After that interview with Felix I returned forthwith to London. I had accomplished the object of my journey, and did not care about staying longer in Paris. My mind was much perturbed, as I was quite unable to come to any conclusion respecting the episode at the Fen Inn. Beyond all doubt I had proved that Francis was at Marshminster, Felix in Paris. Who, then, was the man whom I had met at the inn? It was impossible that I could be mistaken in the identity of my college friend, yet in the face of such evidence as I had gathered it was ridiculous to cling to my first impressions. There could not be three brothers exactly alike in personal appearance, and yet I had beheld three men, at the Fen Inn, at Marshminster, and in Paris, who resembled each other in every respect. The more I pondered over the mystery the deeper did it become, and the more confused grew my brain.
I began to think that I was the victim of some hallucination, as I could explain the matter in no other way. With this idea, which was the only feasible one left to me, I took the advice of Felix and on my return to town went to see Dr. Merrick. He, a specialist on diseases of the brain, listened to my story with great attention, and questioned me closely on all points.
"There is some trickery about this, Mr. Denham," he said, after consideration.
"You do not, then, think my meeting with Francis Briarfield was an hallucination?" I asked eagerly.
"There is no hallucination about you, sir," was the comforting response; "you seem to me as sane and matter of fact a person as I have ever met."
"Then, if it is not hallucination, how do you account for my having met three men all exactly alike, when I know there are only two with that special appearance in existence?"
"I think it is trickery," repeated Merrick, nursing his chin. "This is more a case for a detective than for a doctor. Were I you, Mr. Denham, I would employ a good detective, and probe the mystery thoroughly. The matter seems miraculous to you now, but I feel sure when you learn the solution you will be astonished at its simplicity."
"If I am sane, as you say, and as I believe myself to be, I will thrash out the matter myself."
"Better get a trained man, Mr. Denham. From what you have told me I see you have to deal with a criminal of no ordinary intelligence. It is an extraordinary case," mused the doctor, "and I do not wonder at the fascination it seems to exercise over you. Were I in your place----"
"Were you in my place?" seeing he hesitated.
"Here am I setting up for a lawyer," said Merrick quaintly. "To tell you the honest truth, Mr. Denham, you have inoculated me with detective fever. I should like to solve this problem myself. Criminal investigation has always been rather a hobby of mine. In my business I meet with some queer experiences. There are more insane people in the world than you think."
"Tell me your ideas, doctor, and I'll carry them out, and report progress."
"Good! I'll be the sleeping partner," he said in an amused tone; "but I warn you, Mr. Denham, that from what I see of this case it will be one of great difficulty, and may take months to work out."
"I don't mind that; it is nothing to an idle man like myself; but I am afraid, Dr. Merrick, I take up your valuable time."
"Oh, I can spare a few minutes," said the doctor quickly. "I work hard enough, so it is permitted to even a professional man to indulge occasionally in some amusement. This case is so to me."
"Well, and your idea?"
"In the first place, I am inclined to agree with your ideas of Felix passing himself off as Francis."
"I have abandoned that idea," said I dolefully; "I saw Felix in Paris."
"Wait a moment," replied Merrick, "we'll come to that later on. Furthermore, I believe it was Felix you met at Marshminster--Felix, who called himself Francis, and posed as the lover of Miss Bellin."
"But I saw him in Paris," said I, again clinging to that undeniable fact.
"I know you did, but the pretended Francis of Marshminster, and the real Felix of Paris, are one and the same person."
"You mean that he followed me over?" I cried, suddenly enlightened.
"Precisely, and suborned the manager of the Hôtel des Étrangers."
"But why should he do that?"
"Can't you see?" said Merrick impatiently. "Felix wants to put a stop to your following up this case. From your story it is quite probable that he killed his brother through Strent. The whole circumstances of that Lone Inn are very suspicious. Your unforeseen arrival that night complicated matters. You saw how unwilling they were to admit you. Had you not arrived, Francis would have vanished from the world, and none would have been a bit the wiser. But when you came to Bellin Hall, Felix saw a new source of danger, not only to his character, but to his life. He asked for a night's grace. During that night he went himself to the Fen Inn, and hid the corpse in some boghole."
"Impossible!"
"I'll stake my life that it is so," said Merrick calmly. "Make inquiries as to the movements of Felix Briarfield on that night, and I'll lay anything you'll find he went to the Fen Inn."
