Mr. Dowker was not a man to let grass grow under his feet, so he went straight to the photographer whose name was on the back of the portrait found in Lena Sarschine's possession, and ascertained without much difficulty that it was that of Lady Balscombe.
"Now, what the deuce was that portrait doing in her desk?" he muttered, as he left the gallery, "and why should Lydia Fenny mistake it for her mistress? I wish I could get a picture of Miss Sarschine."
But he could not manage this, for, according to Lydia Fenny, Miss Sarschine would never consent to have her portrait taken, so that he had no means of learning if there was such a wonderful resemblance between the two women, except by personal description, which was not by any means satisfactory.
Under these circumstances there was only one thing to be done--see Captain Dicksfall, the father of Lena--so putting a few things together Dowker caught the afternoon train to Folkestone from Charing Cross.
Dowker duly arrived at Folkestone and took up his abode in an hotel in the Sandigate Road, where he ordered himself a pleasant little dinner and made the acquaintance of a fatherly old waiter who knew everyone and everything.
Barbers have the credit of being most notorious gossips, videlicet Figaro, and the Barber in "The Arabian Nights," but, as a matter of fact, they are not worse than waiters, who generally hear everything that's going on in their locality, and, being of a garrulous nature, do not keep their knowledge to themselves.
This waiter at the Prince's Hotel rejoiced in the name of Martin, and, hovering about Dowker, armed with a napkin and a pint bottle of Heidsieck, managed to satisfy that gentleman's curiosity concerning the existence of Captain Michael Dicksfall.
"Yes, sir--know him well, sir--by sight, sir," he said, brimming the empty glass with champagne. "H'old gentleman, sir--bin in the army--'ad two daughters."
"Two daughters?" repeated Dowker eagerly.
"Yes, sir--Miss Amelia and Miss Helena, sir--twins--as fine-looking gals as you ever saw, sir--tall, 'andsome, and golden 'air."
"Oh, indeed!" replied Dowker indifferently. "And are they living with Captain Dicksfall?"
"No, sir," said Martin gravely. "You see, sir, Miss Helena fell in love with a gent who was stopping at the Pavilion, sir, and went off with him."
"What was his name?"
"Don't know, sir. He called himself Carrill, but they do say it was not his right name."
"Humph!"
Dowker pondered a little over this. It was as he had thought after reading the letters. Lord Calliston had masqueraded at Folkestone under the name of Carrill, and had inveigled Helena Dicksfall away from home, and kept her in St. John's Wood as "Lena Sarschine."
"And the other young lady," he asked, "Miss Amelia?"
"Oh, she made a good match, sir," replied Martin. "Married Sir Rupert Balscombe, sir, about a year ago. But I did 'ear, sir, as 'ow she 'ad bolted last week, sir, with Lord Calliston--same blood, sir; it will come out," and Martin departed to attend upon an important customer.
"Same blood," repeated Dowker musingly. "I wonder if he knows it's the same man? Calliston evidently had apenchantfor the family, for there seems to be no doubt that Miss Sarschine and Lady Balscombe were sisters. So he kept one and made love to the other! Queer--deuced queer! Well, I think I had better look up Captain Dicksfall."
He finished his wine, and putting on his hat, went out into the cool evening and strolled leisurely along the Leas, first having taken the precaution of putting Dicksfall's address in his pocket.
There were a great number of people on the Leas, and that pleasant promenade was crowded with youth, beauty, and fashion. Charming girls in charming dresses, well-dressed men, happy-looking boys, and here and there a shaky-looking invalid, formed the greater part of the assembly, so that Dowker found a good deal of amusement in watching the passers-by. The lift was hard at work lowering people to the beach below or taking them up to the higher level, and the pier was full of gaily-dressed idlers, who looked like pigmies from the heights above. Very pleasant and amusing to an unoccupied man, but Dowker being down on business, and not pleasure, turned away from the pleasant scene and went up past Harvey's statue towards the heart of the new town.
He had no difficulty in finding Captain Dicksfall's cottage, which was a comfortable-looking place with a small garden in front. A neat maid-servant admitted him into a dusky passage, and from thence showed him into a small drawing-room, at the end of which, near the window, Captain Dicksfall lay on a sofa, looking out on to the quiet street. A haggard, pale face, worn by suffering, but which had once been handsome. He lay supinely on the sofa in an attitude of utter lassitude, covered by a heavy rug, and his slender white hands were toying with a book which was lying on his lap.
