After all, it is true that the unexpected always happens. In my unraveling of the Fen Inn mystery I never for a moment expected to find that Francis was alive. I was even ignorant that Felix had been to the inn on that night. He had ridden round the back way of the house, and, as my room was over the front door, I had not heard his arrival. Under these circumstances it was easy for me to make the mistake, and think the dead man was Francis, particularly as I was misled by the marvelous resemblance between the brothers, and, moreover, saw the pearl ring on the finger of the corpse. My mistake was a perfectly excusable one, and I had been confirmed in such erroneous belief by the adroit fashion in which Francis, for his own safety, kept up the deception.
Now I knew the truth, that Francis was alive and Felix dead, yet as regards the name of the man who had committed the crime I was still quite in the dark. Rose Gernon knew, but it was questionable whether she would confess, even to save her own skin. Either she or Strent was the guilty person, as none other was in the inn at that time. Strent had vanished, but no doubt she knew his whereabouts. The question was whether she would tell.
"Oh, she'll tell where he is, right enough," said Merrick, to whom I put this view of the matter, "especially if she is guilty herself."
"You don't think she is the criminal, Merrick?"
"There is no reason why she should not be," he replied argumentatively. "She had every reason to hate Felix Briarfield. He had promised to marry her, and was engaged to Olivia. Quite enough reason there for a jealous woman such as she seems to be."
"But she wanted Felix to kill his brother, so that she might force him to marry her."
"Yes; but that little arrangement did not come off. My idea is that she saw Felix when he arrived at the inn, and asked him straight out if he had arranged to marry Olivia. She would hear of the engagement while passing through Marshminster on her way to the lone inn. No doubt Felix lied about the matter, and she lost her temper. It may be that she did not intend to kill him, but, having the poisoned arrowhead in her hand, forgot how dangerous it was, and threw herself on him. He put out his hand to keep her off, and so was wounded. Then he died, and, terrified at what the consequences might be, she and Strent left the inn."
"But what about her blackmailing Francis?"
"She guessed what Francis had done, and saw a chance of securing her aims by putting the murder on to him. He had so compromised himself by his foolish actions that, of course, he was afraid to denounce her."
"Still, why did she want to marry him? She loved Felix, not Francis."
"It's my opinion she loved neither of them," said Merrick dryly, "and simply wanted to marry for respectability."
"Do you think she will denounce Strent?"
"She'll denounce anyone to save herself."
"Won't you come and hear her confession, Merrick?"
"Not I. A respectable practitioner like myself has no business to be mixed up in such criminality. Hitherto I have been the sleeping partner in this affair, and you have carried through my ideas excellently well. Continue to do so, and then come and tell me all about it."
"Very pleasant for you," I grumbled; "but I have all the hard work."
Merrick laughed and pushed me out of the door. He had a dozen patients waiting, and could spare no more time. He said one last word before I left.
"Oh, by the way, Denham," said he, lifting a warning forefinger, "don't you trust that Rose Gernon in the least. I've been making inquiries about her, and she has a black record--about the worst in London, I should say."
On my way to Jermyn Street I wondered how he had gained this information. A specialist of Merrick's standing does not go round making inquiries about loose characters. Yet I knew he spoke the truth. His faculty for learning things was marvelous. Decidedly, Merrick should have been a detective. His opinion about Rose Gernon coincided with mine. One had only to look in her face to see what she was.
At Jermyn Street I found Francis, eagerly waiting for my arrival.
"I've sent down to the Marshminster police," said he quickly, "and instructed them to drag the pool near the Fen Inn."
"I am afraid you'll get into trouble over that, Briarfield."
"I don't care," said Francis doggedly. "I have been a coward too long. Had I trusted you, and told all, there would not have been this trouble. If the police arrest me, they can just do so, and I'll leave it to you to see me through."
"I hope we'll learn the truth from Rose to-day."
"It's possible, but not probable. She'll lie like the devil, whose daughter she is."
"I'm not too sure of that. If she is guiltless, she'll be only too anxious to save her own neck. Why should she risk her liberty for the sake of this man Strent? Who is he?"
"I haven't the least idea."
"Then we'll make Rose tell today--or have her arrested."