"That, then," said I, "was the reason he was so ready to go there next morning with me."
"Exactly! He knew well, thanks to his forethought, that there was no evidence there to convict him of a crime, and he could still keep up his imposture. So far all was in his favor, but your obstinacy raised a new danger. You said you would go to Paris and satisfy yourself of the existence of Felix. Now, then, you remained two days in London.
"Yes; I was not quite sure whether it was worth while carrying on the matter."
"It was a pity you wasted so much time," said Merrick, "for Felix took advantage of your negligence to slip over to Paris, and lay a trap for you. In plain words, he disappeared from Marshminster as Francis, and reappeared in Paris as Felix."
"He might have done so! But don't you think I would have guessed the identity of the one with the other?"
"How could you," said the doctor, "when the twins are alike in every respect? And, moreover, you firmly believed Olivia Bellin's lover was in Marshminster."
"But if I go down at once to Marshminster, I'll detect the absence of Felix, and so guess what has taken place."
"If you go down to Marshminster, you'll find Felix back again in his old place."
"Then Paris?" I queried uneasily. I was beginning to see I had been duped.
"You forget Mr. Felix of Paris has gone to Italy and left no address. It's all safe there, and, as he said he was going to the East for six months or so, there will be plenty of time for the pretended Francis to marry Olivia."
"You don't believe that Felix of Paris has gone to Italy or the East?"
"Of course not! I believe he arranged all these matters to baffle your prying, and then calmly returned to Marshminster."
"But the manager of the hotel?"
"He is in the pay of Felix. You'll get nothing out of him. Now, I am certain that is the explanation. Are you not surprised at its simplicity?"
"Yes, I am! It is astonishing I never thought of it before."
"Columbus and his egg once again," said Merrick grimly. "Well, what are you going to do next?"
"To drive to Marshminster, and find out the movements of Felix on the night after the murder."
"Quite so; but first satisfy yourself on the subject of Francis."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"What day of the month were you at the Fen Inn?" continued Merrick.
"On the 10th of June."
"Good! Francis there told you that he had just arrived from Chili. Now, find out what boat he came by, look up his name in the passenger list, and ascertain the date on which the true Francis arrived in England. That point established, you can prove the false Francis to be an impostor."
"An excellent idea," said I, starting to my feet. "I'll see about it at once."
"And mind," said Merrick, raising his forefinger, "I expect to be kept fully advised of the case."
"Never fear, doctor. You are excellent at solving puzzles. When I find another nut, I'll bring it to you to crack."
"Do! I take a great interest in this sort of cases. I ought to have been a lawyer instead of a doctor."
"I'm thankful for my own sake you are the latter," said I, shaking his hand. "Good-by, doctor; I am greatly obliged for the kind interest you have taken in this case."
"Pure selfishness, I assure you," replied Merrick; and so I took my leave.
Before searching the shipping lists I sent two telegrams--one to the manager of the Hôtel des Étrangers, asking if Mr. Felix Briarfield was still there; the other to my aunt Jane, inquiring whether Mr. Francis Briarfield was in Marshminster. This business having been dispatched, I took a hansom to the City, and saw a merchant of my acquaintance. He was an old friend, and willing to oblige me in every way.
"Chambers," said I, when in his office, "I want to find out a ship that arrived in London from Chili during the present month."
"During June," said Chambers. "Well, there's no difficulty about that. What is her name?"
"That is one of the things I wish to find out; also the names of the passengers."
"Come with me to the Jerusalem," said Chambers, picking up his hat; "you'll find there her name and agents. Go to the agents and they will supply you with a list of the passengers. What's up now?"
"Nothing particular," I answered carelessly. "I have reason to believe a friend of mine returned from South America this month, and I want to make certain."
"Well, if he came under his own name, you'll have no difficulty in doing so. Here's the Jerusalem!"
This, it is well known, is a shipping club for the convenience of merchants. It tells them all about ingoing and outgoing vessels, gives information regarding cargoes, and, in fact, supplies all kinds of knowledge useful to those who have argosies afloat. Chambers was well acquainted with the mode of procedure, so I let him do all the work. It was now the 16th of June, and, as Francis had informed me he had arrived during the month, there was not much difficulty in finding what I wanted.
