The announcement of Ackworth was so terrible, and so unexpected, that Clarice could scarcely believe her ears. She knew that Frank Clarke was a rascal and extravagant, that he was selfish and dishonourable, but it never entered her head that he would turn out to be a cold-blooded murderer. No wonder the vicar, who had forgiven much to his prodigal son, had stopped short of finally pardoning such an unmitigated scoundrel.
"He must have known what Frank was," said: Clarice, involuntarily.
"Who must have known?" asked Anthony, quickly.
"Mr. Clarke. He was here a short time ago, and would not let me mention his son's name. He must know. Yes," Clarice struck her hands together, "this was why he refused to let Prudence marry Ferdy."
"I thought that it was Prudence herself who refused to marry Ferdy."
"Yes, but for another reason. I told you that reason--the accusation of Mr. Clarke by Zara Dumps."
"I remember." Anthony ruffled his hair in sore perplexity. "What have you done about that?"
"I have seen Zara."
"You have seen that girl? When? Where?"
"Last night--in London. At the Mascot Music Hall, and at her own rooms. You look surprised."
"I am. You should not have gone to her rooms, let alone the Mascot Music Hall."
"I know that--but to save Ferdy I did so. It was just as well that I went, for several reasons. Oh, I have much to tell you"--Clarice drew her lover to the sofa with gentle force--"and perhaps you will be angry with me."
"I said that I would trust you," remarked Ackworth, slowly.
"Your trust has not been misplaced. But I have done what you may think rather a bold thing. Still, in this case, what I have learned is so important, that I can safely say that the end has justified the means."
"What have you done?" Anthony looked apprehensive.
She tapped his cheek. "Nothing to make you colour up in that way, my dear boy. I'll tell you everything when you have explained how you came to find out about Frank Clarke."
"Oh, that will not take long. I asked Ferdy down yesterday, as you desired me to do, and he came without any suspicions that you wanted him out of the way. We had a very jolly evening. At least, Ferdy had, for I was worrying about you, and wondering what you were doing. Also, I must admit that I had the detective fever."
"What is that?" asked Miss Baird, opening her eyes.
"Well, the errand you wanted me to execute raised my curiosity to fever heat. I felt that I could not rest until I had learned the name of Jerce's consumptive patient, especially when I remembered that he was one of the Purple Fern triumvirate. Next morning, I had no duties to attend to, so I handed Ferdy over to an Irish chap, who would amuse him and keep an eye on him, and then bunked off to London by the ten o'clock train."
"You did not come up to see what I was doing?" asked Clarice, in a suspicious manner.
"No. I did not even know that you were in London," replied Anthony, rather wounded by her doubts, "and in any case, as I intended to trust you, I should not have spied upon you."
"I ask your pardon, dear," and she kissed him.
Ackworth accepted the delightful apology, and continued. "I went down to Whitechapel, and had a deuce of a hunt to find Tea Street. But I came across a kind of Sister of Mercy, who knew all about Jerce and his philanthropic missions. Jerce has a surgery in Tea Street, and goes there twice a week, usually at night. Sister Anne--so she told me she was called, and it reminded me of Bluebeard--showed me where the consumptive young man had lived. The police had been there, after Jerce had communicated that letter to Scotland Yard."
"What letter?"
"The one given by the dying man to Jerce, warning him that he might be attacked by Osip. If you remember, the sick chap confessed that he was one of the members of the triumvirate. According to Sister Anne, this young man was called Felix Exton, but the police found stray letters in his rooms which showed that he was really Frank Clarke, the son of the vicar."
Clarice nodded. "And I expect the police came down and told Mr. Clarke about the discovery. Poor man, no wonder he suffers so terribly, and will not allow his son's name to be mentioned. That miserable Frank--and yet I remember him a handsome, bright young man."
"He was a bad lot," said Ackworth, emphatically. "I scarcely blame a man for striking a blow in hot blood, but to murder in such cold-blooded ways as those adopted by the Purple Fern gang is too terrible to think of. And now that we know Frank Clarke was an assassin, it would seem as if the instinct to murder was hereditary."