He turned fretfully when Dowker entered, and spoke in the querulous voice of an invalid.
"What is it, my good man?" he said peevishly. "Why do you come and disturb me at this hour? My doctor has ordered complete rest, and how can I get it if you trouble me?"
"Selfish old chap," thought Dowker, but without saying a word he took his seat near the invalid and commenced to talk.
"I am sorry to trouble you, sir," he said respectfully, "but I wanted to see you about your daughters."
"My daughters!" echoed Captain Dicksfall, angrily. "You are making a mistake, I have only one--Lady Balscombe!"
Dowker felt disappointed. Only one daughter! If so, Lena Sarschine could be no relation of Lady Balscombe, and his theory about the possible motive for the committal of the Piccadilly crime would fall to the ground. But then the name, Helena Dicksfall--the portrait of the old gentleman before him. It must be true.
"I understood you had two daughters, sir, Lady Balscombe and Miss Helena Dicksfall?"
The invalid turned sharply on him.
"Who the devil are you to intrude yourself into my private affairs?"
Dowker came at once promptly to the point.
"My name is Dowker. I am a detective."
Captain Dicksfall struck his hand angrily down on the pillow.
"Sent by Sir Rupert, I presume?" he said with a sneer. "He wants to get a divorce, and you have come to me for evidence. I know nothing--my daughter was always a good daughter to me, and if Sir Rupert had treated her well, this elopement with Lord Calliston would never have taken place. He is to blame--not she."
"I do not come from Sir Rupert," said Dowker coldly, "but from Scotland Yard."
"About what?"
"The death of your other daughter."
Captain Dicksfall started up with a groan, and stared wildly at Dowker.
"Good God! Is Helena dead?"
"Who is Helena?" asked Dowker, stolidly.
"My daughter--my daughter."
"I thought you said you'd only one, sir."
The sick man turned away his face.
"I had two," he said in a low tone, "but one, the eldest, ran away with some scamp, called Carrill. Since then I have heard nothing of her, so I always say I have only one."
Dowker thought for a few moments. It was a very delicate position to occupy, and, feeling it to be so, for a moment he was doubtful as to how to proceed.
"Captain Dicksfall," he said at length, "I know I am only a common man and you are a gentleman; it is not for such as me to speak to you about your private affairs, but this is a matter of life or death to a human being, and, if you hear my story, I am sure you will not refuse to help me by telling me what I want to know."
Dicksfall was looking at the detective with a sombre fire burning in his unusually bright eyes, then with a sigh he lay down and prepared to listen.
"Tell me what you wish," he said languidly, "and, if possible, I will do what you require."
Whereupon, Dowker told him the story of the Jermyn Street murder, the elopement of Lady Balscombe, and the reasons he had for believing that the two incidents were connected in some mysterious way. He also informed him of the arrest of Myles Desmond, and of the doubts he entertained concerning his criminality.
At the conclusion, Dicksfall was silent for a minute, then turned towards the detective, and clasped his thin fingers nervously together.
"I am a proud man," he said with a touch of pathos, "and do not care about telling the world my private affairs; but in a case like this I think it is only right I should put myself aside for the sake of clearing the character of an innocent man. What do you wish to know?"
"Was Lena Sarschine your daughter?"
For answer Dicksfall pointed to a small table near at hand, upon which was a morocco frame containing two portraits. Dowker took them to the window and looked at them.
"Both of the same lady?" he asked.
Dicksfall smiled faintly.
"You are not the first who has been deceived," he said with a sigh. "No! One is my daughter Helena, who, from your story, I believe to be Lena Sarschine, and the other is Amelia, Lady Balscombe--twins."
Dowker examined the photographs closely, and was astonished at the likeness, which was further aided by both of them being dressed exactly alike.
"It is wonderful," he said, and no longer marvelled at the way in which Lydia Fenny and Anne Lifford had confused the identity of the portrait found in Lena Sarschine's desk.