"There is not sufficient evidence against her," objected Francis.
"Yes, there is. I'll take the risk of all that. Before Rose Gernon leaves this room she has to confess the truth. It's your only chance of safety."
"But you don't believe I killed Felix?"
"I don't, but the police may. You forget how highly suspicious all your actions have been. Rose knows you have been passing as your brother, and will be sure to make capital out of it."
"You'll see me through, Denham?" he said, taking my hand.
"You can be sure of that," I answered, shaking it heartily. "I won't rest till you are safe, and the murderer of your brother is in jail."
"Who killed him, do you think?"
"I don't know, but Rose does, and we'll make her tell!"
We discussed the matter extensively, but neither of us could come to any conclusion. When the clock struck noon, Rose Gernon, true to her appointment, walked into the room. Without waiting for an invitation she sat down in a chair and scowled at me.
"That man of yours is outside," she said savagely; "he's been following me about everywhere, and watching my house all night. Perhaps you'll ask him to go away."
"That depends on the result of this conversation. You're not out of danger yet, Miss Gernon."
"I am not aware that I was ever in danger, Mr. Denham! Are you going to accuse me of killing Felix?"
"I might even do that unless you tell the truth!"
"Oh!" said she, with a sneer; "is that your game, sir? Then suppose I do tell the truth, and say you killed Felix?"
"You're quite capable of doing so, but no one would believe so wild a tale. I had no reason to kill Felix Briarfield."
"Then what motive had I for so doing?"
"That's best known to yourself," I answered tartly, weary of all this fencing.
"It is waste of time talking like this," interrupted Francis. "You must be aware, Miss Gernon, that you stand in a very dangerous position."
"Not more so than you do yourself," she replied, with superb insolence.
"Pardon me, I think otherwise. By your own confession you went down to the Fen Inn to assist my brother in getting me out of the way. You said that last night before two witnesses--Miss Bellin and Mr. Denham."
"I talked at random," she muttered. "I did not intend that any crime should be committed."
"Perhaps not. Nevertheless, my brother is dead, and you know how he died."
"I know the cause of his death, but I do not know who killed him!"
"If you know one thing, you must know the other."
"I do not! When Felix arrived, he showed Strent and I an arrowhead which he said was poisoned."
"Is this the arrowhead?" I asked, producing it out of a thick piece of paper.
"Yes; where did you get it?"
"I found it in the ashes of the fireplace where you threw it!"
"That is not true," said Miss Gernon angrily. "I did not throw it into the fireplace. I never even had it my hand--the idea that it was poisoned frightened me."
"Pray go on with your story, Miss Gernon."
"I see you don't believe me," she flashed out defiantly, "but I am telling exactly what took place. Felix said he was going to kill his brother with the poisoned arrowhead. I told him I would have none of that sort of thing; that I only consented to play the part of a waiting maid in order to deceive his brother into a meeting. I said Francis could marry Miss Bellin, and he was to marry me."
"And after that?"
"He jeered and said he intended to marry Miss Bellin. Then I grew angry and struck him!"
She was in real earnest, for her mouth was set, and her hands were clenched. Not a pretty sight by any means. I remembered Merrick's idea, and conceived that it might be possible the woman before me had killed the man who flouted her, not intentionally, but in a fit of blind rage.
"You struck him with the arrowhead?" I hinted.
"No, I didn't! He had laid that down on the table. I struck him with my open palm, and said if he killed his brother I would denounce him to the authorities as a murderer; then he would go to the scaffold instead of the altar with Miss Bellin."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing at first. Then I saw a look pass between him and Strent, and they seemed to understand one another. Felix said he would return to Marshminster, and let his brother marry Miss Bellin. I did not then know he had been passing himself off as you," she added, turning to Francis; "if I had, I would have guessed he was lying. As it was I thought he spoke the truth, and kissed him. Then I went to bed."
"And afterward?" said Francis, seeing she paused.
"Well, I never saw Felix again till he was dead."
"In the morning?"
"No. An hour after I left him. Strent knocked at my bedroom door, and asked me to come down. I guessed by his voice he was afraid, so dressed hurriedly and came downstairs. Felix was lying dead by the table. I could not see Strent, and went to look for him. He was out at the back door mounting Francis' horse. I asked him where he was going, and he said Felix was dead, and he did not want to stay in order to be accused of the crime."