"No," said Clarice, quickly. "You must not think so badly of the vicar, Anthony. He is innocent." And she related to her lover all that Mr. Clarke had explained to her.
"Humph!" said Ackworth, when she ended, "that's a very plausible tale, but we have only the vicar's word for its truth. And it is to his interest to exonerate himself. His son was connected with Osip, so Clarke himself, through Frank, may be connected also with that blackguard. I wish he could be found--Osip, I mean. I wonder with such a personality he has not been spotted."
"I saw him," said Clarice, unexpectedly.
"You?" Anthony rose, with a startled gesture.
"Yes," she said, faintly, "at the Mascot Music Hall."
The young man looked at her anxiously. "Clarice," he said, taking her cold hand, "you look pale. Mrs. Rebson said something about your having influenza; yet you were all right when I saw you last."
Clarice nodded. "I might say that I caught cold, as you were afraid I should do, when we were in the porch. But I can't say that, because it is not true. I am quite well."
"You don't look it."
"I have not the influenza, I mean," she corrected; "I pretended to be ill, so that I might carry out my scheme."
"What scheme?"
"The one I had in my mind, when I asked you to trust me. Anthony, I want you to tell me. Do you trust me still?"
"Of course I do." He laid his hand caressingly on her head, "don't be afraid that I'll blame you in any--why, Clarice!"
He might well utter her name in an astonished tone, for the hair, so lightly pinned on her head, came off, and the plaits remained in his hand. There she sat, with her head cropped like a man's, and a pale smile on her face. "I intended to tell you," said she, quietly, "but it is just as well that you have found out in this way."
"Found out what? Why have you cut off your beautiful hair?"
"Don't you think that I look rather like Ferdy?"
"Very. But I don't want you to look like Ferdy. I prefer you as you are, my dear."
"My dear," she echoed, "does that mean forgiveness?"
"For what?" Anthony looked more puzzled than ever.
"For my masquerade. I cut off my hair. I dressed in a suit of Ferdy's clothes. I went to London as Ferdy, and stopped at his favourite hotel. Also I went to the Mascot Music Hall as Ferdy, and to Zara Dumps' flat as Ferdy, and learned a great deal."
Anthony stared at her open-mouthed. "Do you mean to say that you dressed as a man?" he asked, aghast.
"Yes. It was necessary to learn Ferdy's secrets, so I utilised my resemblance to him to find out what I wanted. No one discovered that I was Clarice Baird, save Zara."
"Oh, Lord!" Anthony clutched his head. "She will tell everyone."
"No, I have made that right. I know too much about Zara for her to betray me. I am quite safe. Only Zara knows, and Mrs. Rebson knows, and now you know. I am absolutely safe."
"But what made you do such a mad thing?"
"I have told you--to save Ferdy."
"But I could have gone up, and----"
"No," interrupted Clarice, imperiously. "Zara would have laughed at you. I did what I did, with a full knowledge of what I was doing. You must forgive me, Anthony, and I think you will, when you learn what terrible things I have discovered."
"Of course, I am somewhat annoyed," said Ackworth, slowly, "at least, I would be, were you an ordinary woman. But you are so clever, and so well able to look after yourself, that I forgive you this time. But I must ask you not to masquerade again as Ferdy."
"I promise that," she said, with a sigh. "Ferdy is in such danger that you must help me."
"Ferdy in danger? What sort of danger?"
"Let me begin at the beginning, and go on to the end. Don't interrupt, Anthony." And then she related her adventures. Ackworth held his peace until she detailed her recognition of Osip, when he jumped with a muttered oath.
"Why did you not have him arrested?" he cried; "everything would then have been discovered."
"Yes--even to the fact that Ferdy is implicated in these terrible crimes," said Clarice, sarcastically.
Ackworth jumped again. Her revelations were getting on his nerves. "What do you mean?" he asked, irritably.
"Let me go on from where I saw Osip," said Clarice, and continued her recital up to the point when she fainted in Ferdy's bedroom with the stamp in her hand. "Now, what do you say?" she asked, breathlessly.