"I have been living here for many years," said Dicksfall in a low voice, "and my two daughters lived with me. Their mother has been dead a long time. About three years ago, a young man, who called himself Carrill, came here and stopped at the Pavilion Hotel. He obtained an introduction to me by some means, and appeared to be struck with the beauty of Helena. I thought he was going to marry her, when I heard rumours as to the fastness of his life, and also that he was not what he represented himself to be. I taxed him with it, but he denied the accusation, yet so transparent was his denial that I forbade him the house, The result was that Helena ran away with him, and, until the time you spoke to me of her and told me his real name, I did not know it, and never entertained any suspicion as to his real rank in life. I was so angry that I forbade Helena's name to be mentioned in my hearing, and always said, as I did to-night, that I had only one daughter--my daughter Amelia, married to Sir Rupert Balscombe last year, and I thought that she would, at least, not follow the example of her sister. Now, however, I know all, but, to tell you the truth, I blame Sir Rupert for her elopement, as I know she was a kind daughter, and I am sure she'd have made a good wife. He was very jealous of her, and had a fearful temper, so I daresay he drove her to it. From what you say, I suppose my poor Helena went to see her sister on the night of the elopement to dissuade her from going with Lord Calliston, and surely she had the best right to speak of one who had ruined her own life, but evidently her arguments were of no avail, and she called at Calliston's chambers to remonstrate with him. He was not there, and she went out to her death, and then Amelia eloped with him, as you have told me. I was a fast man in my youth, and the sins of the father are being visited on the children."
"But this does not clear up the mystery of Lena Sarschine's death."
"Don't call her by that name," said Dicksfall angrily. "It is the name that shames her. No; you are right, it does not explain her death, but I do not know, from what you say, what motive Myles Desmond could have had in murdering her."
"I don't believe he did," said Dowker bluntly, "but I want to find out your daughter's past life. Had she any lovers?"
Dicksfall flushed a deep red.
"She was always a good daughter to me," he said quietly, "but I believe she was very much admired."
"Do you know the name of anyone who admired her?"
"No."
"Not one?
"Not one."
There was clearly nothing more to be gained from Dicksfall, so Dowker respectfully said good-bye and took his leave.
"At all events," he said to himself, as he wended his way back to his hotel, "I've found out one thing--Lena Sarschine and Lady Balscombe were sisters, and both loved the same man. What I'd like to know is, whether Lady Balscombe killed her sister out of jealousy. D--n it, I'm getting more perplexed than ever. This visit instead of clearing up the mystery deepens it. I think I'll see Sir Rupert Balscombe and ask him about things; as his wife is mixed up in it, I've a right, and I'd give anything to save that young fellow's life, because I'm sure he's innocent."
Myles Desmond was not a particularly good young man, but good enough as young men of the present generation go. He was a healthy, cheery, enough-for-the-day-is-the-evil-thereof sort of fellow, and, considered himself decidedly hardly treated at being arrested on such a serious charge as that of the murder of Lena Sarschine.
According to the cynical creed prevailing now-a-days all his friends should have turned their backs on him now he was in trouble, but there is a wonderful lot of undiscovered good even in friends, and none of them did. Instead of calling him names and laughing at his misfortune Desmond's friends took up his cause warmly, and both in clubs and drawing-rooms he was heartily commiserated. Many people, both in his own set and in the literary circle of which he had become a member, had taken a liking to the bright, kindly young man, and emphatically declared that the whole thing was a terrible mistake.
"Myles Desmond a murderer!" they said, "why as soon say the Archbishop of Canterbury is an Atheist." So as certain grasses only give out perfume when crushed, Myles' misfortune brought all his friends around to help him if need be.
And he sadly needed help, poor fellow, for his position was a very critical one, the evidence against him being as follows:
1. He had last seen Lena Sarschine alive on the night of the murder.
2. He had been met in St. James's Street by Ellersby not far from the scene of the crime.
3. He had in his possession the dagger with which the crime was, to all appearances, committed.
Myles answered these accusations as follows:
1. He had not seen Lena Sarschine on that night, but another lady whose name he refused to divulge.
2. His presence in St. James's Street on the night in question was purely accidental.
3. And the dagger found in the vase was one he had taken from Lena Sarschine on the afternoon of the day she had called to see Calliston about the elopement.
"I'll tell you all about that dagger," explained Myles to Norwood, his solicitor. "I was at Calliston's rooms on the Monday afternoon looking over his papers, when Lena Sarschine came in like a mad woman to see Calliston. I tried to quiet her, but she refused to be pacified, and pulling out the dagger said she would kill Calliston first and Lady Balscombe afterwards. I tried to take it from her and she flung it away--neither of us knew it was poisoned, or I don't think we would have been so reckless over it. In falling, the dagger rested slantwise from the floor to the fender, and in springing to get it I put my foot on it and broke the handle off. In case she should get it again, I put the pieces in my pocket and took them home--I left them on a side table, so if they were found in the ornaments someone must have placed them there--and Lena Sarschine went away on that day, and since then I have seen nothing of her."
