Berthahad chosen her favourite Botanic Gardens for the scene of her courtship, and it was there that her daily meetings with Alec took place. She found, perhaps, in the surroundings, a little compensation for that want of poetic feeling that even her partiality had to admit on the part of her lover.
On his side, from either the association with Bertha, or that mind-awakening which not infrequently arises with the amorous sentiment, he often surprised himself by quite original observations.
Bertha noted this change in him with the hope of the sanguine woman who trusts to mould her husband in the way that good husbands should go. If she could only wean him from those hateful horses, that was her dream.
They were walking side by side. She would not take the arm he offered.
“It was too countrified!” she said, and he submitted.
“How beautiful the lawns look to-day, Alec?”
“Yes; first-class feed for a cow,” said Alec, gazing about critically.
“And the trees—do you notice what lovely foliage they have?”
“I don’t know much about foliage, and that’s a fact, Bertha; but as for trees, I reckon I know a good one when I see it, and I looked the whole lot over the other day, and I’ll take my oath there’s not a good free splitter in the lot! A lot of knotty, cross-grained wretches! They are only fit for mill-wood, if they are fit for that!”
Bertha sighed softly to herself.
“I should so like to travel, would not you, Alec? To go to other countries and see something of the world?”
“That’s just my idea. Let’s go to the next Melbourne Cup. We can do the thing tip-top, and have a grand old time!”
“Oh, bother the Melbourne Cup, Alec! You are always thinking of races. They say there is nothing worth noticing in Melbourne after you have seen Sydney, except it may be the badsmells. And their races are just like ours, so they won’t be much of a treat.”
“How you do talk, Bertha. Why, Melbourne is the finest city in Australia.”
“I was thinking of other countries—France and England, for instance.”
“What’s the good of our going to England? Isn’t Australia the finest country in the world, and the people ahead of all the others? Look at our fighting men, our rowing men, our cricketers. Why, we can beat them all, hands down. Australia’s good enough for me, any day.”
“But think of Paris. You have heard of Paris—wonderful, beautiful Paris.”
“You mean the place where the plaster comes from?”
“Yes, and hundreds of things beside. It is the city of delight, with miles of wonderful shops, arcades and picture-galleries, and crowds of the most elegantly dressed people in the world. I believe if I could only see Paris I should be willing to die.”
“You had better see Australia and live,” replied Alec, stumbling on an epigram unconsciously.
“And there is a wonderful garden there, miles long, called the Bois de Boulogne; and now I remember that they have a celebrated horse-racethere called the Paris Grand Prize, and all the great people in Europe go to see it.”
“That might be worth looking at,” said Alec, doubtfully; “if those Frenchmen only knew how to ride.”
“And think of the hundreds of ladies all beautifully dressed; not a rag-tag and bob-tail like we have here, but real ladies, with real costumes, every one a study and a delight. Oh, I should like to see it.”
“I don’t believe it’s better than Randwick.”
“Alec, don’t talk like that. It is like some one swearing in a church.”
“That’s all right, Bertha. Don’t you mind me. Of course I know nothing about all these fine things. Australia is good enough for me, but if you want to see these dirty Frenchmen and their painted women, why we will take a trip there some day.”
“That’s so good of you,” said Bertha, squeezing his hand, and giving him a look that filtered through his being with a wild deliciousness. “Only take me to Paris, and then I will come and stay in Australia for ever and ever.”
“And when shall we get married, Bertha?” inquired Alec, thinking the moment a propitious one. “When is the day to be?”
“What do you want to be in such a hurry for? Are we not very nice as we are? I am sure it is beautiful to walk in the Gardens every day.”
“I don’t say no, Bertha; but I am always afraid some one will run off with you again, and next time I might not be able to find you.”
“I am very careful, Alec, now. I never go out after dark, and as for going in a cab, I believe I shall always hate the sight of them.”
“You had better make sure; marry me and done with it.”
“There you go again. I never heard of any one so impatient. This is the best time in our lives, if we only knew it. We are young and free, no cares, no troubles. Let us live and enjoy as we are for a little while. And a girl’s youth goes away so quickly. I wonder, Alec, if you will think as much of me when I am old and ugly?”
“You ugly?” said Alec derisively.
“Well, not perhaps quite ugly, but you know well enough that here in Australia girls fade very quickly. I dread to think what I shall be like in ten years’ time—all wrinkles and grey hairs, with no more figure than a post, no doubt. Oh! I want to keep young always, always, and never get old at all. Don’t you, Alec?”
“I can’t say I ever thought much about it. If a three-year-old would always remain a three-year-old it would be a great chuck-in, no doubt-that is, if they did not raise the weight. But I guess there is not much show of getting the soft side of the handicapper. We all have to carry weight-for-age.”
“I really wish, Alec, you could talk a little time without bringing in your everlasting horse-racing. There are other things in the world besides horses.”
“So there are, Bertha,” said Alec soothingly; “there are cattle and sheep. But, you see, they are not in my line.”
“You’re a goose,” replied Bertha, laughing, “and I half believe you are making fun of me all the time. Where did you go yesterday afternoon?”
“I have been house-hunting. It seems the proper thing, when I am engaged to a girl like you, to find a home to please her, and I wanted to give you a surprise.”
“You choose a house!” with a tone that made Alec feel two inches shorter. “What should a man know about a house?”
“So I concluded, and I decided that you had best please yourself. Where would you like to live? I was thinking of Randwick—a nice stylish place.”
“What, live away from the harbour—the sea—with nothing to look at but houses and sand-hills? That would be horrible!”
“Where then, my dear? Choose your own place; it’s all the same to me.”
“I have always dreamt of one of those cottages with wide verandahs near the harbour, with a water frontage, a little house for a boat, and green lawns and gardens right down to the water. That would be lovely!”