"I don't know what to say," muttered Ackworth, much agitated. "It looks as though Ferdy knew something. Yet if he was locked in his room, he could not have murdered Horran."
"Oh, I don't for one moment believe that he did. But, having the stamp, he might have impressed the Purple Fern on----"
"Nonsense," interrupted the soldier, violently.
"He was drunk and incapable--he was locked in."
Clarice looked down. "Anthony," she said, in a pained voice, "I have tried to fight against my doubts of Ferdy, but they will come. He is so weak, so tricky, so deceitful, and so carried away by his own selfish impulses, that he is capable of all things."
"Save murder. Ferdy is a fool, I grant you. But a murderer--no."
"I never accused him of murder," said the girl, faintly, "but he may be an accomplice."
"That's just as bad."
"Not when we know that Ferdy is so weak a man. Osip is strong-willed and may have coerced Ferdy into stamping Uncle Henry's forehead, after the death."
"Of which Osip is guilty?"
"Yes, I firmly believe, from the warning sent, that Osip is guilty."
"Then you mean to say that Osip went upstairs after killing Horran, released Ferdy, and brought him down to----"
"No! no! Osip would not know where Ferdy's room was, and he would not know that he was drunk and locked up. But Ferdy himself might have feigned drunkenness so as to induce me to lock him up."
"Had you ever done so before?"
"Oh, yes. I punished Ferdy in that way. Besides, I was afraid that, in his drunken mood, he might wander about the house, and perhaps set the place on fire. Ferdy always resented my locking him up. But in this instance, if he was likely to be implicated in a crime, and forced to be an accomplice by the stronger will of Osip, the locked door would provide a convenient alibi. Ferdy might have pretended drunkenness, and then have released himself with another key, and have--done what I said."
Anthony did not immediately reply. He stood before Clarice, biting his nails and thinking. "When I went up to town this morning," he said, slowly, "Ferdy asked me to get him any letters that might be waiting for him at Sir Daniel Jerce's place in Harley Street."
"Yes. Ferdy lives with him. Well?"
"Jerce was away, and had been for some time. Down in Whitechapel, I think the servant said. It was just as well."
"Why?" asked Clarice, rising, as Ackworth took three letters from his pocket.
"Because he might have seen this especial letter addressed to Ferdy--this letter stamped with the Purple Fern."
Clarice took the square envelope he held out. It was addressed to her brother at Jerce's house, and on the flap of the envelope, in purple wax, was stamped a small fern. Few people, unless they looked very closely, would have noticed the fern, and certainly nine people out of ten would not have connected the stamp with the crimes, unless the murders were in their minds. Apparently, the tenth and more observant person was Anthony. "I intend to take that letter to Ferdy, and make him open it in my presence," said Ackworth, "and--oh, Clarice, what are you doing?"
"I am opening the letter," said the girl, calmly. "I take all responsibility for doing so, and will tell Ferdy."
"Still, it is not quite right to open----"
"Not quite right!" repeated Clarice, fiercely, "do you think I care for that when Ferdy's neck may be at stake. I do this"--she opened the letter--"in a most deliberate way, and well knowing what I am doing. Now I shall read it."
Anthony could not but admit that Clarice was right, and secretly thought that it would be better for her to read the letter than for the police to scan its contents. She read quietly enough, and then passed it to her lover. "There's a masked ball at the Shah's Rooms to-night," she said, irrelevantly.
"Is there?" said Anthony, puzzled, "but why----"
"Read the letter." Ackworth did so. It contained only a few lines, saying that the writer wanted to meet Mr. Ferdinand Baird at the Shah's Rooms on that evening on particular business. "After last night," wrote the anonymous correspondent, for there was no name appended to the note, "you can scarcely wonder that I insist upon a meeting, and you can guess who I am. Wear a red domino with a white favour, and I will wear a purple domino with golden stars. Meet me at ten o'clock under the Omar Khayyám Palm in The Desert."
Anthony read this twice. "I wonder who wrote it?" he said.