"Here you are," said Chambers, beckoning to me; "only one ship this month from Chili--a steamer, the _Copiapo_. Arrived on the 6th of June. Dane & Paxton, 45 Devereux Lane."
I copied this down in my notebook, refused Chambers' hospitable invitation to luncheon, and went off at once to Devereux Lane. Here I had no difficulty in seeing the passenger list of the _Copiapo_, and one of the first names I set my eyes on was "Francis Briarfield."
"This puts the matter beyond all doubt," said I, making a note of this; "if Francis Briarfield did not arrive in London till the 6th of this month, he cannot be the man now bearing his name at Bellin Hall."
I was now perfectly satisfied that Merrick's idea was correct. In order to confuse and throw me off the scent Felix had followed me to Paris, and appeared _in propria persona_. But for the doctor's suggestion of the shipping list I should not have been able to prove this, but now I held incontrovertible evidence in my hands to prove that Felix was trading on the marvelous resemblance between his brother and himself. Francis had arrived in England on the 6th of June, he had met me at the Fen Inn on the 10th, and had there been foully done to death by his brother through a third party. But I was now on the trail and hoped to run to earth both the unnatural brother and his vile tool. I felt like the hero of some wild romance.
On returning to my rooms in Duke Street I wrote off at once to Merrick, telling him of my success in proving the identity of Francis with the man who had been slain at the lone inn. It now remained for me to go down to Marshminster and there make inquiries as to the movements of Felix on the night in question. I felt confident that I could pursue such a search without hindrance, as he would be quite satisfied that I would now rest after the Paris episode. No man in his senses would search for a dead man when that man had been conclusively proved to be alive. So Felix doubtless thought, and rejoiced in his cleverness in thus putting an end to my inquiries. But mark how ironical is Fate. Felix advised me to consult a doctor about my hallucination, as he chose to call it. I took that advice and saw Merrick. Merrick had nullified all his plans by solving the riddle with which Felix was trying to baffle me.
It was hard on Felix to thus be the means of pointing the way to his own destruction. But, then, Fate is so ironical.
That afternoon I received answers to my telegrams. The first, from Paris, stated that Mr. Felix Briarfield had started for Italy; the second, from Marshminster, informed me that Francis Briarfield was staying at Bellin Hall.
"No," said I, on reading these telegrams, "Felix Briarfield did not leave Paris for Italy, but for Marshminster, and Francis Briarfield, poor soul, is not at Bellin Hall, but lying in the Essex marshes."
That night at five o'clock I left for Marshminster.
The drama of "The Prodigal Son" was enacted over again when I returned to Marshminster. My aunts had greatly resented my sudden departure to Paris, and announced that this time intended to keep me them for some weeks. I had no objection to this arrangement, as I anticipated a long and laborious task in ferreting out evidence against Felix. The first thing to be done was to learn all that had taken place in my absence, and the information was ably supplied by Aunt Jane, seconded by her sister. I inquired about Briarfield and his fiancée.
"Bellin Hall is to be shut up next week," said Aunt Jane; "the Bellins are going to town, and with them Mr. Briarfield.
"I wonder they stayed here so long when the season was on in London," said Aunt Sophia, "but it was all that foolish Mrs. Bellin. She chose to consider herself ill, and so insisted upon remaining here. Now she can't resist the attractions of town life any longer, and goes next week."
"She has to arrange about the wedding, Sophia. You know it takes place in July. I wonder if Mr. Felix Briarfield will be back in time to be best man."
"That I can safely say is impossible," said I dryly.
"But why?" exclaimed both the old ladies, scenting news.
"Well, he has gone to Italy, and from there goes to the East," I answered, unwilling to tell the truth. "I don't see how he can return in time for the wedding if it takes place in July."
My female relatives looked significantly at one another.
"What did I tell you, Sophia?" said Aunt Jane in a tone of subdued triumph.
"Yes, sister, you were right," sighed Sophia, shaking her head. "Poor young man. I thought myself he loved Olivia."
"Who loved Olivia?" I asked sharply.
"Felix Briarfield," said Aunt Jane; "when his brother went to America, he was always with her, and no doubt loved her dearly. I can scarcely wonder at that, as she is so beautiful a girl. But he behaved very well, and when Francis came back, went to the Continent."
"He was unable to bear the sight of his brother's happiness," said Aunt Sophia sentimentally; "poor, poor young man! I have no doubt his heart is broken. He actually left Marshminster before his brother arrived from America, so as to spare himself the painful sight of their happiness."