“I never thought of that. But they are very awkward to drive to, generally, those sort of places. But I was at Bob Simmons’s place the other day—it’s just the kind of house you would like and we had some fine sport with the dogs killing rats down on the rocks. One old rat was real game, and no mistake!”
“But there are not rats everywhere all round the harbour,” said Bertha, with much concern.
“Just swarms with them! That’s the best of it! A fellow could always find a bit of amusement. It’s as good as bandicooting, any day.”
“I think I would rather not be quite so close to the water, then. I hate rats, and I don’t like seeing anything killed. We will go and look for a house together.”
“All right, let’s go to-morrow.”
“Yes, or the next day. To-morrow I have got to have a dress tried on.”
And then the two lovers talked for half-an-hour as to the relative importance of the new dress and the new house, and which it was most important to give the first attention.
Needless to relate, the dress carried the day.
Alec Boothwas at his office looking over his letters that were handed to him by his clerk. He was not a quick reader, and a still slower writer, so his clerk was not only a convenience, but a necessity. One of these letters arrested his attention; it did not refer, like the others, to horse-racing, it bore no address and no proper signature. He read slowly—
“If Mr. Booth is wise he will watch his lady-love more carefully. Like a fool, he believed her story of being forcibly taken away in a cab. She was only too willing, if the truth was known, and if the Squatter did not come to terms it was because he backed out at the last moment. Even now she is meeting him, and if Mr. Booth only likes to be on the right-hand side of Circular Quay at half-past eleven to-night, and keep hidden nearthe last ship towards the point, he will see her with his own eyes.
“AWell-Wisher.”
His first impulse was to destroy the letter as a venomous thing, but the doubt in his mind, once aroused by Ruby and Florrie, came to him again. He did not doubt Bertha—no! Ten thousand times no! But it would be so easy to put this slander to the test.
Bertha out at half-past eleven on Circular Quay! Bertha, who never went out after dark! It was absurd! Yet men, smarter men perhaps than himself, had been made fools of before to-day.
Did this explain the reason for Bertha’s hanging back when he asked her to name the marriage day? Was she only making a convenience of him in case the other man refused to toe the mark? It was damnable! But it was a lie—a wicked, cursed lie, and he would pay no attention to it.
But his mind could not leave the subject all that day, and eleven o’clock at night found him walking nervously and excitedly towards the meeting-place mentioned in the letter.
The last boat moored to the Quay was a sailing vessel, whose decks appeared deserted. Perhapsthe crew were on shore or asleep in their bunks. Not even a watchman was visible.
On the wharf a few feet from the edge a pile of casks were stacked. Across the roadway rose the high façade of prison-like wool warehouses. The electric light that now makes this quarter of Sydney one of the best illuminated had not been installed at this date, and the yellow gas-jets visible here and there did little to lighten the darkness of the night.
Alec for a time looked about curiously, then paced up and down, assuring himself the while that he was a fool for his pains, and would have been far better off at that time of night seated at his club playing nap. Then he remembered the directions he had received, “to keep hidden.” Now, the only place convenient for concealment was to stand behind the heap of casks, close to the edge of the Quay. The simplest observation gave this assurance, and no doubt the writer of the letter had this place in her mind.
This thought did not occur to Alec. He was told to hide, and he hid, quite unsuspicious that by doing so he was standing in an appointed place.
There were no immediate passers-by; a few forms could be heard and seen at a distancemoving about, but that part of the Quay was for the time deserted.
Presently he heard the voice of a man singing, and coming towards him, and the words rang out on the night air with wonderful distinctness—
“I’m off to Charlestown early in the morning,I’m off to Charlestown before the break of day;To give my respects to all the pretty yellow girls,I’m off to Charlestown before the break of day!”
“I’m off to Charlestown early in the morning,I’m off to Charlestown before the break of day;To give my respects to all the pretty yellow girls,I’m off to Charlestown before the break of day!”
“Evidently a sailor half tanked,” thought Alec, as he watched the man with peaked cap and pilot coat, half reel, half walk up the Quay. The progress forward of the singer was more like tacking against a head-wind than a plain, straight-away course. He zig-zagged first over to the wool warehouses, then across to the water’s edge, and each time Alec expected him to tumble over, but he always seemed to “wear ship” just in time, singing the while as though he were the happiest fellow in all the world.
By accident or design one of these tacks brought the drunken sailor just to the corner of the heap of casks behind which Alec stood hidden.
He pulled up short before turning again, and, seeing Alec, called out—
“Hullo, mate! can you give us a match?”
Alec, not from meanness, but to get rid of the man’s presence, told him he had not got one.
“I say, mate, give us a match, there’s a good fellow”—and the sailor put his hand on Alec’s shoulder.
At that moment a woman’s form could be seen approaching from the distance, clad in a light costume. She might, for all that light revealed, be Bertha in a walking-dress.
Instinctively Alec turned away his eyes to look at the newcomer, and then the drunken sailor, like one who had waited for a signal at the moment Alec turned his head, pulled out a bag that had been hidden beneath his coat, clapped it over the face and round the neck of Alec, where a spring appeared to hold it fast, and then, with a rush and a push, sent his victim over the Quay into the dark water of the harbour.
There was no cry, but a half-stifled shout; no noise but the single splash, for the body sank like a stone.
The sailor stood calmly gazing down on the water for some minutes. Not a ripple, not a break in the wavelets to show that the victim had risen again.
“I thought that would fix him,” the sailor saidto himself. “He never could swim, and he will find it a little late to learn now.” With that he started singing his song again, retracing his steps. When he reached the lady in the light dress he went up to her, and speaking without any affectation of drunkenness—
“It’s no good, Ruby; he has not come. I suppose he was too fly to be taken in by that letter of yours.”
“Well, I’m glad of it, Huey. It might have got me into a row, and the pig is not worth it. What shall we do now?”