"Osip," replied Clarice, promptly; "and what's more----excuse me." She hastily left the room, much to the amazement of Anthony. But he had plenty to think about until she returned, which she did almost immediately, with an open letter in her hand. "This is the anonymous note sent to you," said Clarice, handing it to him, and looking over his shoulder. "See, the writings are distinctly similar. It was Osip who tried to stop our marriage by threatening Ferdy, and now Osip, thinking that Ferdy saw him at the Mascot Music Hall last night, wants to arrange a meeting."
"And why?" asked Ackworth, recognising that the handwritings were indeed similar.
"I can't tell you that, until I see Osip."
"Clarice! How can you see Osip this evening? It is now five."
"I can catch the seven train up, and I can see him as I saw him last night. He won't tell Clarice Baird anything, but he may tell Ferdy Baird a lot."
"Do you want to disguise yourself again?" said Ackworth, looking angry.
"I must--I must," she said, eagerly, "if I am to save my brother."
"But to go to those rooms--they aren't respectable."
"Oh, what does that matter?" said Clarice, impatiently. "I go as a young man--no one will recognise me. And Ferdy stops to-night at Gattlinsands."
"But you promised----"
"You must release me from my promise," she declared, obstinately.
Ackworth bit his lip. "I don't like it," he said, decidedly.
"Then you are not the man I took you for," retorted the girl. "I should have thought you were above all this conventional rubbish, Anthony. I am to be your wife, and you must trust me in every way."
"I do. I am sure that I have proved my trust in you."
"Ah, you did not know what I was about to do," said Clarice, rather unjustly. "And now that you do know, you refuse to trust me."
"No, I don't, only I don't wish you to go alone to the Shah's Rooms."
"I'll be quite safe. No one will know me."
"This Osip is a murderer," said Ackworth, "and he may kill you,----"
"Why should he kill me?" she interpolated.
"Thinking you are Ferdy Baird who recognised him at the Mascot Music Hall. I dare say that he believes that you have told the police, and now seeks revenge."
"I'll risk that."
"Clarice, you are a brave girl. But I won't let you go alone. I'll come up with you to-night."
"But Ferdy. He must be kept away."
"Flanigan will attend to him. I'll cut over to Gattlinsands, and arrange that. There I can catch the train which will meet, at the Junction, the seven o'clock you come by. We'll go together."
"But you won't tell the police about Osip?"
"Not until you learn--as Ferdy--the exact relations between that silly brother of yours and this blackguard."
The Shah's Rooms were the latest sensation of frivolous London, and had lasted for six months with undiminished success. The building contained a number of rooms, and entertainments to suit all classes. There was a variety theatre with three performances daily, bars without number, billiard tables, lawn-tennis courts, a sawdust football ground, a motor and bicycle track, and a large hall for wrestling and boxing. But the glory of the Shah's Rooms was The Desert, as the conception was original and excellently carried out by clever workmen and designers.
This was a vast expanse of real sand, covering several acres, and bounded on all sides by painted scenery of tropical sky and arid rocks, and occasional cities, and one or two pyramids. Here and there was an oasis of palms with real grass and real trees and real water, and with spotlessly white supper tents erected for the accommodation of gay parties. Caravans of camels and horses and donkeys took bands of pleasure-seekers from oasis to oasis, or into the desert itself, to dine at one of the Bedouin encampments. For entertainment, there were mirages, skilfully managed with magic-lanterns, and forays of wild Arabs. Story-tellers relating the "Arabian Nights" could be hired, singers could be obtained, dancing girls could be engaged, and eastern fortune-tellers were frequently employed to read the future by means of sand diagrams. It was all very new and very amusing, and very fantastical, so it was little wonder that the Shah's Rooms were crowded nightly. They would be deserted when the novelty wore off, but just now fashionable London was delighted with a sham life in a sham East.