I saw by this conversation that my surmise was correct. Felix had fallen in love with Olivia while his brother was in America, and, selfishly determined not to give her up, had devised the idea of passing himself off as Francis. With this in his mind he had gone to Paris, and pretended to stay there; then reappeared at Marshminster as Francis, alleging an earlier return from Chili as an excuse. When Francis really returned, Felix asked him to be at the Fen Inn, so as to rid himself of his brother before he could see Olivia. Whether he intended to kill Francis or to merely explain matters I could not tell, but at all events Francis had been murdered, and I firmly believed that Felix was morally guilty of the crime. The suppression of the letters, the substitution of himself as Francis, and the dexterous manner in which he had rid himself of the corpse (according to Merrick's theory), all showed me that I had a dangerous and reckless man to deal with. But after the clever way in which he had baffled me in Paris by resuming his name I was prepared for any villainy at his hands. He had committed himself so far that he could not draw back, and was compelled to follow crime by crime in order to bolster up his position.
He was going to town with the evident intention of evading me. Doubtless he thought that, deceived by the episode at the Hôtel des Étrangers, I had quite abandoned all idea of meddling in the affair. But for Merrick I should certainly have done so. Now that Merrick saw the matter in the same light as I did, I was determined to go on, but resolved to give no hint of this to Felix. When he left Marshminster, I could pursue my inquiries at leisure. Already I had been too rash in revealing my intentions, for had I not mentioned my journey to Paris, Felix would not have been put on his guard and baffled me so adroitly.
I had at least gained one important piece of information, which in itself was sufficient to break off the match. The passenger list of the _Copiapo_ proved conclusively that Francis had not reached England before the 6th of June, and this shown to Olivia would show that Felix was passing himself off as her lover. With such proof I could stop the marriage immediately, but preferred to wait until I gained further evidence implicating him in the murder of his brother. I believed Merrick's theory to be true, and quite expected to find that Felix had ridden out to the Fen Inn for the purpose of hiding his brother's body in one of the bogholes.
"By the way," I asked Aunt Jane, as we parted for the night, "how does Miss Bellin look? Like a happy bride! eh?"
"By no means," replied my aunt solemnly; "she looks ill and miserable. But that I know this marriage with Francis is a love match, I should say she disliked the idea of becoming his wife."
"No doubt," thought I, "no doubt. Olivia mistrusts Felix already."
I said good-night to my elderly relative, and went off to bed. Instead of turning in I lighted my pipe and leaned out of the window, thinking deeply. Could it be possible that Olivia had discovered the imposture? If so, why did she tamely submit to marry a man whom she must know was guilty of his brother's and her lover's death? Moreover, if she were assured of this, she must also have condoned the deception at the Hôtel des Étrangers. Her conduct seemed strange, yet I could not bring myself to believe that she knew the truth. If she did, she was as bad as Felix.
"She must think he is really Francis, and that Felix is in Paris," I thought. "Surely she would not willingly go to the altar with a man whom she knows to be a villain. No! He has thrown dust in her eyes, and made her believe what he pleases. I must save the poor girl from such a fate. Perhaps, in spite of outward semblance, she instinctively feels that Felix is not Francis. Women have their instincts. I know of no other reason why she should look pale and ill."
My cogitations were cut short by Aunt Jane knocking at the door and telling me not to waste the candles. I was used to these little idiosyncrasies of my aunts, so I answered that I was going to bed, and put out the light at once, but the rest of the night was passed in a wakeful state. Truly, I had a bad attack of detective fever!
For the next few days I kept very quiet, as I was unwilling to rouse the suspicions of Felix. At length, my aunts, who entertained no suspicion of my designs, informed me that he had gone to London with Mrs. and Miss Bellin. The coast now being clear, I ventured out and began to work out my carefully-laid plans.
In the first place I went to Bob Fundy to hire a horse. It was my intention to ride out to the Fen Inn and thoroughly examine the rooms, as I fancied Felix might have hidden the corpse in the house. From Fundy I gained a piece of unexpected information.
"Want to ride to the Fen Inn, sir," said he, scratching his head. "Why, whatever's come over that old ruin? Everyone seems to be going there."
"What do you mean, Fundy?"