"Did he say he had killed him?"
"No; nor had I time to ask him. He went off at a gallop, and left me alone with the body. I was horribly afraid, as I thought you or Francis would wake up and accuse me of the crime. Besides, I could not account for my presence in that house without suspicion. So I put on my hat and cloak and fled to Marshminster."
"How did you fly?"
"There was a trap and horse in which Strent and I had brought provisions to the inn. I harnessed the horse and drove back to Marshminster. There I returned it to the owners, and went back to London by the early train."
"What became of Strent?"
"I don't know. I have never set eyes on him since."
"Do you think he killed Felix?"
"Yes. I believe they had a row, and he killed him. But he did not admit it."
Francis and I looked at one another. The whole business was so queer as to be hardly believable. Nevertheless, we saw Rose Gernon had told the truth.
"What made you come to me?" asked Francis.
"I thought you had escaped from the inn, and wished to ask you what had become of your brother's body. Then I saw you wore the clothes of Felix, and guessed the whole game."
"Particularly as you listened to my theory at the Fen Inn," said I.
"Yes," she answered quickly; "it was your conversation which put the idea into my head. I saw that Felix had passed himself off as Francis, and afterward Francis acted the part of Felix."
"You wished to marry me," said Francis, whereat Rose laughed.
"No. I tried that game on to get the whole truth out of you. I wished you to admit you were Felix, for he had promised to marry me. However, you did not fall into the trap. And now," she added, standing up, "I have told you all, may I go?"
I consulted Francis with a look. He consented mutely.
"Yes," I said, also rising, "you may go, but my detective will still watch you."
"For how long?"
"Till Strent is found."
"You think I know," she said, tossing her head. "You are wrong. Till I met Strent at Marshminster I never saw him before, nor do I know where he now is. Take off your bloodhound."
"When Strent is found," I persisted; "not till then."
She looked wrathfully at me, and rushed out of the room.
We were no nearer the truth than before. Rose Gernon had told us nothing new comparatively speaking. Certainly she declared herself to be innocent of the crime, and accused Strent, but if we found Strent, he might declare himself innocent and accuse her. One or the other of them must necessarily be guilty, as they alone had seen Felix on that fatal night. Rose was being closely watched by a detective, so that we could obtain her evidence at any moment. It now remained for us to find Strent, and hear his story. Francis believed Strent had killed his brother. I had my doubts, as I could see no motive for him committing the crime, whereas Rose, in a fit of blind anger, might have done so. Merrick's theory as to her guilt was more in accordance with my belief.
Hitherto we had kept the case from being meddled with by the police, but now they began to handle the matter. Informed by Francis as to the whereabouts of the body, they dragged the pool near the Fen Inn, and recovered the corpse of the unhappy young man. Then the inspector wrote a peremptory letter to Francis, requesting him to come down and attend the inquest. There was a note of suspicion in the letter, and Francis could not very well help obeying the summons. He requested me to come with him, which I had every intention of doing. We settled the time of our departure, and before going saw Olivia and Dr. Merrick. Mrs. Bellin had not been informed of the death of Felix, nor did she suspect that anything wrong was going on under her very nose. Thanks to the wonderful resemblance between the twins, she accepted Felix as Francis and Francis as himself without the slightest suspicion. At first she had objected to the engagement, but afterward, learning that Briarfield possessed a good income, consented. To be sure, she would have been better pleased had Olivia married a title, but, as her daughter declared she would marry no one but Francis, Mrs. Bellin gave way with a good grace.
As to Olivia, she was terribly dismayed when she heard Francis was going to Marshminster, and she dreaded lest he should be accused of his brother's murder. The actions of Francis had been so very peculiar that I was afraid to tell them to the inspector, lest he should think the young man guilty. At the same time it was impossible to keep them secret, as Francis had thrown the body of his brother into the pool, and would have to explain to the inspector how it got there. Our only chance of proving him to be innocent lay in finding Strent, and where he was to be discovered none of us knew. Merrick's clever brain discovered a clew to the destination of the fugitive.