"Then who was the lady you saw on that night?" asked his solicitor.
"I cannot tell you," replied the young man doggedly. "I gave my word to the lady I would not say she had been there till I had her permission, and till I get it I cannot."
"When will you get it?"
"When Calliston returns in his yacht."
"Why, in that case," said Norwood, "you must mean Lady Balscombe?"
"I have not said so."
"No," replied Norwood quickly, "but you say your permission to speak must come from a lady, and the only lady on board the yacht is Lady Balscombe, as she ran away with Lord Calliston. Come, tell me, was it Lady Balscombe you saw on that night?"
"I won't answer you."
All that Norwood could do could not get any other answer from the obstinate young man, so in despair the lawyer left him.
"It's impossible to perform miracles," he muttered to himself as he went back to his office, "and if this young fool won't tell me the whole truth I cannot see what I can do."
On arriving at his office he found a lady waiting to see him, and on glancing carelessly at the card handed to him by his clerk started violently.
"Miss Penfold," he said, "by Jove! she was engaged to Lord Calliston. Now I wonder what she wants?"
The young lady made her appearance, and the door being closed, soon enlightened him on that point.
"You are Mr. Desmond's lawyer?" she asked.
"Yes, I have that honour," replied Norwood, rather puzzled to know what she had come about.
"I--I take a great interest in Mr. Desmond," said the girl, hesitating, "in fact, I'm engaged to him."
"But I thought Lord Calliston----"
"Lord Calliston is nothing to me," she broke in impatiently. "I never did like him, though my guardian wished me to marry him, and I love Myles Desmond, if I did not I would not be here."
"Well, of course I feel sure he is innocent."
"Innocent! I never had any doubt on the subject, but I want to know what chances there are of proving his innocence."
"It will be a difficult matter," said Norwood thoughtfully, "as I can get him to tell me nothing."
"What is it he refuses to tell you?" asked Miss Penfold.
"The name of the lady whom he saw at Lord Calliston's chambers on the night of the murder. I believe myself it was Lady Balscombe."
"Lady Balscombe!" echoed May in astonishment, "why what would take her there?"
"Perhaps she went to meet Lord Calliston. The reason why I think it's she is that Mr. Desmond says he promised the lady he saw that he would not speak without her permission, and then he tells me he cannot speak till Lord Calliston's yacht comes back, and as Lady Balscombe is the only lady on board it must be her."
"But why should he refuse to tell you it was her?"
Norwood shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, it's hardly the thing for a lady to visit a chambers at that hour of the night--her reputation----"
"Her reputation!" repeated May Penfold contemptuously, "he need not try to save it now, considering she's thrown it away by eloping with Lord Calliston; but what else is there in his favour?"
"The principal thing is the dagger," said Norwood; "he told me he took it from Lena Sarschine and brought it home--so if his landlady or anyone else put it away, they must have seen it--and so it will show the truth of his story."
"Then in order to find out it will be best to see his landlady."
"Certainly--but I don't know where he lives."
"I do--Primrose Crescent, Bloomsbury. You go there and find out what you can."
"I may as well try," said Norwood thoughtfully, "but I'm afraid it's a forlorn hope."
"Forlorn hopes generally succeed," replied May with a confident smile. "So you go to his lodgings, and then let me know the result of your inquiries."
Norwood agreed to this, and after Miss Penfold had departed called a cab and drove to the address of Myles Desmond. Rondalina, more wan and ghost-like than ever, opened the door and informed the lawyer that Mrs. Mulgy had gone out.
"That's a pity," said Norwood, in a disappointed tone. "Are you the servant?"
"Yes sir," replied Rondalina, dropping a curtsey.
"And you attend to all the lodgers?"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh! then perhaps you can tell me what I want to know," said Norwood cheerfully. "Take me up to Mr. Desmond's room."
Rondalina, being a London girl, was very sharp, and looked keenly at Mr. Norwood to see if he had any design of burglary. The scrutiny proving satisfactory, she led him upstairs, and showed him Desmond's sitting-room.
"Now then," said Norwood, taking a seat, "I want you to answer me a few questions."
Rondalina looked frightened, and said, "Yes, sir," in a mechanical manner.
"First," asked Norwood, "do you dust this room and put things straight?"
"I do, sir."