"First Mr. Briarfield, and now you," said Fundy. "Blessed if I can understand it. Though, to be sure, he rode there at night, and you go in the daytime."
"Did Mr. Briarfield go to the Fen Inn at night?" I asked, seeing I was on the eve of learning something important. I had not forgotten Merrick's theory.
"That he did, sir. He rode there two nights over a week ago."
"Curious," said I, with assumed carelessness; "it is not an attractive place. I dare say he only rode a little way out of the town."
"No, sir," said Fundy decisively, "he went to the Fen Inn! He told me so himself, as I noticed the horse was so done up. Look here," added Fundy, opening his day-book, "see, on the 10th of June he had a horse, and on the 11th. Both at night, and did not return till midnight."
I mounted my horse and rode away, thinking deeply. If Felix had gone to the Fen Inn on the 10th, then I felt sure that he had actually murdered his brother. Hitherto I had believed Strent was the guilty party, but now, thanks to the evidence of Fundy, I saw that Felix had committed the crime. He had also ridden to the inn again on the 11th in order to conceal the body. Merrick's theory was thus proved to be correct. Link by link I was putting the chain together. I had proved that Francis had not arrived in England till the 6th of June, and so made certain of the identity of Felix. I had discovered that Felix was at the inn on the fatal night, and also that he had concealed the body. Now I wished to discover how the murder was committed.
The Fen Inn was quite deserted, and as evil-looking as ever. In spite of my searching I discovered no signs of the dead body of my friend. The clothes which I had seen folded on the chair beside the bed were also gone, and there was not the slightest thing left to excite suspicion.
"He must have hidden the body in the marshes," I thought, after a vain search; "I'll see if he has left a trail."
Struck by the feasibility of this idea, I went out at the front door and examined the ground. It was moist and muddy, owing to the incessant percolation of marshy water. The path leading from Marshminster was marked confusedly with horses' hoofs, so it was quite useless to look for a trail in that direction. Looking from the door of the inn, the path trended to the right; but on the left, where there was no path, I noticed hoof marks, also that the lush grass was trodden down.
"Here is the trail," said I, mounting my horse; "he took the body to the left."
Following the trail carefully,--and it was plainly discernible, owing to the dampness of the ground,--I rode straight out for some considerable distance. The spongy marsh jetted black water under the feet of the horse, and it seemed as though I were in danger of being bogged. Nevertheless, as the trail still continued in front of me, I followed it. Where Felix could go I could follow. He had evidently placed the body of his brother across his saddle and ridden with it in this direction; I wondered at the nerve of the scoundrel.
Unexpectedly the trail turned off at right angles, and led toward a broad pond of water, slimy and sullen in appearance. On the verge of this the track ceased, and then I knew that I saw before me the tomb of Francis Briarfield. Into those black waters the murderer had hurled his victim, and doubtless if the pool were dragged the body would be found. This I determined to do before taking further steps in the matter.
"Then, Mr. Felix Briarfield," said I, riding back to the inn, "then we will see how much your astuteness will avail you."
It was late in the afternoon when I got back to the inn, and the cold vapors of the marsh made me shiver. As I am subject to rheumatism, I was afraid of future sufferings, so, having some brandy in my flask, I determined to light a fire for the purpose of heating water, and comforting myself with a hot drink. There was plenty of fuel about, and I had matches in my pocket. I began to rake the dead ashes out of the dining-room grate, when I disturbed an oblong piece of flint which rattled on to the earth. All ideas of lighting a fire were forgotten as I stood with that in my hand. It was an arrowhead. I handled it gingerly, for I knew well that it was steeped in poison, and that with this Francis had been murdered.
I saw at once what had taken place. Felix had arrived, and had gone up to his brother's room. Holding the flint with the razorlike edge outward, he had shaken hands with his brother, and so wounded him. A quarrel had ensued, but Francis, not thinking he was poisoned, never dreamed of his danger. Then he had fallen dead, and Felix, placing the body on the bed, had returned to the dining room, and flung the poisoned arrowhead into the fire. The most astounding thing was that I had not been awakened by the outcry of Francis, but I suppose I was quite worn out by my walk and in too deep a sleep. Nevertheless, it was strange that I had heard neither the arrival of Felix nor the struggle which must have taken place. Possibly I had been drugged.