"Did you ride to the Fen Inn from Marshminster?" he asked Francis.
"No. Had I come by train to Marshminster, I would have gone to Bellin Hall, where my brother was staying, and seen him before Olivia."
"It's a pity you did not go there," said Merrick thoughtfully. "All this trouble might have then been avoided. Well, how did you get to the Fen Inn?"
"I took the train from London to Starby, hired a horse there, and rode to the Fen Inn."
"How far is it from Starby to the Fen Inn?"
"About twelve miles."
"And from the Fen Inn to Marshminster?"
"Ten miles."
"Much about a muchness," said Merrick. "Did you tell Strent you had ridden from Starby?"
"Yes, I had no reason to conceal my movements."
"Quite so. Well, according to Rose Gernon, it was your horse Strent took to escape."
"It was. I wonder he did not take the horse of Felix."
"For a very simple reason! He knew when the alarm was given that you and Denham would go to Marshminster; therefore to hide his trail the better he went back with your horse to Starby."
"Do you think so?"
"I am sure of it. Go to the livery stable at Starby where you hired your horse, and I am certain you'll find it there, restored by Strent."
"Well," said I, in no wise satisfied, "suppose we trace him to Starby. That will be no use. No doubt he took the train there to London."
"Very probably," said Merrick coolly, "and waited there for Rose Gernon."
"But she has not seen him since he fled from the inn."
"So she says, but it is not true, for all that. When he killed Felix,--and the evidence seems to point to him as the murderer,--he told Rose to take the gig and go to Marshminster. Then he rode off to Starby and rejoined her in London."
"But why should she conceal his movements?"
"Because he knows too much about the crime," said Merrick decisively. "Either she did it herself and is afraid of his speaking, or he did it and she wishes to screen him."
"Why should she wish to screen a man who killed her lover?"
"I can't answer all questions," said Merrick irritably, finding himself at a loss; "all this is pure theory, but I think it is so. I am certain there is an understanding between Rose and Strent. If that detective watching Rose only knew Strent, I am certain he would catch him paying her a visit."
"Why not give the detective a picture of the man?" suggested Francis.
"Why not, indeed!" I retorted derisively; "because we haven't got a picture."
"I have one at my rooms," said Francis.
"Where did you get it?"
"I drew it while waiting for Felix at the Fen Inn. You know, Denham, I have some skill in catching expressions and watching faces. The fellow struck me as such a smug scoundrel that I penciled a caricature of him while he moved about the dining room. It is not a photograph, certainly--still, I think it is sufficiently like him."
"Capital!" said the doctor, rubbing his hands. "It's a good thing you employed your leisure in that way, Mr. Briarfield. It may do you a great service."
"You think I am in danger?"
"I think you stand in a perilous position," replied the doctor gravely. "Your very efforts to preserve your secret and baffle Denham will score against you with the police. And you must tell them all, seeing you knew where the body was to be found."
"I'll tell them all, and do the best I can," said Francis, turning pale, "but Rose can prove I was never out of my room."
"No, she can't! Rose went to bed, and for aught she knows you might have come down and quarreled with your brother afterward. Your only chance, Mr. Briarfield, of proving your innocence is to find Strent. If you give that portrait to the detective watching Rose Gernon, I believe you'll lay hands on him, but it's a mere chance."
"There is another means of identification," said I. "Strent is lame, so if a lame man calls on Miss Gernon, my detective, aided by the picture, will know it is Strent."
"Well, go and try my plan," said Merrick, shaking Francis by the hand. "I hope for your sake, Mr. Briarfield, it will be successful."
When we left the doctor, Francis looked pale and upset. He was just beginning to realize the predicament in which he stood. I was afraid myself that when all was known he would be arrested. His own actions looked black, though I knew they were done out of pure foolishness. Had he only trusted me at the time, all the trouble would have been averted. As it was I determined to stand by him to the end.
"Cheer up, Briarfield!" said I, clapping him on his back. "If Merrick and I solved so much of the mystery, you may be sure we'll find out the rest."
"It's the newspapers I'm thinking of," he said ruefully; "if all this foolishness gets into the press, Mrs. Bellin will never let me marry Olivia."