Anthony and Clarice arrived about nine o'clock, and went at once to the great dancing saloon, where a masked ball was in progress. Clarice had again assumed Ferdy's evening dress, and Ackworth was astonished to see how closely she resembled her brother, when tricked out in masculine attire. As Anthony knew much more of the ways and means of midnight London than was good for him, he had taken Clarice to a costumier's shop in Drury Lane, and there they had procured the necessary dominos for their adventure. That of Ackworth was merely one of black silk, plain and unpretentious, but Clarice wore a red cloak with a bunch of loose white ribbons on the breast, so that Osip might recognise her. Gazing at the dancers and dresses, the two looked vainly for the purple domino with gold stars, but such a costume was nowhere to be seen. Then Clarice reminded her companion that the meeting was to take place in the Desert, so hither they bent their steps, and, pending the arrival of Osip, they partook of a hasty supper. Both were hungry, for the hurry of getting up from the country had left them no time to eat.
"What am I to do when Osip comes for you?" asked Anthony.
"Remain here," answered Clarice, looking round. "I won't go out of sight, I promise you."
"If you do, I shall follow," said Ackworth, resolutely. "I am not going to let you remain alone with a known murderer. And I have brought this!"
Clarice looked sideways, and saw that he was holding a heavy army revolver under the folds of his domino. "You won't require to use it," she said, hastily. "If Osip means anything by asking for this meeting with Ferdy, it is, that he wishes to escape. He will, therefore, not try to hurt me in any way."
"You can't trust such a scoundrel," said Ackworth, quietly, "and if you go out of sight I follow--remember that."
They were seated under a tent on the extreme verge of the Desert, and between them was a small Turkish table, upon which stood a tray heaped with Eastern food. When the coffee came it was close upon ten o'clock, and Anthony lighted a cigarette; also he offered one to Clarice, who took it, smiling.
"I thought you did not like me to smoke?" she said.
"Nor do I. But you must keep up your character of Ferdy, and he is rarely without a cigarette in his mouth. Look at the mirage."
It was extremely pretty, for on the far horizon, out of the air seemingly, grew a delicate ethereal vision of spires and temples and embattled walls, all white and glorious against a blue sky, quivering with heat. But Clarice was too restless to be tempted with such pleasures, and walked out of the tent, while Ackworth settled with the Arab attendant. Here and there she looked in vain for the purple domino, but could see no sign. The Desert was filling rapidly, and there was much laughter and much talking. Camels paced about in a stately manner, the troupes of Bedouins were performing their raids and displaying wonderful horsemanship, and from the near tents came the chatter of merry people, enjoying the unaccustomed food. Shortly Anthony, adjusting his mask, joined her, and they stood watching for the coming of the man who was so ardently wanted by the police. In a few minutes Ackworth touched Clarice's arm, and drew her attention silently to a couple of men in evening dress, and unmasked, who were walking towards an oasis some distance away. Clarice nearly betrayed herself by a feminine scream of surprise, when she beheld Sir Daniel Jerce arm in arm with Barras, the lawyer.
"What does that mean?" she asked, in a low, astonished voice.
Anthony shrugged his square shoulders. "There's nothing remarkable about that," he said, lightly. "Jerce, I suppose, feels the need of a little excitement after his hard work, so comes here."
"It's not the kind of place I should expect him to visit," said Miss Baird, staring after the retreating figures; "and with Mr. Barras, too, who is the driest and most uninteresting of men. I should not have thought that he would go in for amusement of any kind."
"Humph! Barras, like Jerce, may have two sides to his character."
"The sides we don't know of, scarcely seem to be respectable," retorted the girl, who felt uneasy at the sight of the two men. "I wish you would follow them, Anthony," she added, as Jerce and his companion entered the central oasis, "and learn why they are here."
"I don't see what good that would do, my dear. Besides, I wish to keep an eye on you and Osip."
"Hush! Don't mention his name. There may be spies about. I wonder when he will come?"
Anthony glanced at his watch. "It wants two minutes to ten," he remarked, quickly. "We had better go to the Omar Khayyám palm."
"I go alone," said Clarice, hastily. "If he"--she did not mention the name--"sees me with you, he won't address me. Where is the palm you speak of?"
"In the central oasis," said Ackworth, pointing; "see--the golden palm on the verge. But don't disappear into the oasis, Clarice, or I'll come after you. Get that chap to converse where I can see you from this tent. I'll smoke and have a drink, and keep an eye on you both."