With this damning piece of evidence in my pocket, wrapped up in paper,--for I feared the poison myself,--I rode back to Marshminster, wondering how Felix had hit upon such a terribly ingenious fashion of removing his brother. So far as I knew he had not traveled much, and would not be likely to have any savage weapons in his possession; yet he could not have owned a flint arrowhead in the ordinary run of things. This puzzled me greatly.
I returned the horse to Fundy without making any remarks, and, thoroughly tired out, went early to rest, still puzzling over that arrowhead. Before dawn I solved the mystery. In the entrance hall of the Bellins' house a perfect armory of savage weapons were arrayed against the wall. There were clubs, arrows, bows, mats, and grinning heathen gods. Doubtless Felix, knowing the arrows to be poisoned, had taken the flint head of one in order to put his brother to death. As early as I could I went to Bellin Hall to satisfy myself on this point.
The Hall was a show place, as it possessed a fine picture gallery, so I had but little difficulty in gaining admission from the woman in charge. Requesting permission to examine the warriorlike implements patterned against the hall wall, I narrowly observed the arrows. It was as I thought--one of the arrows was missing, and Felix had stolen it in order to kill his brother! I did not take much interest in the pictures after such a discovery, and the talk of the housekeeper fell unheeded on my ears. Finally I gave her a sovereign, and left the house, impatient to be alone and think over my discoveries.
I had now sufficient evidence to prove that Felix had killed Francis, and quite sufficient to warrant my having him arrested. If the pool were dragged, the body would be found, with the ragged wound of the flint arrowhead on the right hand. I could prove the finding of the arrowhead in the ashes, and how it had been taken from Bellin Hall. Fundy could give evidence to Felix having taken a horse to the Fen Inn on the 10th, and also on the 11th. And, altogether, the evidence against Felix was clearly sufficient to hang him. Still, I did nothing rashly, and before taking further proceedings returned to London to consult Merrick. His advice, I knew, would be judicious.
Dr. Merrick was delighted to see me again so speedily, and assured me that he had thought of nothing else but the Lone Inn crime. The peculiar circumstances of the case fascinated him greatly. "Decidedly I should be a detective," he said laughingly. "I have been inventing all kinds of theories in connection with this matter. By the way, my idea of searching the shipping list was a good one."
"Excellent. You received my letter?"
"I did, with much pleasure. So Francis did not arrive in England until the 6th of June?"
"No! Therefore it was Francis whom I met at the Fen Inn, who was killed by his brother, and it is Felix who now passes himself off to Olivia Bellin as Francis."
"Does she not guess the imposture?"
"No! So far as I can see she firmly believes Felix to be Francis. You were also right about the hiding of the corpse."
"You don't say so!" cried Merrick, highly delighted; "did Felix ride out to the Fen Inn and hide the body as I surmised?"
"He did! I have the evidence of the livery-stable keeper to prove that he hired a horse on the 11th and did not return till midnight."
"During which time he disposed of his brother's body."
"Precisely! I tracked his horse's hoof marks to the pool wherein I am convinced the body lies hidden."
"Egad! You are a wonderful man, Denham! Did you have the pool dragged for the body?"
"Not yet. I wish to tell you all my discoveries before doing so."
"Many thanks. I am so interested in this case that it is a great pleasure for me to follow it step by step."
"I wish no thanks from you, Merrick," said I heartily. "It is rather the other way, as your reasonings have led me to these important discoveries: First, that Felix was in Paris; second, that Francis did not arrive from Chili till this month; and third, that Felix himself hid the corpse. By myself I should never have discovered so much. But I have made one most famous discovery."
"Yes! And that is?"
"I know how the crime was committed and by whom."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Merrick, in much excitement. "Have you seen Strent?"
"No; it was not Strent who killed Francis Briarfield."
"You don't mean to say it was Rose Strent?"
"No; it was Felix himself."
Merrick uttered an ejaculation of surprise, and remained silent for a few minutes.
"But you said yourself that Felix never came to the inn on that night," he objected.
"So I thought, but it appears that I was mistaken. Fundy, the livery-stable keeper, told me that. Felix hired a horse from him on the 10th and 11th of June. On both occasions he did not return till midnight. Now, Francis was murdered on the 10th, and his corpse disappeared on the 11th. Felix is therefore responsible for both the murder and the concealment of the body."
"That is purely circumstantial evidence."
I laid down the arrowhead on the table.