"Do you remember seeing a broken dagger about the place--a blade and a handle?"
Rondalina twisted her apron up into a knot and thought hard, then intimated she had seen it.
"Oh!--and when did you see it?"
"About a week or so ago, sir," replied Rondalina. "Mr. Desmond, sir, he comes in at five o'clock when I was a'layin' of the cloth for dinner, and ses he 'I ain't a-goin' to stay in for dinner 'cause I'm a-goin' h'out,' then he takes the knife from his pocket, being broken in two, and throws the bits on the table and goes out to put his clothes on. I takes the dinner things down stairs, and when I comes up he were gone, so I sets to work an' tidies up the room."
"Was the dagger still on the table?"
"The knife, sir," corrected Rondalina, "yes, sir, it were, and I puts the bits in the h'ornaments so as to keep 'em out of the way of the children, an' I 'ope it weren't wrong, sir."
"No, not at all," replied Norwood, "but tell me, did Mr. Desmond come back on that night?"
"Yes, sir--but not till late, sir--three o'clock in the morning. He 'adn't his latch-key, so I 'ad to git h'up and let him in."
"Was he sober?"
"Quite, sir, only he seemed upset like, and goes up to his room without saying a word."
This was all the information obtainable from Rondalina, so Norwood departed from the house very much satisfied with what he had discovered. He drove straight to Park Lane and told May Penfold all Rondalina had said.
"You see," he said in conclusion, "this evidence will prove one thing, that Desmond could not have committed the crime with that dagger."
"Then I suppose they'll say he did it with another," said May bitterly.
"If they do so they will damage their own case," replied Norwood coolly, "for Dowker swears the crime was committed by this special dagger, and if Desmond did not use it--as can be proved by the evidence of the servant--no one else could have done so; by-the-way, you say Sir Rupert was down at Berkshire on that night."
"He was," replied May, "but he came up by a late train and then went to his club shortly before twelve."
"Is he in?" asked the lawyer.
"No, but you will be able to see him about five o'clock," said Miss Penfold, "he has been shut up in his library since the elopement of his wife, but had to go out to-day on business."
"I'll call then."
"What do you want to see him about?"
"I am anxious to ascertain if he knew his wife's movements on that night, and whether she left the house."
"I don't think he can tell you that, as his wife and he were on bad terms and occupied different rooms; besides, even if you find out that Lady Balscombe visited Lord Calliston's chambers on that night, it won't save Myles."
"I don't know so much about that," replied Norwood, cheerfully, "it will help to unravel this mystery, and when everything is made plain I'm certain Myles Desmond won't be the man to suffer for this crime."
In the brilliant comedies of Wycherley, Moliere, Goldini, and Lope de Vega the betrayed husband is always made the scapegoat for the sins of the lovers, and all the sympathies of the dramatists are with the pretty wife and the gay deceiver. This was the case with poor Sir Rupert, for though his friends pitied him heartily for the manner in which his wife had behaved, yet they also laughed at him for the way in which he had allowed Calliston to carry on the intrigue under his very nose. Sir Rupert thought Calliston's visits were to his ward, but in reality she was merely used as a stalking-horse to conceal the designs of the young man on Lady Balscombe. When the blow came and the lady eloped, no one was surprised except the unsuspecting husband, who, having raised his wife from an obscure position to a brilliant one, and given her all she could wish for, never dreamt for a moment she would reward him in so base a manner.
Sir Rupert, however, had no idea of playing the complacent husband in this case, and at once proceeded to take steps for a divorce. The difficulty was to serve the guilty pair with citations, for as the yacht had gone to the Azores there was no chance of doing so until she returned to England, or until she touched at some civilized port easy to be reached by the long arm of the law.
The baronet sat in his library reading a letter from his lawyers, which informed him that Calliston's yacht, theSeamew, had put into a French port for repairs as she had been disabled in a storm, and that they had sent over a clerk to serve the citations at once. The intelligence seemed to afford Sir Rupert the greatest pleasure, and he threw down the paper with a grim smile. He was a tall, fine-looking man of forty-nine, with a soldierly carriage and iron-grey hair.
"She won't find life with Calliston so happy as she did with me," he muttered, walking up and down the room. "He'll not marry her after she is free, and then she'll go from bad to worse. I was a fool to make her my wife; with the instincts she's got she would have been just as satisfied with being my mistress--come in," he said aloud, as a knock came to the door.