“I will take you to the dance, as I promised.”
* * * * *
Alec, on falling into the water, went quickly enough to the bottom, and nearly as quickly rose to the surface. He waved his arms frantically, nearly stifled and choked as he was by the covering on his head. When he came to the surface again it was, fortunately for him, not in the open harbour, but amidst the piles on which the roadway of the Quay was built—his hands in their wild struggle caught one of the slimy cross-timbers, and to this he clung in desperation.
He knew by the feel that his head was out of water, and the bag about his head was not so tight but it allowed him to take breath.
Getting firm hold of his support with one hand, he used the other in an effort to withdraw the bag. He tried and tried again, and, at last, aided by his strong arm, that had been developed by years of axe-work in the bush, by a final wrench, and a partial skinning of his ears, he pulled it off. And then, to his lasting regret, he cast it from him.
He quickly understood where he was, and it was the work of a few minutes to draw himself up on the slanting beam and seat himself on its slippery surface.
For the moment he felt secure. But what was he to do next? If he shouted for help that devil above him might be waiting with pistol and knife to finish his work.
It was very uncomfortable there, soaking wet in a damp seat, in silent darkness, with only a glimpse of the harbour through the piles, but he reflected that he was probably safe from further attack if he kept quiet. So he decided to sit still and wait for the morning light, if no other assistance should come.
His vigil, however, was not so long; not an hour and a half had passed when a ship’s boat, laden probably with some belated captain, approached quite close to him. He sang out—
“Boat ahoy!”
The rowers stopped. Alec called again, and on his saying he had fallen in the harbour and wanted to land, they very cheerfully backed their craft up to the piles, and with some difficulty Alec managed to jump aboard, and in a few strokes was landed at the steps.
Alec Booth could see the spot where he had stood behind the casks, but as he anticipated, no sailor, either drunk or sober, was to be seen there now. He felt a satisfaction in throwing off the numbness of his limbs by a smart walk, and his first place of call was the office of the Water Police.
The officer in charge took down his statement with provoking calm. One might have fancied that the throwing of citizens off Circular Quay was a matter of hourly familiarity to him.
“And you say this man put a spring bag over your head? Where is it?”
“I threw it away in the water,” said Alec.
“Ah! Were you robbed?”
Alec felt in his pockets. His watch, his purse and pocket-book were all safe, but of course wet.
“Ah!” said the policeman again. “You say this sailor who assaulted you appeared to be drunk?”
“Yes, he acted like it as he came towards me.”
“Are you quite sure you were sober yourself?”
“Sober as a judge!”
“Did you have anything to drink to-night?”
“I may have had two or three whiskies-and-sodas.”
“Ah!” said the constable again, and this time in a tone so provoking that Alec, in spite of the majesty of his uniform, felt inclined to kick him.
“We will inquire into the matter, sir, and for the future I should advise you to keep away from the Circular Quay when you have taken two or three whiskies.”
Disgusted as well as wet, Alec left the office. It was clear enough the officer gave no credence to his story, and thought it merely the hallucination of a drunken man. So he went home, and to bed, his mind filled with a darkening fear of this enemy—that mysterious and unknown—who thus boldly attacked him.
The letter was only too probably part of a plot to lure him to destruction. He had no clue to his enemy, who had failed this time, but was at full liberty to contrive some fresh scheme for his undoing. And the next time, luck might not be on his side.
Alec was brave enough in open fight, but thissecret fear unmanned him. And Bertha’s abduction came to his mind—that mystery had never been explained. Had the drunken sailor and the bushy-whiskered man any connection? Was there a conspiracy to ruin or murder Bertha and himself? He feared so. And he turned the question over and over in his mind, and he could find only one hope for peace.
He would go in the morning to Soft Sam.
* * * * *
Alec found Soft Sam seated as usual in the Domain, with a crowd of wide-eyed juveniles about him, and apparently listening with breathless interest to a localized history of Jack the Giant Killer, with variations.
“So the young man said to the rich squatter, ‘I can drink as much of that whisky as you can.’ And the squatter laughed at a little chap like that swallowing oil of vitriol like the old soaker he was himself. So he called for glasses, and filled them. The squatter drank his, but Jack, after taking a sip, poured his all down his neck into his Crimean shirt, where it was soaked up.
“And they drank, and drank, and drank—till the squatter was dead on the floor, and young Jack jumps up, takes all his money, and rides away!”
This was Soft Sam’s somewhat abrupt conclusion, for he saw that Alec wished to speak to him. And as the children still hung about, with a manifest inclination to hear the next chapter, he dismissed them speedily with the present of sixpence, with which, without more ado, they departed for the nearest lolly-shop.
“It’s cheap at the price,” said Sam.
“What’s cheap?”
“Why, happiness. I’ve made them there kids as happy as sandboys with sixpence. It seems to me they have often got a lot more sense that way than when they grow up.”
“I’m in a bother again, Sam.”
“I thought as much. You can most of you find me out when trouble comes along. What’s the matter this time?”
And then Alec told the history of the previous night.
“It’s the girl again,” said Sam, after he had patiently listened to Alec. “I told you she would breed mischief. You are young and foolish like the rest of them, and take no notice.”
“You don’t mean to say that Bertha caused me to be thrown in the harbour?”
“Of course I don’t! But some one who is after her did the trick right enough. And a very nicelittle job it was, too. He must be a fellow of talent. And it was only a fluke it did not come off. He must be a real smart bloke, and no mistake. If he tries it on again I would not care to insure your life. Very neat, very neat; and not a trace to track him by. Really, I give him credit. I could not have done better myself!”
“He’s a clever scoundrel, there’s no doubt; but the question is, ‘What am I to do?’ Am I to sit quiet till he makes another shot?”