"This is proof positive," I said triumphantly. "With that piece of flint Francis was killed."
"Really?" said Merrick skeptically, picking up the arrowhead. "With such a clumsy instrument he must have bungled the job considerably."
"Not at all. That arrowhead is steeped in virulent poison."
"The deuce!" cried Merrick, dropping it hastily. "Why did you not warn me of its danger? I might have cut myself and gone the same way as poor Francis Briarfield. How do you know the murder was so executed?"
"I told you about the discolored wound in the palm of the right hand?"
Merrick nodded.
"Well," I continued, "that was the cause of death, as there was neither scratch nor violence on any other part of the body. I picked up that arrowhead in the fireplace of the dining room of the Fen Inn, where it had doubtless been thrown by Felix after the committal of the crime."
"Where did he get the arrowhead?"
"That is just what puzzled me for a long time. Fortunately, I remembered that the entrance to Bellin Hall was decked with a perfect armory of savage weapons. I made an excuse of looking at the picture gallery, and so gained admission to the Hall."
"Did you find anything likely to confirm your suspicions?"
"Yes! I found that an arrow had been removed from the wall."
"How could you tell that?"
"Because the weapons were arranged in patterns, and one of the patterns was incomplete. Moreover, on comparing that arrowhead with those on the wall I found it was precisely similar in appearance."
"Humph," said Merrick thoughtfully, "there is only one deduction to be taken from all this. Felix stole the arrowhead, and, knowing it to be poisoned, rode off to the Fen Inn to kill his brother. He is a clever scoundrel."
"Very clever indeed," I answered dryly; "but for you, Merrick, he would have baffled me altogether."
"I think you have him this time," said Merrick, laughing. "Now, what do you intend to do next?"
"Have the pool dragged for the body and Felix Briarfield arrested."
"Before doing so it would be advisable to find Rose Strent or her father."
"Why so?"
"Because they only can give positive evidence as to the committal of the crime. Failing them, Felix may slip through your fingers."
"They won't show up or give evidence for their own sake."
"In that case they must be found and forced into confession," said the doctor quickly. "And what about Felix and Miss Bellin?"
"They are now in town--Mrs. and Miss Bellin in Swansea Square, and Felix at his chambers in Jermyn Street."
"I wonder if Felix is still in communication with Rose Strent?" queried Merrick, half to himself.
"It's not impossible! Whatever Rose Strent was or is, she is not a waiting maid. I believe some guilty bond unites the pair, and that Rose assisted Felix in his scoundrelly schemes out of pure love."
"Hardly," responded Merrick thoughtfully. "If Rose loved Felix, she would not assist him to marry Olivia, and by removing Francis she certainly did so."
"How would it do to see Felix at his chambers and bully him into confession?"
"You won't manage that--the man is too clever."
"He can't do much against the proofs in my possession."
"He'll deny anything!"
"At all events I'll try, Merrick. This evening I'll call on Felix and swear that I am going to have him arrested for the murder of his brother. That will bring him to his knees."
"It might and it might not. Better look for Rose Strent."
"If anyone knows where she is to be found, it is Felix. I can't do better than see him."
"Try it, by all means," said the doctor doubtfully, "but I'm afraid you won't get much satisfaction out of him. First find Rose Strent, have the pool dragged and the body found; then, what with the evidence of Fundy and that arrowhead, you will have no difficulty in getting a warrant for his arrest. At present Felix will simply order you out of his rooms."
"I'll run the risk of that," I answered, and shortly afterward took my departure.
I could not now complain of lack of interest in my life. It took me all my time to keep the many details of this case in mind. There was no doubt that I had already solved the mystery and that Felix was guilty of his brother's death. Yet, as Merrick said, it would be necessary to find the body and thus establish conclusive proof of the crime before the murderer could be convicted. When this was done, the evidence in hand would be sufficient to insure his condemnation. For my part I believed that he would be driven into a corner and forced to confess his complicity in the crime.
Firmly convinced of this man's guilt, I was determined he should not marry Olivia. The crime had been committed for her sake, and, seeing that he had behaved in so cowardly a fashion, it was a fit retribution that he should not achieve his purpose. It was no use my warning Olivia as to the true character of Felix, as she firmly believed him to be Francis, and would decline to believe my story. Under these circumstances I judged it advisable to see Felix at his chambers, and warn him that I knew all. Terrified by the predicament in which he found himself, he might leave England, and thus Olivia would be saved from lifelong misery. His punishment for the crime would occur later on; as, notwithstanding his flight, he could be arrested on the Continent while extradition treaties were in force.
