fever. I was a bachelor, I had a good income and nothing to do, therefore this quest was one of great interest to me. I had often hunted beasts, but this man hunt was a much more powerful incentive to excitement. I could hardly sleep for thinking of the case, and was constantly engaged in piecing together the puzzle. As yet I had no clear clew to follow, but the first thing to be settled was the identity of Felix at Marshminster with Felix at Paris. Once I established that point, and proved conclusively that Felix had never left England, I would be in a position to prosecute the search in the neighborhood of Marshminster.
I own that there was an additional reason in the pique I felt at the scornful disbelief of Olivia. She evidently considered my story pure fiction, and the strange disappearance of the corpse from the inn confirmed her in this belief. Irritated by such contempt, I was resolved to bring home the crime to Felix, and to prove conclusively to her that he was masquerading as her lover, the dead Francis. It would be a cruel blow when assured of the truth, but it was better that she should suffer temporary pain to dragging out a lifelong agony chained to a man whom I knew to be a profligate, a liar, and a murderer.
At the end of two days I confirmed myself in the resolution to hunt down the criminal, and decided as the first step to go to Paris. Leaving Victoria by the night mail, I arrived in the French capital next morning. Anxious to lose no further time, I hastened at once to the Hôtel des Étrangers, in Rue de St. Honoré, and there took up my quarters. Recovered from the fatigues of the journey, I partook of luncheon, and then made inquiries about Felix Briarfield. To my surprise I not only discovered that he was in Paris, but that he was in the hotel at that moment.
"Has he been staying here for any length of time?" I asked the manager.
"For six weeks, monsieur, and now talks of going to Italy," was the astonishing reply.
To say that I was surprised would give but a faint idea of what I felt. That the assertion of Olivia should thus prove true was almost impossible of belief. If Felix were here, and had been here for the past six weeks, it could not possibly be he whom I had met at Marshminster. Assuming this to be the case, who was the man of the Fen Inn who called himself Francis? My head was whirling with the endeavor to grapple with these thoughts. Suddenly an idea flashed into my brain which might possibly account for the mystery.
"Can it be," thought I, "that it was Felix whom I met at the inn? Felix who tried to pass himself off as Francis, and then invented that lying story? Perhaps he was not dead, as I thought, but merely plunged into a trance. When he revived, seeing the uselessness of fighting with Francis, he fled back to Paris."
All this time I stared hard at the manager. In reality I was puzzling out the mystery, and not paying any attention to the man before me. He, however, grew weary under my regard, and moved uneasily.
"Mr. Briarfield is now in his room, monsieur. Shall I take to him your card?"
"If you please," I answered mechanically, and handed it to him. In a few moments a waiter came with a message, stating that Mr. Briarfield would be glad to see me. I followed the man, in a state of the utmost bewilderment, and found myself in the presence of Felix before I knew what to say or do. He was so like Francis, whom I thought was lying dead at the Fen Inn, so like the man who passed as Olivia's lover, that for the moment I could do nothing but stare at him. Yet he could be neither of the two, for one was dead and the other I had left behind at Marshminster.
"How are you, Denham?" he said, somewhat surprised at my strange conduct. "And why do you stare so steadily at me?"
"Are you Felix Briarfield?" I gasped out.
"As you see," he answered, raising his eyebrows; "surely you know me well enough to dispense with so foolish a question."
"And your brother?"
"He is at Marshminster, I believe, with Miss Bellin, to whom he is engaged. Why do you ask so strange a question?"
I sat down on the sofa, and buried my face in my hands. Either I was out of my mind or the victim of some horrible hallucination. I certainly had met Francis at the inn, and beheld him dead under its roof. As surely had I seen the man I believed to be Felix at Marshminster. Yet here in Paris I beheld an individual who was neither the dead friend nor the living lover, and he called himself Felix Briarfield.
"I must be mad! I must be mad!" was all I could say for the moment.
"What is the matter, Denham?" asked Briarfield, touching my shoulder. "Are you ill?"
For answer I seized first one hand and then the other. On neither appeared the least scratch. Yet the man whom I believed to be Francis had a ragged wound on the right hand. My theory of a trance vanished into thin air at this proof that the men were distinct. Astounded by my action, Felix drew back in some alarm.
"How strangely you act, Denham," he said uneasily. "Is there anything wrong?"
"Do you think I am mad?" I asked irritably.
"Your action just now was scarcely the act of a sane person. Why did you examine my hands?"
"To see if they were cut in any way."
He turned the palms of his hands toward me, and shook his head with a slight laugh.
"You see," he said, smiling, "they are absolutely free from cut or wound. Why do you expect them to be marred?"
I made no reply, but passed my hand across my brow. The situation in which I found myself was so strange and embarrassing that I did not know how to proceed. In the presence of facts I could not but admit that my story would sound but a wild invention.
"Come, Denham," said Briarfield soothingly, "you are doubtless in some trouble, and have come to me for help and advice. I'll give both to the best of my ability."