“Why can’t you leave the girls alone? I tell you they will ruin you sooner or later. Or, if you must mix yourself up, why not marry this Bertha right away, and done with it? While she’s single there will always be strays browsing round after her. Put the hobbles on, man, and get her broken in to double harness, and if this attentive friend of yours is only half as smart as he appears to be, he will quit.”
“Thank you, Sam? That’s just my own idea, and I’ll put the matter to Bertha straight—that it’s either get married at once or one of us missing. And she’s not the girl I take her for if she refuses.”
“Now, Bertha, say the word, and let us be married at once. I have told you what Soft Sam has said. You know our position. At any moment this scoundrel may do us a mischief.”
“And what if he does, I’m not afraid; and I am surprised at you, a strong man, fearing a coward who is afraid to show himself!”
“That is just it, Bertha! If he would only show himself. I am afraid of no man alive; but a crawling wretch who springs on you unawares, I fear him as I would a death adder in the dark.”
“What can he do? He has not hurt either of us yet.”
“I suppose you think your cab drive was a pleasure trip?”
“Well, after all, Alec, there was not much harm done, was there? I was awfully frightened andall that kind of thing, but it was all right when you came.”
“You will drive me mad, Bertha! I believe you try to provoke me on purpose! Will you, or won’t you, marry me now?”
“When is now?”
“Say to-morrow!”
“Impossible!”
“Why impossible?”
“In the first place, I must get my dress ready, and then there are the bridesmaids. Who would be bridesmaids at a day’s notice?”
“Oh, bother the bridesmaids. We don’t want any bridesmaids. Let them rip!”
“If I don’t have bridesmaids I won’t be married. A marriage without bridesmaids! Who ever heard of such a thing! I don’t believe it would be a proper marriage at all!”
“Oh, yes, it would—as safe as the bank!”
“Safe or no safe, I’ll be married properly or not at all.”
“Perhaps you would rather be carried off in a cab?”
“Well, your marriage would be nearly as bad! Go and write our name in a book, the same as you do at a picture-gallery, and a man in a light suit says, ‘Three-and-sixpence, please. You are married.Next!’ You can bury me that way if you like to but marry me, never!”
“Say your own time then; only pray be reasonable, Bertha. I am fearful for myself, I own, but I am doubly fearful for you. Every time I see you I fear it may be the last.”
“I suppose I must give in; you men are so impatient! Let us say this day month. That is the very, very earliest.”
“A month, Bertha! Why not say twelve at once?”
“I will say twelve if you like. That would be much better, only I thought you were in such a hurry.”
“I should like to swear to myself for a few minutes, Bertha, if you would kindly walk on a little way ahead.”
“What you can see to be so cross about I can’t make out. You have everything your own way. You ask me to marry you in twelve months, and I agree to it. What more can you want?”
“You are trying to take a rise out of me—I can see clear enough. But be a little reasonable, Bertha. Say three days, four days—in fact, say just how long it takes these blessed bridesmaids to get themselves groomed and in proper training for the job!”
“Now you are more reasonable, Alec. We might—mind, I am not sure—we might get ready in a fortnight.”
With this promise Alec had to be satisfied, or make the best of it. He had succeeded in knocking fifty per cent. off the first estimate, and was correspondingly elated. Perhaps he would not have been quite so pleased with himself had he known that for more than a week past Bertha’s bridal dress had been completed, that the bridesmaids were long ago chosen, and their arrangements made; that even the church and officiating minister had been selected, and, as a matter of fact, the marriage could have been solemnized with all those rights dear to the heart of womankind two days from date.
Alec did not know this, and he was contented.
* * * * *
A fortnight later the SydneyEvening Timeshad the following paragraph in its column of social news—
“St. Clement’s Church, Church Hill, Sydney, was yesterday the scene of a very pretty wedding, the occasion being the marriage of Miss Bertha Summerhayes, a popular Sydney belle, and Mr. Alexander Booth, the well-known sportsman, andowner of the winner of the last Sydney Cup. The church had been very prettily decorated by the friends of the bride, wreaths of waratah and rock lilies being used with great effect. A miniature avenue of tree ferns led from the gateway to the church entrance, and wild flowers were not only used in the profuse decoration, but were also scattered as a carpet for the happy pair. The bride was married from the residence of her old friend Professor Norris, the eminent and well-known specialist in character reading.
“Punctually at half-past two the entrancing sound of the march fromTannhäuseron the organ announced the arrival of the carriages with the bridal party. The bride was attired in a lovely gown of green peau-de-soie, with berthe of old Brussels bone-point lace also cream in tint, the corsage adorned with orange flowers.
“She carried an exquisite bouquet of white lilies and maiden-hair ferns, and over all fell a soft tulle veil in graceful folds to the ground. A magnificent diamond bracelet, the gift of the bridegroom, was her only jewel. Miss Ruby Jones, a friend of the bride, was maid of honour, and wore a toilette of old gold silk, with gloves and shoes to match; she wore a richly-chased gold bangle, a present from the bridegroom, and also carried a bouquet of lilies and ferns. Miss Florrie Simpson, the second bridesmaid, was likewise attired in old gold silk, and she carried a duplicate bangle and bouquet.The whole effect of colour was a delicious harmony of cream and gold.
“Mr. Booth was attended by Mr. Jenkins, the well-known and popular host of the Golden Bar. After the ceremony, which was performed by the Rev. A. A. Softword, the bridal party left the church to the strains of the grand march of Mendelssohn, ably played by that eminent organist, Mr. Treadfast, and adjourned to the residence of Mr. Norris. Here a sumptuous breakfast was prepared, and the house made a little fairyland with palms and tropical foliage.