"I don't think Mrs. Bellin will have much say in the matter," I answered dryly. "Olivia is not the kind of woman to give up her lover so easily, particularly when she knows the truth. She'll stick to you, as I intend to do. As to the press, you forget that the inquest is at Marshminster, which only possesses a weekly paper. I know the editor, and can keep all details out of it. Cheer up!"
"Thank you, Denham," said the poor fellow gratefully. "You are the best friend I have."
"Faith, you didn't think so at Paris, Briarfield. I've no doubt that there you cursed me by all your gods for a meddlesome fool."
At this he laughed, and began to pick up his spirits. We saw the detective who was watching Rose Gernon, and gave him the picture drawn by Francis, with a full description of the man he wanted. Especially did we lay stress on the lameness, and in the end our detective promised that he would nail any man answering to our description. I gave him my address at Marshminster, and told him to wire when he found out the whereabouts of Strent. I also told him to wire to Merrick, as the doctor was anxious to know if his theory would prove correct.
Next day we went down to Marshminster. By permission Francis stayed with me at Aunt Jane's house, and, learning that he was in trouble, the two old ladies made much of him. We saw the inspector of police, who was a friend of mine, and learned that the body of Felix Briarfield was at the morgue of Marshminster. The inquest was to be held next morning, and all arrangements had been made. When the inspector had supplied us with this information, we sat down and told him the whole story as has been here set forth. He listened with much astonishment, and expressed himself to that end.
"I never read a novel to touch this," he said, staring at Francis. "Truth is stranger than fiction, after all. You greatly resemble your unhappy brother, Mr. Briarfield."
"Is the body much decomposed?" asked I, seeing that Francis remained silent.
"It's recognizable only," replied the inspector. "You acted very foolishly in this matter, both of you. Why did you not come and tell me about it all at once?"
"I was afraid of being accused of killing my brother," said Francis faintly.
"You've made it ten times worse now," said the inspector dryly. "Had you wished to damn yourself, you could not have gone to work in a more pig-headed fashion."
"Are you going to arrest me?"
"No. There is not sufficient evidence against you. Besides, I quite believe your story. Still," added he, with some hesitation, "you have to face the coroner to-morrow. He may not believe you so easily as I."
"What do you think is best to be done?" I asked dismally.
"Well, judging from what you have told me, I should think the best thing would be to find Strent," said the inspector; "he is the only man to solve the mystery. Failing him, you'd better get Rose Gernon down. Her evidence may go to prove that Mr. Briarfield was in bed at the time Felix was in the house."
"I'll wire for her to come down at once," I said, jumping up.
"It will be as well. I'll send a man over to Starby, and find out if Strent delivered the horse to the livery-stable keeper. I wish to Heaven, Denham," said the inspector, raging at me, "that you had told me all about this at first."
"I acted for the best."
"I've no doubt you did," he replied ill-temperedly, "but I hate your amateur detectives; they simply muddle things. I'd have straightened out this coil long ago had I taken it in hand."
"I have my doubts of that," said I dryly, and went off to the telegraph office. There I sent a telegram to Rose Gernon, asking her to come down by the early train next morning, and also informed the detective that I wished her to come. I knew quite well she would not dare to refuse, and, moreover, that my detective would send a man to watch her, while he waited round her house for the possible appearance of Strent.
When I got back to the inspector's room, I found that his ill temper had vanished, and he was doing his best to console Francis.
"I've seen a man in a worse plight than is yours, Mr. Briarfield," he was saying, when I entered, "and yet he came out all right in the end. The cause of his predicament was similar."
"What's that?" said Francis, looking up.
"Lack of moral courage. Had you told Denham at the time, and then both of you had told me, we might have laid our hands on Rose Gernon and Strent. As it was, you gave them time to make up their plans and get away."
"Rose hasn't got away," said I grimly. "She's safe enough, and will be here to-morrow."
"I wish we could say the same about Strent," said the inspector.
"Do you think he is guilty?" asked Francis.
"Upon my word, sir, after all my experience of the law, I am afraid to say who is guilty and who isn't. That theory of Dr. Merrick's regarding Rose Gernon is feasible enough. She certainly seems to have had more motive for killing your brother than had Strent."