"I want neither," I muttered in a low voice; "but if you will answer some questions I wish to ask, you will oblige me greatly."
Briarfield drew back with a queer look in his eyes, as if he thought my madness was increasing. However, he overcame the dread my actions apparently caused him, and answered civilly enough.
"Certainly! If it will do you any good. What is it you wish to know?"
"Were you in England within the last seven days?"
"No! I have not been in England for at least six weeks."
"Do you know the Fen Inn?"
"Never heard of it in all my life."
"Are you acquainted with a girl named Rose Strent?"
"I don't even know her name."
"When did your brother Francis return to England from South America?"
"Three months ago."
"Have you seen him since his return?"
"Frequently in London, but he is now, I believe, at Marshminster."
"Do you know he is engaged to Miss Bellin?"
"Of course I do," said Briarfield; "the marriage takes place shortly, and I am to be the best man--that is, if I return in time."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I'm going to Italy tomorrow," said the young man, shrugging his shoulders, "and it is just--possible that I may prolong my tour to the East. In that case I may be absent from England for at least six months or more. During that time Francis will doubtless marry Olivia, and I shall not be able to be at the wedding."
"You have not been to England within the last six weeks, you don't know the Fen Inn, nor of the existence of Rose Strent," I summed up; "then I am the victim of some extraordinary hallucination."
"You are very extraordinary altogether," retorted Briarfield. "Now I have answered your questions, pray answer mine. Why do you ask all these things?"
"It is a strange story, and one which you will scarcely believe." "Let me hear it."
Thus adjured, I told him the story of my adventure at the inn, but suppressed all mention of the belief I then entertained that the brothers had changed names. He listened attentively and eyed me with some concern. At the conclusion of the narrative he considered for a few moments before making any reply.
"I hardly know what to say," he said at length. "Your story is very circumstantial, yet you must have been deceived by the chance resemblance."
"I swear that the man I met at the Fen Inn was your brother Francis."
"How can that be when Francis was at Bellin Hall, and Olivia said he had not been out of the house? Besides, you say the man whom you believed to be Francis was murdered, yet you left Francis alive and well at Marshminster."
"I thought Francis was you."
"Ah! Deceived by our resemblance, no doubt."
"Yes! I think so," I replied, not wishing to tell him of my suspicions.
"Well, you see, you made a mistake! Francis is at Marshminster, and I am here, I suppose," he added jokingly. "You are quite convinced that I am Felix?"
"I was quite convinced the other man was Francis."
"Great Heavens, man, you surely don't doubt that I am Felix Briarfield?" he cried irritably, rising to his feet.
"I don't! I can't!"
"Perhaps you thought it was I whom you met at the inn?"
"No! because the man I met at the inn is dead. Besides, he had a wound on his right hand, and you have not."
"It's a queer business altogether," said Briarfield, walking to and fro. "I cannot but agree with your idea of hallucination."
"I tell you it is too real for hallucination."
"Then how can you explain it?" he demanded sharply, pausing before me.
"I can't explain it!" I replied helplessly.
"If you had discovered the corpse when you returned to the inn, there might be some chance of solving the mystery. But you admit there was no corpse there!"
"Not the vestige of one."
"Then that proves the thing to be hallucination," he said triumphantly. "If the man was murdered, who would take the trouble to remove the corpse?"
"Strent might have done so to conceal the evidence of his crime."
"He fled the previous night by your own acknowledgment. The whole thing is ridiculous. If I were you, Denham, I would see a doctor. That brain of yours is in a dangerous state."
"In spite of all you say, I am certain it was Francis I met at the inn."
"How can that be when he whom you met is dead and Francis is alive? It could not be Francis, and, as I have not been out of Paris, it could not have been me."
"Then who was it?"
"Some stranger, no doubt, in whom you saw a facial resemblance to us."
"Impossible!"
"So I think," said Briarfield significantly; "for my part I think you are subject to delusions. Do not pursue this case, my friend, or you may find yourself in a lunatic asylum!"
"Will you come over to Marshminster and help me to solve the mystery?"
"Certainly not, Denham. My plans are all made for Italy, and I go there to-morrow. I certainly don't intend to put them off for such a wildgoose chase as you wish me to indulge in."
I took up my hat and prepared to go. The matter was beyond my comprehension.
"There is nothing for me but to return to England."
"Do!" said Briarfield in a pitying tone; "and give up following this Will-o'-the-wisp."
"It seems hopeless enough."
"Well, so far as I can see, it seems madness. Nothing more nor less. My brother Francis is at Marshminster, you see me here, so it is absolutely impossible you could have met either of us at that inn. The more so as the man you met is dead, and we are both alive."
"Yes! Facts are too strong for me," I said, holding out my hand. "Good-by, Briarfield. Many thanks for your kindness; but, oh, man!" I added, with a burst of bitterness, "what does it all mean?"
"It's hallucination," said Briarfield; "place yourself at once in the hands of a doctor."