It opened and Miss Penfold entered, followed by Norwood, at the sight of whom Sir Rupert seemed surprised, but said nothing.
"This gentleman wishes to speak with you, Sir Rupert," said May, advancing towards the baronet. "He is----"
"A lawyer, I know," replied Sir Rupert, coldly pushing a chair towards his ward, "I've seen him in court--and what is the object of your visit, sir?" he said, turning to Norwood.
"I've called to see you about this arrest of Myles Desmond for the murder of Lena Sarschine," says Norwood, placing his hat on the table.
"I know nothing about him," replied the baronet, looking angrily at May. "Why do you come to me for information?"
"Because we want to save Mr. Desmond's life," said May boldly.
"His life--a murderer?"
"He is no murderer," said the young girl quickly. "Appearances are against him, but he is innocent."
"I believe you love the fellow still," said Balscombe, contemptuously.
"So much that I'm going to marry him," she replied.
"You may do so, if he escapes the gallows, which I doubt," retorted the baronet.
"I do not doubt," interposed Norwood quietly; "I am certain Mr. Desmond is innocent and could clear himself but for some absurd idea of honour."
"And what's all this got to do with me?" asked Balscombe haughtily.
"Simply this, that I have reason to believe Lady Balscombe had something to do with the case."
"Lady Balscombe!" echoed Sir Rupert, turning pale with fury. "Take care, sir, take care. My affairs have nothing to do with you, and Lady Balscombe's folly is quite apart from this--this murder."
"I think not," answered Norwood quietly, "for in my opinion Lady Balscombe left this house and went to Lord Calliston's chambers on the night of the murder and saw Mr. Desmond."
"Did Mr. Desmond tell you this?" said Balscombe in a nervous voice.
"No, Mr. Desmond refuses to tell anything," rejoined Norwood, "but I am certain it was Lady Balscombe, and as you came up from Berkshire on that night I thought you might tell me at what hour Lady Balscombe went out?"
"I am no spy on my wife's movements," retorted the baronet haughtily. "I came up from Berkshire, it is true, and understood from my servants that my wife was in her room. As we were not on good terms I did not see her, but went straight to my club. From there I did not return till about three in the morning. I then went to bed and did not know of Lady Balscombe's flight till next morning when it was too late to stop her. So, you see, I can tell you nothing."
Norwood was about to reply when a knock came to the door and the servant, entering, gave a card to Sir Rupert, which he glanced at and then handed to Norwood.
"Here is the detective who has the case in hand," he said quietly. "Perhaps, if you question him you may find out what you want to know. Show the gentleman in."
"Dowker's a clever man," said Norwood, when the servant had retired; "he arrested Desmond, so I presume he has come here to get evidence against him. Now, Miss Penfold, we must put our wits against his."
"Yes, and between the two stools poor Desmond will fall to the ground," replied the baronet, with a cold smile. "Here is your detective."
Mr. Dowker, being announced by the servant, entered the room quietly, and bowed first to Miss Penfold and then to Sir Rupert.
"How do you do Mr. Norwood?" he said calmly. "I did not think to meet you here, but I suppose we're on the same errand."
"Not quite," replied Norwood. "You want to destroy Myles Desmond. I wish to save him."
"There you are wrong," said Dowker, placing his hat beside a chair and taking his seat. "I want to save him also."
"Save him?" cried May, starting up.
"Yes; because I believe him to be innocent."
"Then why arrest him?" asked Norwood.
Dowker shrugged his shoulders.
"The evidence against him was too strong to permit him being at large, but from what I have learnt lately I have reason to believe he is not the guilty man."
This remark, coming from such a source, produced the profoundest impression in the mind of May Penfold, and Norwood himself seemed relieved, while the baronet stood on the hearthrug and looked stolidly on.
"Then we can work together?" said the lawyer.
"Yes; to prove the innocence of Mr. Desmond," replied Dowker. "And in doing so we will discover the real criminal."
"And now," observed Balscombe in a cold voice, "having settled this little matter about helping Mr. Desmond, whom I sincerely trust will be proved innocent of this charge, perhaps, Mr. Dowker, you will inform me the reason of your visit?"
"Certainly, sir," replied Dowker deliberately. "I want to ask you some questions about Lady Balscombe."
Two of his listeners looked at him in surprise struck by the singularity of the coincidence that he should have called on exactly the same errand as they did.
"I wish to know," said Dowker, "if you are aware that your wife called at Lord Calliston's chambers on the night of the murder?"