After dinner I therefore went to call on Felix. His rooms were in Jermyn Street, and, as mine were just round the corner in Duke Street, I had not far to go. My visit was paid on the chance of finding him in, as I did not wish to put him on his guard by notifying my wish for an interview. As the twins, in spite of constant disagreement, occupied the same rooms, I could not but wonder at the nerve of Felix in coming back to the apartments where every familiar object would remind him of his fratricidal act.
It was just eight o'clock when I reached the door of the chambers. At the foot of the stairs I found the caretaker ensconced in a glass box like an insect. To him I addressed myself. He was an old friend of mine, and rather an oddity in his way.
"Is Mr. Briarfield within?"
"Mr. Francis Briarfield is in his rooms," said the caretaker; "but Mr. Felix is in Paris."
Of course I guessed that this would be the answer, and secretly admired the dexterity with which Felix had carried out his plans. Doubtless in the end when his brother did not return, or rather when his pretended self did not reappear, he would account for it by an accident in the Eastern deserts. However, my business was with Felix, alias Francis, so I made no comment on the caretaker's remark.
"Pray take up my card to Mr. Briarfield," I said. "I want to see him at once."
"I can't take it up now, sir," said the caretaker civilly. "Mr. Briarfield is engaged, and gave particular orders that he was not to be disturbed."
"Ah! but doubtless he is engaged with a friend of mine," I hinted ambiguously.
"Is the lady a friend of yours, sir?"
A lady! My thoughts at once reverted to Rose Strent; but, then, the chances were that it might be Olivia.
"Yes, Miss Bellin?"
"That's the young lady, sir, to whom Mr. Briarfield is engaged?" asked the caretaker, who was a confirmed gossip.
"Yes!"
"It is not her, sir. I know her well by sight, as she has been here with Mrs. Bellin. It's another lady."
My surmise was right, and I felt confident that while I stood there Felix was having an interview with his accomplice. I could not disturb them, yet wished to assure myself of the identity of Rose Strent. When I found out all about her, there might be a possibility of solving the mystery.
"Well, no matter," I answered carelessly, stuffing the card back into my case. "I'll see Mr. Briarfield another time."
"Will you leave your name, sir?"
"No, it doesn't matter. I'll call about nine on the chance of finding him in."
Having thus baffled the inquiries of the caretaker, I strolled into the street, and, taking up my station at the corner, kept my eyes on the door. If Rose Strent was with Felix, she must certainly come out in a short time. Then I intended to follow her up and speak to her if I got a chance. Failing Briarfield, I might possibly extort a confession from the weaker vessel.
In about a quarter of an hour the woman came out. She wore no veil, and, as it was still fairly light, I had no difficulty in seeing her face. She passed hurriedly by me in the direction of the Haymarket without observing me, and I recognized her at a glance. It was, as I thought, Rose Strent, and none other. In place of the waiting maid's linen dress she was arrayed in a smart tailor-made costume, and looked very fashionable indeed. Her face wore a triumphant expression, as though she had been successful with Felix. I guessed the interview had been for the purpose of extorting blackmail. With her knowledge of his secret Felix was certainly at her mercy.
Following her up at some little distance, she went down the Hay-market and turned into one of the side streets; turned off there into a dirty little alley, and finally disappeared into a swing door over which was a lamp inscribed with some letters. I looked up and saw written thereon "Stage Door."
"An actress!" said I, and went round to the front of the theater to inspect the play-bill. It was the Frivolity Theater, and they were playing the burlesque of "As You Don't Like It." Glancing down the list of characters, I saw that _Orlando_ was played by Miss Rose Gernon.
"A leading lady," I thought, transfixed with astonishment. "A burlesque actress, doubtless, in the receipt of a good salary. What in Heaven's name took her to the Fen Inn?"
This question I was of course unable to answer, but I guessed it had something to do with love and Felix Briarfield. Leaving the matter alone for a few moments, I secured a stall, and entered the theater. When _Orlando_ came on, I was thoroughly satisfied. Rose Strent was Rose Gernon, and I had seen her play the part of waiting maid at the Fen Inn on the 10th of June, that fatal night of the murder.