"It's my opinion," said I, "that there is a relationship between Strent and Rose. In such relationship lies the secret of the crime and her silence."
"Humph! There's something in that," said the inspector. "They might be man and wife."
"Or brother and sister," suggested Francis.
"Or even lovers," I said, nodding my head. "Jealousy on the part of Strent might have spurred him on to killing Felix."
These, however, were all theories, and we parted for the night without coming to any decision as to who was the guilty party. In the morning I received a telegram from Merrick, and went off with it at once to the inspector. It ran thus:
"Have secured Strent. Am bringing him down with Rose. Arrive at noon. Hold over inquest if possible."
"By Jove, sir!" said the inspector, "that man is lost as a doctor. He ought to be a detective!"
"You see, I was right," said Merrick, when I met him at the station.
"You have been right in every instance," I answered; "the inspector, here, quite agrees with me that you should be a detective. Where are your prisoners?"
"No, no! Not prisoners!" replied Merrick, shocked at the word. "They are my guests, traveling companions, what you will, but not prisoners."
"Still, I see my detective attends on them both," said I, as Strent and Rose Gernon came along the platform.
"It is as well to take all precautions. How is Francis Briarfield?"
"Rather downcast. He is afraid of being arrested for the murder."
"No fear of that," answered Merrick, casting a glance at Strent; "this gentleman's evidence will exonerate him fully."
Strent, smooth and unctuous as ever, rubbed his hands and bowed, but Rose Gernon turned her back on him with a gesture of disgust. Evidently she had not forgiven his hurried departure from the inn.
"What are we waiting for?" she said sharply. "Let us go on to the inquest. I wish to get it over as soon as possible and return to town."
We took the hint, and walked along to a room adjoining the morgue, where the inquest was being held. I introduced Merrick to the inspector, and after a short conversation they went into the morgue to examine the body. Not caring to see so ghastly a sight, I remained outside with Francis. In a quarter of an hour the doctor and the inspector returned, the former rubbing his hands with a well-pleased expression, the latter looking somewhat astonished. What had passed in the morgue I know not, as Merrick refused to gratify my curiosity.
"Wait till you hear the evidence of Strent," he said significantly.
The jury was made up of well-to-do Marshminster tradesmen, who took a profound interest in the proceedings, as the dead man was the brother of Miss Bellin's future husband. The Bellins were the great people of the neighborhood, and the tradesmen hoped to serve the Hall when Mr. and Mrs. Briarfield settled there. They were, therefore, excessively polite to Francis, but their frequent marks of attention only drew from him a bitter smile.
"Would they treat me in this way if they knew all?" he whispered to me.
"They will never know all," I answered in the same tone.
I had spoken to the inspector, and he in his turn had talked seriously with the coroner. The latter had been told the whole story, and, though astonished at the folly of Francis, yet found it in his heart to be sorry for the young man. He said he would not question Francis more than was necessary, and we hoped to carry through the inquest without exposing the underlying romance.
The first witness called was a local doctor, who deposed to having examined the body of Felix. He gave it as his opinion that the young man had died of poison, and explained the state of the blood with a lot of medical technicalities which none of the jury understood. It was, said the doctor, a case of blood poisoning, and the deceased had been wounded in the hand by some sharp instrument which had been steeped in poison.
I came next, and narrated how I had stayed at the Fen Inn on that night, and had met there Francis Briarfield, who was waiting there for his brother. Then I told of the discovery of the corpse, and the finding of the arrowhead in the fireplace. I said nothing about my tracking the trail to the pool, and if possible we wished that portion of the evidence to be passed over in silence. Fortunately the jury were a dull-headed lot, and submitted quietly to the guidance of the coroner. He only asked questions pertinent to the death without going too deeply into the subject. At this point I produced the arrowhead.
Francis explained that he had arrived from Chili on the 6th of June and had gone at once to the Fen Inn at the request of his brother Felix. His brother had not arrived on that night, and he had gone to bed. He was unable to say how his brother had come by his tragic end. Then came the critical point which we wished passed over in silence.
"Did you see your brother at the Fen Inn, Mr. Briarfield?" asked the coroner.
"I did not see my brother alive," was the evasive answer.