"Who says so?" asked Balscombe, harshly.
"No one," replied the detective; "but did she?"
"I cannot tell you," said Sir Rupert; and he gave the same account of his movements on the night in question as he had done to Norwood.
"Oh," said Dowker, stroking his chin; "so you were in town after all on that night?"
Sir Rupert looked uncomfortable under the steady gaze of the detective, and blurted out, somewhat confusedly, that he was.
"And you," questioned Dowker, turning to Norwood, "think it was Lady Balscombe that Desmond saw?"
"Yes; because he said he could not get permission to speak except from the lady on boardThe Seamew, and the lady we know is Sir Rupert's wife."
"But Lady Balscombe did not leave this house till after twelve o'clock, and as the woman saw Mr. Desmond before that time it could not have possibly been Lady Balscombe."
"How do you know my wife did not leave till after twelve?" demanded Balscombe.
"From the evidence of her maid, Anne Lifford."
"Yes, she told me the same thing," interposed May, "and if that is so, well--" she looked at the other three in helpless confusion.
"As Mr. Desmond refuses to give us any information," said Dowker, "the only thing to be done is to wait and find out the truth from Lady Balscombe herself."
"What could she know about this woman's death?" asked Sir Rupert.
"She might not know much," replied Dowker, significantly, "but enough to show in what way her sister met her death."
"Her sister!" echoed the others in surprise.
"Yes I have ascertained Lena Sarschine to have been the sister of Lady Balscombe."
"Are you mad?" said the baronet angrily. "Do you know who my wife was?"
"I do. The daughter of Captain Michael Dicksfall of Folkestone--he had two daughters, twins, one, Miss Helena Dicksfall, ran away with Lord Calliston three years ago and became his mistress under the name of Lena Sarschine, the other, Miss Amelia Dicksfall, married Sir Rupert Balscombe."
The baronet sank into his seat looking pale and haggard.
"My God," he muttered, "this is worse and worse. I knew Amelia had a twin sister, but understood she was dead."
"Dead as Helena Dicksfall, not as Lena Sarschine."
"Could Lady Balscombe have had any interest in her sister's death?" asked Norwood, in a puzzled tone.
"For heaven's sake don't make her out to be a murderess," said Sir Rupert vehemently, "she's bad enough as it is, but surely she would not go so far as--as---murder."
"I don't know," said Dowker brutally, "they both loved the same man, and when women are jealous, well there's the devil to pay."
At this moment a servant entered with a telegram which he handed to Sir Rupert. Tearing it open the baronet glanced hastily over it and then sprung to his feet.
"Now we will know the truth," he said triumphantly.
"What do you mean?" asked May, trembling in every limb.
"Simply this," said her guardian, crushing up the telegram in his hand, "theSeamewis on her way to England."
Perhaps among all his friends Myles had no warmer supporter than Spencer Ellersby. The young man appeared to be genuinely sorry that his evidence about meeting Desmond in St. James' Street should be used against him.
"Hang it!" he said to Marton, as they were seated at their club, "if I had only known how it would have been twisted, I'd not have said a word, but that detective fellow got it out of me somehow--brute of a fellow--killed my dog, you know, Pickles."
"Well, I hear they'll not be able to prove the dagger in Desmond's possession was the one used," said Marton, "good for poor old Myles--hey!"
"I think it's d--d rubbish, the whole thing," retorted Ellersby, hotly; "what the deuce should Myles kill this woman for, she was nothing to him; more likely Calliston knows more about it."
"Well, he'll soon be asked at all events," said Marton, with a chuckle. "TheSeamew'sback at Brighton."
"What!" cried Ellersby astonished. "And Lady Balscombe?"
"Oh, she's on board also," said Marton. "Sir Rupert has gone down, I hear, to see his wife--what a deuce of a row there'll be, hey!" and the old reprobate rubbed his hands.
"Well, there is one thing to be said," observed Ellersby ringing for a brandy and soda, "Calliston can't marry Miss Penfold now."
"All the better for Desmond, dear boy, hey?"
"I don't see that," retorted Ellersby coolly, "even if Desmond's acquitted, he'll have a stain on his name--she won't marry him."
"Hey!" said The Town-crier, all on the alert for news. "What do you mean?"
"Simply this, that I'm going to have a look in at the heiress myself."
"Bosh!"
"Fact, the matrimonial stakes are open to any one, and I don't see why Miss Penfold shouldn't marry me."