“After the health of the bride and bridegroom had been duly honoured, Mr. and Mrs. Booth left amidst a shower of rice and rose-leaves on their tour through the Blue Mountain district. The bride wore a fashionable Newmarket walking gown, tailor made, of a light fawn tint, with sunshade and haten suite. The presents were costly and too numerous to give in detail. One exception must be made in favour of a wonderful and rare piece of art, a stirrup-cup in chased gold and enamel, of Viennese workmanship, a present to the bridal pair from the members of the A.J.C.”
Afterthe magisterial decision Bertha was removed to Darlinghurst Gaol. Her appearance at the Police Court was merely formal, and she was there committed to take her trial at the ensuing Quarter Sessions. Bail was not allowed, and only the daily visit of Professor Norris broke the monotony of the following days.
The best legal talent available had been secured on her behalf, and the most skilled Sydney detective was employed, and money was used unsparingly to unravel the mystery in her defence; but no progress had been made. On the other hand, the prosecution, who were no less busy in seeking for corroborative evidence, were utterly at fault. Her past history had been raked up, all her acquaintances interrogated for a clue that wouldindicate a secret intrigue on her part, or a previous lapse in her morals; but her record stood the test well. The chatter of her old companions in the Golden Bar, when sifted by experts, was found to be mere slander.
Detective Dobell began to feel uneasy. It was contrary to all his experience that a murderess, such as Mrs. Booth appeared to be, should, up to the commission of the crime, have led a blameless life. He had taken it for granted that inquiry would have shown the hidden motive for the deed. Motive there must have been. For no one, not a lunatic, would commit a crime of this nature without reason. And Dobell felt that the evidence, though strong, was not strong enough. The robbery at the office was, to say the least, a curious coincidence, but by no possible means could he connect Mrs. Booth with it; and that left a loophole for doubt. She had ample funds also at her own disposal, as was proved by the bank account that Mr. Booth on his marriage had opened for her.
Dobell was troubled; he felt his reputation in some sense at stake. He was at fault, and he had felt so sure.
The Professor was surprised at the comparativecalm with which Bertha endured her imprisonment. After the first shock, the first horror, her outward demeanour became quiet, almost confident. It is true her lawyer had bade her be of good heart, that the evidence, so far as known and unsupported, was, at best, only one of strong suspicion, and what no jury would convict on. But prisoners’ lawyers are professedly sanguine, and the Professor hardly expected such consolation to have so influenced Bertha’s emotional nature.
“Is there anything new, Pro?” Bertha inquired one morning, when the Professor made his usual morning visit.
“No, my dear; nothing. No clue, no trace can be found. What are these heaps of letters about that you have been looking at?”
Bertha had nearly the old smile on her face as she replied—
“Offers of marriage, Pro! The Golden Bar was bad enough. I used to get some sort of a proposal at least once a week; but here in Darlinghurst I am fairly deluged. Every man in the colony seems to want to marry me! Just look at some of their letters. Some of them don’t even pretend they think me innocent? I suppose ifone of these men should be on the jury it will be ‘Hang or Marry!’ Really it is horrible! What can they take me for? One husband hardly cold from a dreadful death, and they insult me with their infamous propositions. Do you know, Pro, if it was not for the hope that one of these letters might have some reference to the crime and the author of it I would not open another.”
“You are hopeful, then, Bertha?”
“For myself I am not troubled a bit. I am even surprised at myself. I seem to be a looker-on, as one looks at a play, and the whole thing a dream. I pinch myself at times; I cannot be sure I am awake. And then I have a kind of certainty that in some way the truth will come out. I was thinking only last night that there is a man who could help us if he would. Will you go to him?”
“Who is he?”
“He is an old friend of poor Alec’s, who was always singing his praises, and said he could do anything, find out anything if he only liked. You remember when I was carried off in the cab? Well, Alec went to him, and he told Alec how to find me. He is the man to help us, I feel certain.”
“What is his name, and where does he live? I will go at once.”
“He is called Soft Sam. Very likely that is not his real name, and you will learn where to find him at the Golden Bar. Get Ruby and Florrie to ask some of the customers. They will know who, and you will soon find out.”
Thosewho had only seen P.-C. Hobbs in his official uniform would hardly have recognized the spruce and well-dressed gentleman, as he turned into the side entrance of his house to tea.
“My word! What a toff!” was his wife’s greeting.
But Tom smiled amiably, and produced from his tail-pocket a paper bag with a quart of his favourite prawns, which he proceeded to empty on to a plate on the table.
“Just like your extravagance, I’m sure! However I am going to make ends meet while you are squandering all your money on that rubbish I don’t know.”
“Only sixpence, Bell, and he gave me good measure.”
“That’s just like you! Only sixpence! Butwhere is the money to come from, I should like to know? Any one would think we had a fortune by the way you go on.”
This was the way Mrs. Hobbs relieved her feelings when her pre-emptive right to be sole Chancellor of the Exchequer was infringed upon. Tom did not answer; he was already seated, decapitating in a masterly manner the pink fish.
“And where have you been?” continued Mrs. Hobbs, pouring out the tea. “One would think you had been to see some fancy girl.”
“And so I have, Bell,” said Tom, as calmly as possible.
“And you dare to come home and tell me to my face, you vagabond!”
“Take it easy, old girl! All in the way of business. You know my inquiries about Israel were a frost, so I determined to-day to try a fresh line. I would look up Mrs. Booth’s antecedents, and with this object I called at the Golden Bar, and did a bit of a mash with a barmaid there they call Ruby.”
“And you had the impudence to go talking to one of those brazen-faced painted hussies? I thought better of you, Tom.”
“In the way of business, my dear, I wouldtalk to anybody. And she’s not half a bad sort,” said Hobbs provokingly, as his wife sniffed. “She as good as said she would meet me on Sunday if I would take her out for a drive.”
“And I suppose you are going to?”