"Perhaps the body had been put in the pool by the murderer," said one of the jurymen, "in which case Mr. Briarfield would not see him."
"I did not go to the pool on that night," replied Francis, adroitly evading the remark; "it was later on that I learned my brother's body was there, and at once gave instructions that the pool was to be dragged."
At this point Mr. Briarfield was asked to stand down, and the inspector's evidence was taken. He deposed to the fact that Mr. Briarfield had instructed him to drag the pool for the body, and that it was found there.
This piece of evidence quite put the jury off the scent, as if Francis had placed the body in the pool, he would not have told the inspector where to find it. The critical point was thus glided gently over, and the coroner called Rose Gernon. Once the jury knew how the crime had been committed, they would forget all about the hiding of the body in the pool, so that the folly of Francis would not be made public.
I must say that Rose Gernon gave her evidence very clearly. She said she was an intimate friend of Felix Briarfield's, a statement which rather shocked the moral tradesmen of Marshminster. Felix asked her to go down to the inn, as he had prepared it for his brother, and wished to see him there about a family matter.
"But the inn was a ruin," interrupted a juryman.
Miss Gernon said that was very true. Still it was habitable, and Mr. Felix Briarfield had sent on fuel and provisions. As the former proprietor had left all the furniture, the rooms were fairly comfortable. She could not say why Felix did all this, unless it was that he wanted to see his brother privately.
Such talk was very weak, and the jurymen looked significantly at one another. They knew the Fen Inn, and could not conceive that anyone could be so mad as to dwell in it even for a night. It was said to be haunted, and though such a superstition might be scoffed at, yet not one of those present would have passed twelve hours of darkness in that ill-omened place.
"Were you not afraid when you saw the Lone Inn?" asked a juryman.
Rose shrugged her shoulders and laughed contemptuously.
"I am afraid of nothing," she said coolly; "there are no such things as ghosts. Besides, I had my brother with me."
"Your brother!"
"Yes, Edward Strent."
The inspector gave a low whistle, and, catching my eye, nodded significantly. He remembered what I had said on the previous night, and now agreed with my theory that the secret of the committal of the crime lay in the relationship existing between Rose and Strent. They were, it appeared, brother and sister. I saw all kinds of possibilities now that such a tie was made clear. Meanwhile Rose proceeded with her evidence.
"Mr. Felix Briarfield came to the inn," she said, "after his brother had gone to rest. I saw and spoke with him, and afterward went to bed myself. I understood that he was going to stay all night and see his brother in the morning."
"Was he alone in the room when you left him?"
"No; he was with Strent. An hour or so after I retired Strent came to my door and asked me to go downstairs. I did so, and found Felix lying dead on the floor. My brother had left the room, and on going; out at the back of the house I found him mounting the horse of Mr. Francis Briarfield. I asked him what had happened, and he just said Felix was dead, and advised me to fly lest I should be accused of the murder."
"That, I suppose, was also the reason of his flight?"
"So he told me when I saw him in London, but he then declared himself innocent of the crime. I was afraid I would be accused of the crime, so took the horse and gig in which we had come to the Fen Inn, and drove to Marshminster. From there I returned to London.
"Why did you not give the alarm?"
"I was afraid of being accused of the murder."
Here the inspector whispered something in the ear of the coroner. He nodded, and again spoke to Rose Gernon.
"Why did you not tell Mr. Denham where to find Strent when he was apparently guilty?"
"Strent is my brother," said Rose quietly, "and as he told me he was innocent, I did not wish him to be arrested for the crime. But that he visited me yesterday, and was seen by the men set to watch me, he would never have been caught."
Her examination lasted some considerable time, but the coroner did not succeed in eliciting anything new from her. She persistently held to the same story, so in despair the examiner desisted, and she was told to stand down. In her place Edward Strent was called, and then for me began the most interesting part of the case. I knew all that had been said hitherto, but I did not know how the crime had been committed, and waited to hear what Strent had to say. I quite believed him to be guilty, yet hardly thought he would accuse himself of the crime.
He first corroborated the story of Rose as to going to the inn, and narrated all that had occurred up to the time when he was left alone in the room with Felix.
"When I found myself alone with Briarfield," he proceeded, "I had a quarrel with him."