"She might if Desmond was out of the way, but as it is--pish!"
"Well, we'll see," retorted Ellersby, lighting a cigarette. "I've fallen in love with her, and I'm going to ask her to be my wife.
"Bet you a hundred to one she don't have you," said Marton, producing his pocket-book.
"Done," and the bet was booked immediately.
"Why hang it," said Marton, when this little transaction was concluded, "you're not fit to marry--drink, dear boy--bad thing, hey?"
"Oh, I'll give all that sort of thing up when I'm married," replied Ellersby, carelessly.
"You'll have to give up half your life then," retorted his friend rudely, "for you always seem to be at the brandy bottle."
Ellersby laughed, in nowise offended.
"If you had had as many agues and fevers as I have, you'd be at it too; but you needn't be afraid, when I become Benedict I'll take the pledge. By the way, come and see my new rooms, I've got 'em all done up."
"Right, dear boy, right," said Marton, and the two gentlemen left the club chatting about the Piccadilly murder and the possible result thereof.
While this interesting conversation was going on, Sir Rupert, Dowker, and Norwood were all in a first-class carriage on their way to Brighton. As Marton had informed Ellersby, theSeamewhad returned to England the previous day, and now the trio were going down to see if Lady Balscombe could give them any information likely to solve the mystery of the murder of Lena Sarschine. Of course Sir Rupert fully recognised the truth of the proverb "Every man for himself," but now the guilty passion of his wife appeared a secondary consideration to the desire of saving an innocent man from a shameful death.
On the way down, Norwood told Dowker the discovery he had made about the dagger, at which the detective was much astonished.
"If; as you say," he remarked, "the lodging-house servant can prove the broken dagger was in the house all the time, it certainly cannot have been the weapon used, and yet it corresponds in every particular with the other weapon I took from Cleopatra Villa. I can quite understand Miss Sarschine taking it and the manner in which it came into Desmond's possession, but if this was not the weapon used, where is the weapon that was."
"There are plenty of these daggers," suggested Norwood.
"Certainly--but the coincidence in this case is that the dagger found in Mr. Desmond's rooms, which came from the house of the murdered woman, was poisoned, and Lena Sarschine was killed by a poisoned instrument."
"There were no other daggers taken from the house I suppose?" asked Norwood.
"Not that I know of," replied the detective, "but I am convinced that the whole secret of this crime lies in the conversation between Mr. Desmond and Lady Balscombe."
"You do not say my wife is guilty of this murder?" said Sir Rupert angrily.
"I say nothing," replied Dowker evasively, "till I see Lady Balscombe."
When the trio arrived at Brighton it was growing late, so they went to the "Ship" Hotel and had something to eat. Finding out from the waiter that theSeamewwas lying a short distance from the pier they went down, and hiring a boat rowed to the yacht. When they climbed up on to the deck they were accosted by one of the officers, who wanted to know their business.
"We want to see Lord Calliston," said Balscombe quietly.
"I'm afraid that's impossible," replied the officer, "as he went up to town to-day on business."
"Is there not a lady on board?" asked Norwood.
"Yes--you mean----"
"Never mind telling us her name," said Balscombe shortly, feeling a horror at hearing his wife's name mentioned. "Can we see her?"
"I will ask," answered the officer, and he went downstairs to the cabin, from which he soon reascended with the news that they could go down.
Dowker went first, followed by Norwood and Sir Rupert, all feeling in a strange state of excitement at the prospect of the coming interview.
The cabin was small, but luxuriously fitted up in pale blue silk, and the walls panelled in oak, with small medallions of seascapes around. A lamp hanging from the ceiling shed a soft mellow light over all, and on the table below was a work-basket and some embroidery.
"She has been working, I see," whispered Balscombe with a sneer as they entered into the cabin. No one was present, but suddenly they heard the rustle of a dress, and a curtain at the end of the cabin parted admitting a woman--a tall fair faced woman, with shining golden hair.
At this sight Norwood and Dowker turned to look on Sir Rupert, to watch the effect of the sight of his wife on him, when they saw he was pale as death and had made a step forward.
"You wish to see me?" asked the lady, advancing towards the group.
"You--you----" cried Sir Rupert in a choked voice. "You are not Lady Balscombe."
"I!" in surprise. "No!--I am not Lady Balscombe."
Dowker and Norwood turned suddenly.
"Who are you?"
"Lena Sarschine!"