Clarice nodded, and, leaving Anthony to re-seat himself at the Turkish table, she walked slowly towards the golden palm, which was some distance away. It was an artificial tree of gigantic height, and nearly touched the glass roof which shut in the fairy Desert. Under it she saw already waiting a man clothed in a purple domino glittering with gold stars. He stood smoking a cigar, and gazed at the mirage, now enveloped in rosy colours.
"I am here," said Clarice, touching him on the arm.
The man wheeled quickly, and looked searchingly at her. "A red domino with a white favour," he said, softly. "Will you please remove your mask, Mr. Baird?"
Anticipating this, the girl had already loosened the strings, and the next moment Osip--if it was Osip--found himself staring into the face of the individual he took to be Ferdy. As he gave a nod of satisfaction, Clarice spoke to him in her turn. "Will you now remove your mask?" she asked, replacing her own.
The man glanced round, and seeing that no one was sufficiently near to examine him closely, he slipped off his mask. Clarice beheld a thin face woefully scarred, especially on the cheeks. The criss-cross mark had been entirely obliterated, and no one, at a casual glance, would have recognised Osip as he had been. It did great credit to Mrs. Dumps' powers of observation that she had so rapidly guessed--and on the stage, too--that the acrobat who played the chrysalis was the assassin so anxiously sought for.
"Are you satisfied?" asked Osip, replacing his mask.
"I suppose you are the man," said Clarice, trying to appear calm, but shivering a little as she thought of what her companion had done, "only I don't know you by sight, remember."
"Didn't Mrs. Dumps tell you last night?"
"Yes. But how she recognised you without the criss-cross mark I cannot say," replied Clarice, quietly.
"Oh, trust a woman to jump to conclusions," said Osip, coolly. "It might have been my lean figure, or the shape of my head, or my general air, that she knew me by. But I certainly congratulate Mrs. Dumps on her cleverness. But you are wrong in saying that you do not know me by sight. You saw me in the High Street of Crumel."
Clarice suddenly recollected that Ferdy had noticed the man in grey, and had told Jerce about him. "It was only a passing glance," she protested. "I should never have remembered you."
"Ah, you are not a woman," said Osip, thoroughly imposed upon by her disguise and manly bearing. "But we cannot speak here; someone might overhear, and I have to be careful," he ended with a slight laugh.
"Ugh!" said Clarice, and shuddered.
"Why do you do that?" asked Osip, suddenly and curiously. "Granted that I am--what I am. Are you any better, Mr. Baird?"
Clarice felt as though cold water was running through her veins. "What do you mean?" she faltered.
"I think you know what I mean," retorted Osip, "but we will camp in the Desert, where there will be a wide space round us, and no one can come within ear-shot without being seen. Come."
He led the way towards the sandy track, beckoning to a picturesquely attired waiter to follow. Clarice cast a look in the direction of Anthony, who was watching at his tent door, and followed. In a short space of time, the sham Arab attendant--he was a Bavarian--had spread a carpet, and had arranged pillows. He also placed a Turkish stool in the middle, and waited for orders. The scarred man reclined on one set of pillows, and signalled to Clarice that she should recline on the other, which she did. "Will you have some Turkish coffee and a narghile?" he asked; "we must be strictly Eastern here, you know."
Clarice accepted, although she secretly doubted if she could smoke a narghile, and shortly the attendant brought them what was wanted. Then he went away, and Miss Baird found herself smoking and drinking in company with a scoundrel who had killed eight people. She shivered again, as the waiter retreated, and they were left comparatively alone. Osip noticed it.
"Is it the cold air, or my company?" he asked, jeeringly.
"Your company," said Clarice, tartly.
"Oh, then, like doesn't draw to like. I should think after what you have done, Mr. Baird, you would be less scrupulous."
"You dare to accuse me of murdering--"
"Ta! Ta! Ta! Don't let us have any heroics, please. Do you think that if I did not hold your life in my hand I would risk being here with you, and so running the chance of capture. We are in the same boat, Mr. Baird, and if I am hanged for murder, you will swing beside me, I promise you."