“Well, I did think of it; but perhaps it is hardly necessary. She has told me pretty well all she knows about Mrs. Booth’s history.”
“And what did that amount to?”
“If you will listen quietly for a minute I will tell you. Mrs. Booth, while she was serving at the bar, appears to have been a regular rage amongst the men that frequent it; she had untold offers of marriage—one from one of the wealthiest men in Australia, a man they call the Squatter, the owner of Revolver, the favourite for the Cup. There were also two young fellows who came together from the Hawkesbury district, and were both sporting men. One of these young men was Alexander Booth, her future husband, the other Huey, probably Hubert Gosper. They were both, so Ruby said, mad after this Miss Summerhayes, and for a long time that young lady did not show any special preference. But after Alec won the Cup, and made a small fortune, she married him, which seemed to Ruby very sensible on her part.
“But before this marriage two strange incidents occurred which were never made public in the press or the police courts. The first was the abduction of Miss Summerhayes from the very door of the Golden Bar one night at ten o’clock, and her forcible taking away in a hansom cab by a man with bushy whiskers. He appears to have drugged her with chloroform to keep her quiet, and taken her to a lonely house at Bondi, for it was there that Mr. Booth found her the following day, locked up, but unharmed. Inquiries were made by Mr. Booth, but the culprits were never traced, and Miss Summerhayes opposed all application to the police. This affair was generally supposed to have been promoted by the man they call the Squatter, but it is pretty clear there was no proof of any kind except that he was fond of the girl, and money was no object to him.
“The next strange event was connected with Mr. Booth. According to his statement at the time, he was talking to an apparently drunken sailor on Circular Quay at half-past eleven one night, and was suddenly bonneted with a bag over his head that closed with a spring opening, and pushed over into the water, and he would have been most certainly drowned had he notfortunately risen to the surface amidst the piles of the quay, and there held himself up till a boat chanced to pass and come to his assistance. Booth never found the drunken sailor again. He made a complaint to the police, but they appear to have thought the whole story the fabrication of the mind of a man who had drunk too much and had incautiously fallen in the water.”
“And how do all these histories help you, Tom?” inquired his wife.
“In this way. I think I have found my clue at last.”
“It was about time.”
Constable Hobbs continued his statement to his wife and his prawn-eating simultaneously—
“You will notice that now I have found the jealous lover, the man I have been looking for all this time. And that was the only motive that seemed to me sufficient to account for the crime. I have, in fact, found two lovers; but, in spite of Ruby and the rest, I rule out the man they call the Squatter. He is wealthy and fond, no doubt; but he is a man well known, he has been a member of Parliament, and is about as dull and stupid as he is rich.
“Now the man I am after must be a smart, clever man, and the second lover, this HueyGosper, seems to fill the bill very well. It is quite likely he was the bushy-whiskered man himself, for no disguise is more simple than to put a lot of false hair on your face. He may also have been the drunken sailor. If this crime ever occurred as told by Mr. Booth, it was no ordinary assault by a waterside thief, for, according to his statement, he was not robbed.
“You will notice that these two attempts were so cleverly contrived that, although they failed, their author was never discovered. There was originality of invention in both attempts, and does not this crime on the North Shore look to be in the same handwriting, to have originated in the same mind, to have been executed by the same hand?”
“You have found it out at last!” cried Mrs. Hobbs, with enthusiasm.
“On the contrary, Bell, I have found out nothing. So far, I only suppose. And Suppose never hanged a man yet; or, at least, he should not have done so. What I have done is to find a man and a motive. Here is a man who, in the hearing of several, had sworn to marry the girl, and who, if he was the author of the undiscovered crimes I have told you of, was quite capable of the third.
“But I am still in the dark as to how he could have committed it. Anyhow, it is the first hopeful sign I have got for days of labour, and on the strength of it, Bell, I bought the prawns. I must pat myself on the back sometimes.”
Professor Norrishad not long to wait in the Golden Bar before anhabituéwas found who gave him directions how to find Soft Sam.
“You go in the Domain—now’s just about his time—and on a seat near the cricket-ground you will find a white-haired old man acting the goat with a lot of kids. That’s him.”
The directions impressed the Professor as somewhat singular, but such as they were he followed them, and, sure enough, he found just the group that had been described. He paused in astonishment for a few minutes to watch the old gentleman, who was apparently instructing two juveniles in knickerbockers the preliminaries in the noble art of self-defence.
“That is surprising,” said the Professor tohimself, “the finest bump of benevolence I ever saw and teaching boys to fight!”
“I have come,” said the Professor, introducing himself, “on behalf of Mrs. Booth, the widow of a late friend of yours. She wishes you to help her in her present difficulty, that you have no doubt heard of.”
“Oh, yes, I heard about it,” nodded Sam.
“She wishes you to help her discover the author of the crime.”
“Then she has sent to the wrong party. As pretty a job as ever I heard of! A real artist that man, whoever he was; and I’m not the one to give him away. Not me! Go to the detectives, the men who are paid for that kind of work.”
“I should have told you that with Mrs. Booth money is simply no object in this case. She would willingly give a thousand pounds to have the truth discovered. Why, she’s committed for trial for the crime herself!”
“I don’t want her money—a great deal of good may it do her, or any one else! If I help her it will be to get her out of a mess, not to get somebody else in.”
“Do as you will; only, if you can, come to the help of the poor girl. She says that her latehusband always used to speak of your ability in the most enthusiastic way.”
“And it’s a pity for him he had not thought well enough of it to follow my advice, and he would be alive and well at this moment. I told him time after time that running after this woman would bring him no luck; but, like all the young ’uns, he would not listen—would have his own way, go his own road, and now all my trouble on him is thrown away. It’s enough to make a man disgusted with human nature. In a couple of years I would have made him king of the Australian turf.