"About what?"
"About my sister. He had promised to marry her, yet, as I well knew, was paying attentions to Miss Bellin."
"But Miss Bellin was engaged to his brother," remarked a juryman.
"I know that. It was about Miss Bellin he wished to see his brother. I insisted that he should marry my sister, and he refused. We had hot words. He was on one side of the table, I on the other. Between us lay the arrowhead, which he had brought in his pocket."
"Why had he brought the arrowhead there?"
"I don't know," replied Strent, lying with the utmost promptitude. "He took the arrowhead out of his pocket, said it was poisoned, and laid it down on the table."
"Do you think he intended to kill his brother because he stood in his way with Miss Bellin?" asked an inquisitive juryman of a romantic turn of mind.
"I really don't know, sir," replied Strent, looking the juryman straight in the face. "He said nothing to me. We were quarreling over the shabby way in which he had treated my sister, and the arrowhead was on the table between us."
"What was the position of the arrowhead?" asked the coroner prompted by Merrick.
"It was leaning against a book which was on the table, and the point was uppermost. I said to Mr. Briarfield: 'Will you marry my sister?' and he said: 'No; I'm ---- if I will.' While saying this, he brought down the open palm of his hand on the arrowhead, and gave a cry of pain. When he lifted his hand, it had a ragged wound across it from the thumb to the little finger. I wished to bind it up, but he pushed me away, crying out he was a dead man. In three minutes he was lying dead on the floor. I threw the arrowhead into the fireplace, and tried to revive him, but it was no use. He was dead!"
"And you?"
"I was afraid I would be accused of the death, as Mr. Denham or Mr. Francis might have heard us quarreling together. I lost my head altogether, and only thought of flight. I ran up to my sister's room, and told her Felix was dead. Then I saddled the horse. When she came to the door, I was mounting. I told her to take the gig and fly to Marshminster, and that I would explain all in London."
"You fled like a coward!"
"I suppose I did," said the man sullenly, "but I was beside myself with terror. I rode to Starby, and gave the horse back to the livery-stable keeper. Then I went to London and saw my sister. She agreed with me that it was best to keep quiet, so I did not come forward to give evidence. Had it not been for that detective who watched my sister, I should not be here now."
This evidence practically ended the inquest. Merrick was called to prove that the wound in the hand was such a one as might have been made by the downward stroke of the hand on a sharp point. This evidence was substantiated by the local practitioner, who had examined the body with Dr. Merrick. There was no doubt that the affair had happened as Strent said. Felix Briarfield had slapped his open hand on the table to emphasize his refusal to marry Rose Gernon. Unfortunately, it came in contact with the poisoned arrowhead. The flint had an edge like a razor, and, being steeped in virulent poison, acted like a snakebite on the unfortunate young man. Felix had not been murdered, but died by misadventure.
This was the verdict brought in by the jury, and so the whole of this strange affair came to an end. Thanks to the astuteness of the inspector, and the delicacy of the coroner, the jury were quite unaware of what had happened between the death of Felix and the inquest. The reporters of the Marshminster Gazette merely put in a short statement of the affair, and in a few days people ceased to take any interest in the Fen Inn crime. It was a lucky escape for Francis, but I don't think the lesson was thrown away on him.
Rose Gernon and her brother went back to town the same evening. I never saw Strent again, but frequently had the pleasure of seeing his sister performing on the stage. She is now engaged to be married, but with the knowledge of her actions at the Fen Inn I cannot say I envy the bridegroom.
After the burial of Felix I went abroad with Francis, whose health was quite broken down by the strain put on it during the last few weeks. He returned in six months, and married Olivia. She was told all that had taken place in the Lone Inn, but kept the information to herself. Mrs. Bellin never knew that Felix had substituted himself for Francis. I was best man at the wedding by particular request, and saw the happy pair start for their honeymoon. I hope they will be happy, and am sure they deserve to be, seeing through what tribulations they have passed.
"What has become of the Fen Inn?" asked Dr. Merrick, one day, when we were talking over the case.
"Oh, the Fen Inn is pulled down, I believe," was my reply. "There will be no more tragedies there."
"A fit end for such a shambles," said Merrick; and I think he was about right.