It took all Clarice's self-control to keep herself quiet. After all, Ferdy really was guilty of murder, and she had only to learn how he had contrived to escape from the locked room. Osip apparently knew all about it, and she impatiently awaited his recital. But had she not been masked, he would have observed the pallor of her face, and perhaps his suspicions would have been aroused. As it was, he quite believed her to be her brother, and talked on leisurely. Owing to their solitary position, no one could approach within hearing distance, without being seen by the watchful Osip.
"Of course I know why you did murder him," said Osip, in a low and rapid voice, "that is, you were coerced. But what power has Jerce over you to make you commit such a crime?"
"Jerce!" Clarice dropped the snaky twist of her narghile. This was the last name she expected to hear.
"Yes," snapped Osip, imperiously. "Oh, you needn't try to hide his doings. Ever since Frank Clarke betrayed me on his death-bed--the scoundrel--I have been watching Jerce."
"But why did you search him?" asked Clarice, perplexed.
Osip raised himself angrily on his elbow. "Youwillpretend ignorance," he said, sharply, "when you know quite well that Frank Clarke gave Jerce the gold box containing the stamp. I searched Jerce to find it, and he had not got it on him. I did not know what had become of it, but now I am certain that he gave the stamp to you, so that you might impress the Purple Fern on Horran's forehead, and so make the police believe your murder was of a piece with the other crimes."
"You are quite wrong," said Clarice, keeping her nerves in a wonderful manner, considering the terrible communication. "The gold box was found on the terrace, where you had dropped it."
"I did not drop it. Jerce must have guessed why I was searching him, and have flung it aside. Where is the gold box now?"
"Jerce took it to Scotland Yard."
"A clever and daring villain," said Osip, bitterly, "and the stamp?"
"I--I don't know where it is. It was not in the box?"
"No. Jerce had removed it previously, and had given it to you. What a fool he was to carry the box about with him. When did he give the stamp to you?"
"He never did."
"What's the use of denying things?" cried Osip, angrily, and striking with his clenched fist on the table. "You were seen in Horran's bedroom, after two o'clock in the morning, impressing the Purple Fern on the body of your victim; and that was after Clarke had fled, Mr. Baird. I expect just as you killed Horran you heard Clarke coming, and so concealed yourself. When the parson went away, afraid lest he should be accused, you, no doubt, came out from your hiding-place and stamped the forehead. Then you returned to your own room, and pretended innocence."
"Who told you this?"
"Zara Dumps told me. After last night, she knew who I was, as her mother told her. I went to her rooms to-day, and she wanted to have me arrested. But I told her that I would accuse her of killing Horran, for I knew that she accused Clarke, and had been near The Laurels about the time of the murder."
"How did you know that?"
"I learned it from Clarke himself. Yes! I went down secretly and in disguise to Crumel after the murder, to learn what had become of the stamp, and saw Clarke. He could not denounce me, as I told him that his son Frank was concerned in the murders with me. Zara not only told Prudence, so as to break off the marriage with you, but she also told Clarke himself. When I learned that Zara had been near the house at the time of the crime, I saw her to-day, and made her confess."
"She only saw Clarke," said Clarice, bravely. "She never told me that she had seen me. I saw her last night."
"Zara told you as much as she thought proper," said Osip, in sharp tones, "but I made her confess the rest. After Clarke had gone away she stole up to the window and saw you, and what you were doing. I think also," added Osip, scathingly, "that she mentioned how you had concealed the stamp."
"She did?" muttered Clarice, wondering if Zara had betrayed her disguise. But Osip's next words reassured her.
"Of course she did. You wanted to get out of marrying her, and she was forced to make use of her knowledge to make you consent. I understand how she coerced you; but how did Jerce?"
"He did not."
"Yes, he did. You never murdered Horran of your own free will. Jerce wanted money, I suppose?"
"Jerce has plenty of money."