“I made him what he was—out of mud, as you may say—but he must go like all the rest. Thought he was clever enough to hold his own bat. Now, as to this affair, tell me all you know about it first. But wait a minute, have you got sixpence on you?” said Soft Sam, after vainly searching all his pockets.
The Professor quickly produced a shilling, which Soft Sam, handing to one of the children who still hung about, said—
“Now, the first of you that gets to the gate is to spend it.”
With a shout and a scuffle the whole mob disappeared.
The Professor then related at length all the particulars of the crime known to him.
“And on the strength of that evidence,” said the old man, when Mr. Norris had finished, “they arrested Mrs. Booth—the Queen of Sydney they used to call her at the bar. The dunderheads! Why, I would not trust them to catch a rat for me. You say the room of the crime remains untouched, just as it was? Let us go over and see it.”
An hour later, under the guidance of Police-Constable Hobbs, who had the key and charge of the room, the two gentlemen entered the home of Mrs. Delfosse.
Mr. Hobbs eyed the newcomer curiously. Who was he, and why had he come under the guidance of the Professor? Perhaps some expert detective brought from Melbourne or one of the other colonies.
To a casual observer, Soft Sam would have seemed to pass into the house, up the stairs, and into the fatal room without so much as a glance about him. But Mr. Hobbs was not deceived in this way. He noted the quick eyes of the old man, saw, examined, took in everything. Only a moment he paused at the door of the room, andthen passed in as though it was of no further interest. This surprised the policeman, who had examined and wondered at that door for hours as the seat of the hidden mystery.
The old man crossed to the fire-place, gave a pressure with his hand to the register grate, then stepped to the window, looked out, glanced at the catch, and said almost impulsively—
“It’s as plain as kiss your hand.”
“What is?” interjected P.-C. Hobbs imprudently.
“That the police force are a lot of mokes,” continued the old man, turning about; and in another tone, “We may as well go back, Professor.”
“What, already? You have hardly seen the place!”
“I’ve seen enough. Come along!”
Soft Sam would say no more till they were out of the house and seated in the ferry, on the way to Sydney.
“You say the bedstead has not been shifted?”
“No; nothing has been moved.”
“Then your mystery is so simple, a child could see through it! Any one but a regular detective or a duffer should be able to find it out in five minutes. He was only a clever amateur after all who did the job.”
“How do you know?”
“Why, he has left his track.”
“Then how was it done?”
“That I do not feel at liberty to tell you—at least, just yet. I must see Mrs. Booth and have an understanding with her. She is a girl of sense, as far as girls go. For, mind you, as I said at first, I am not going to be dragged in to give evidence in any police-court proceedings. None of their tomfoolery for me! If I tell Mrs. Booth how she can clear herself, I expect her only to act when, and as I tell her.”
* * * * *
At Darlinghurst Soft Sam expressed the wish to speak privately with Bertha, and the Professor had to wait impatiently till the interview was over.
Coming out, Soft Sam only nodded to him on his way to the gate, and any one who had noted the old man’s face as he walked down Oxford Street would have seen his usual serene smile was gone—he was troubled.
Crossing Hyde Park he hailed a man on an adjoining footway.
“Heigh, there, Huey!”
Huey Gosper, for that was the gentleman called, seeing who it was addressed him, came forward at once over the turf.
“Is it a fiver you want, Sam?” he said, putting his hand to his pocket, and remembering the old gentleman’s peculiar way.
“No, boy; I wish that was all the trouble. The fact is, I was just going to hunt you up. I have something of importance to tell you. Now, mind this, don’t laugh, and think it’s not serious.”
“Well, what’s the matter?” said Huey, easily.
“The matter, my boy, is this—that the climate of Sydney for the next year or two is likely to be very unhealthy for you. You have got a complaint that nothing can cure but the air of South America, and the medicine must be taken at once.”
“But what are you driving at, Sam?” said Huey, turning pale. “Yours is a big order.”
“Now, don’t act the goat with me, Huey. You have always found me your friend, and if you have made a mess it’s because you would not take my advice. And when I tell you that after breathing the air of North Shore at three in the morning, it is necessary for your health to try Valparaiso, you should understand I mean what I say.”
And, saying no more, the old man moved on, gloomy and thoughtful.
“Both of them mugs! All the world are mugs.I am a fool to try and train any of them,” he said to himself.
When the Professor entered Bertha’s cell after her interview with Soft Sam he found her quite radiant.
“I know all about it now, Pro; or rather, I know how it was done; for Sam will not tell me who it was, though I believe he knows.”
“And how was it done? I am just dying to know!”
“You must wait a little bit yet, Pro. Sam made me swear not to tell a soul till he gave me leave, or he would have told me nothing. So, of course, I must keep my word. But be assured, Professor, my troubles now are nearly over. In a few days at most I go out a free woman. Did I not tell you that Soft Sam was a clever old man?”
“Clever at villainy, it seems, Bertha! All the same, we must be thankful to him.”
WhenConstable Hobbs had seen his visitors safely out of the house he returned to the room of the crime full of thought.
It was apparent to him that this strange old man had read the secret and method of the murder at a glance. Not two minutes had he been in the room, and the tone of his involuntary exclamation announced that he had solved the riddle.
How had he done it? What magic was there in this old man’s vision that was lacking in his own? He had marked in his mind every movement, every glance of Soft Sam—the door that had hardly arrested his slow walk into the room, the fire-place he had only touched, and finally, the window where the exclamation had taken place.
What was there so noticeable about the window to excite the old man? He went towards it, and looked it over carefully. Four squares of glass, two in each sash, secured by a common window-fastener, that was now closed, as Police-Constable Hobbs had always seen it.
He opened the window, and scrutinized it carefully.
What were these two small lines that cut the paint of the lower bar of the upper sash, immediately under the fastener?
He looked at them carefully. At the edges the cuts were deeper. They were such marks as are seen on the tops of corks of lemonade bottles. And the marks were recent.
“That’s it!” cried Hobbs, joyfully. “That’s what he saw! What a fool I was never to have opened the window! They are hardly to be seen when it is closed.”
But his triumph was only for a moment. These marks may have explained everything to the old man; they were so far silent to Constable Hobbs. He had, however, found a clue, and he started to think to put this and that together.
The window had, so far, never entered his calculations; there were so many objections to be overcome in that direction. Nevertheless, puttingthem aside, he devoted all his thought to the window and its lock. Drawing out his pocket-knife, he found it was an easy job to press back the little brass bar when it was open. He remembered doing the same trick as a boy, when he happened to be locked out of his own home. But with the knife he found it quite impossible to shut the lock again from the outside.
Descending to the kitchen of the house he procured a piece of very fine wire, and, having borrowed a ladder, mounted to the window from the outside. He had previously again closed the window. He now readily opened it as before, with his knife pushed up between the junction of the two sashes and pressed sideways. Raising the lower sash and bending his wire in the form of a loop, he was able with a little dexterity to pass it over the knob of the catch; holding the two ends of the wire in one hand he drew down the lower sash, and then by a sideway pull easily pulled the little brass bar out again.
The window was shut and locked. He had only to loosen one end of the wire to withdraw the whole and place it in his pocket.
Descending the ladder and mounting to the room, he again opened the window and examined the two marks. Yes, there could be no doubt onthe matter. The two marks were deeper and plainer than ever. His own wire had fitted the grooves left by a previous one.
He felt happy and proud of himself. At any rate, he had beaten the much-vaunted Dobell so far. So pleased was he at that moment, that if some peripatetic hawker had at that time cried out “prawns” for sale in the street, he would have lavishly treated himself to a pint, in spite of Bell and all her lessons in domestic economy.
But this rash ardour soon cooled, and no demand was made on his tendency to extravagance. He was not out of the wood yet, not by a long way, he told himself, as he surveyed the iron bars and the thirty feet fall to the ground.
“Supposing a man got to the window, how could he get through?”
He tried each iron bar. They were all solidly soldered into the stone window-sill. Look at them as he would, they baffled him. Even a child could not squeeze through. And then again, a ladder must have been used to mount to the window. The one he had just used himself he had borrowed from a painter who was at work on a house close by. But he remembered that the morning after the murder, with the possible idea in his mind that the murderer had got into theroom from the chimney, he had searched the neighbourhood for some distance round, and had found no privately-owned ladder long enough, and no painters using ladders. It was a common burglar’s trick to enter houses this way, so he had looked, and carefully looked, but he had found no sign of ladder, or even marks of where a ladder must have stood if it had been used.
His mind was in a turmoil. He thought and thought, but could see no way out. At last, in despair, he went home to tea, and relieved his mind by telling his discovery and his troubles to his wife. He had another matter on his mind that worried him also. At the Golden Bar, which he had visited more than once, he had had pointed out to him the person of Huey Gosper, and the man’s aspect had struck him as familiar, but for the life of him he could not bring to mind in what way or under what conditions he had seen him before.
Mrs. Hobbs was rejoiced at her husband’s news.
“Didn’t I say so, Tom, you would find it out? I always had my doubts about that window, though you were so positive! Why did you not look before?”
“Why indeed!” echoed Tom. “Why don’t wedo fifty things that are plain enough to us after we have lost the opportunity?”
“And you can’t understand how the murderer got through the iron bars on the window?”
“No, that’s what puzzles me most of all.”
“Perhaps he did not get through at all.”
“Don’t be a fool, Bell!”
“Drat that boy!” interjected Mrs. Hobbs. “He has got a new ball, and won’t come in to his tea. Here, Harry! Come here!”
But Harry did not answer, and did not come. So his mother went to the back door to call him. But she did not call him, but paused in a kind of wonderment on the doorstep. Presently she shouted—
“Come here, Tom!”
Languidly, and with true official deliberation, Mr. Hobbs came to her side.
“Well, what’s the matter, Bell?”
“Look at that boy, Tom. His ball has fallen in the next yard. He cannot squeeze through the fence or climb over it, but he is getting the ball all the same.”
“So I see. He has got your clothes-prop through the palings and is dragging the ball towards him. That’s nothing. I used to steal apples that way when I was a boy.”
“But does not that explain what you were talking about?”
“What! You think the murder might have been committed with a clothes-prop?”
“No, I don’t say anything of the kind. But it might have been somehow in the same way.”
“Bell, you’re mad! Wash up the tea-things, that’s more in your line. I’ll have a smoke.”
Hobbs sat and puffed the blue clouds, and so deep was he lost in thought that his lips puffed mechanically long after his pipe had gone out.
This idea of Bell’s was filtering into his mind. At first regarding it as absurd, he gradually came to think it possible, then probable; finally, he was morally certain there was a basis of truth in it. But not a word of his revulsion of feeling did he let fall to Mrs. Hobbs. In fact, he was quite convinced from that time forth that the idea was all his own.
“Burning! Burning!” he said to himself, with reference to an old game of hide-and-seek that he was wont to play in his boyhood, this being the cry of the fellow players when the seeker was near the object sought.
Burning! Burning! He felt he was touching the key to the mystery at last.
An hour might have passed, when he jumped up with a loud exclamation—
“I remember! I remember!”
“What do you remember?” inquired Mrs. Hobbs, coming in hurriedly from the kitchen.
“I remember where I have seen this Huey Gosper before! He is the man I saw on the night of the murder, chased in the scrub, and followed down Lavender Bay steps to the boat! That’s the man! I will swear to him!”
“Will you arrest him?”
“I will apply for a warrant to-morrow! There is no hurry. He thinks himself quite safe!”