"No doubt. He earns a lot, and he borrows a lot, and he steals a lot, Mr. Baird. Why do you try to stand up for Jerce? I have been watching him for weeks, and I have been making enquiries in all sorts of quarters. I know much that goes on, owing to the faculties I have, for discovering things people would rather were kept quiet. Jerce, to the world, is a genial philanthropist, and a famous physician. But you know, as I know, that he is one of the fastest men in London, and a complete scoundrel, and under the rose has spent no end of money on worthless women. His pretended visits to Whitechapel were all bosh. He really went on the spree. I wonder he has not been found out long ago. You must have found him out, living in the same house with him, Mr. Baird. Did Jerce make you murder Horran, or did Barras?"
"Barras?" said Clarice, still more surprised, and wondering how much of this was true. The whole story seemed too terrible to be believed.
"Barras is quite as bad as Jerce, as I happen to know. I am going to see that lawyer, and utilise my knowledge of his shady doings, to make him part, Mr. Baird. England is getting too hot for me, so I intend to leave the country. But Barras and Jerce are in league in some way. Barras is Horran's lawyer, so their league may have something to do with the property."
"Perhaps it has," murmured Clarice, white as a corpse under her mask. She felt that it would be impossible to sustain her manly character much longer under these accumulated horrors.
"Pah!" said Osip, scornfully, as he rose to his feet. "What is the use of pretending? You know everything, as I do. I don't care if you did murder Horran, as I commit murders myself, and have a fellow-feeling for such daring. In fact, I rather admire you, Mr. Baird, and if I could remain in England I should propose a partnership, since my partners are dead. There's heaps of money to be made with the Purple Fern yet, you know."
"What a villain you are!" cried Clarice, involuntarily.
"Pooh! You say that because you are new to the criminal business. I am no more a villain than a swindling stockbroker in the city, or one of your pious, chapel-going hypocrites who sweat those they employ. You must get rid of your conscience, if you want to succeed, Mr. Baird, although I admit that you have made an excellent start. It was a clever idea to use the Purple Fern stamp, to shift the murder of Horran on to my shoulders. I know that I am accused, butyouknow that I am innocent."
"Of this crime, perhaps, but not of others."
"Of four others," said Osip, politely. "I murdered four people, Clarke murdered one, and our third partner, who was hanged, poor chap, killed the remaining two. I invented the Purple Fern Murder Syndicate, so I had to do most of the work."
"Stop! Stop!"
"No. I must try and harden you, as I have taken a fancy to you, for your boldness and for your cleverness in using the stamp to implicate me. It's a pity we can't start the Syndicate again, with you and Jerce and Barras. Upon my word," said Osip, musingly, and lighting a cigar, "it would be a splendid idea, and no one would suspect. We made heaps of money, you know, Mr. Baird. Some of the people we killed were put out of the way by the desire of relatives, who paid very largely for the crimes. I have saved money myself, but have not enough. Clarke--or Exton, as he called himself--was a spendthrift, and indulged in swagger things. You remember the gold box--a neat design, but risky, wasn't it? Clarke's idea--poor ass."
"And the stationery?" asked Clarice, recollecting the superfine paper upon which the letters had been written.
"Clarke's also, but I rather approved of that, as I like to do things neatly. Of course, you saw the stamped fern I sent to your guardian, Mr. Baird. It was a hint that he should look out, as I guessed that Jerce, having the stamp, intended business. I also sent the letter to Ackworth, forbidding him to marry your sister, unless he wanted to see you in the dock."
"Why did you do that?"
"I wanted to make Miss Baird--your sister--think that Jerce was mixed up with the Purple Fern business, as I guessed that she would recognise the paper of the stamped fern and the paper of my letter to Ackworth to be the same. You see, I have been trying all along to get at Jerce, and learn why he wished Horran killed, and how he managed to make use of you. Besides, I want money. Jerce has money, and so has Barras. I will get large sums from both, as soon as I can prove that they are mixed up with Horran's murder. You committed it, so you must confess all. If you don't, I'll leave England, but before leaving I'll send a note to Scotland Yard telling the truth. Then both you and Zara will be arrested."
"She is innocent, as I am."
"Oh, she is innocent, of course," said Osip, easily, "but I dare say the police can build up a case against her, since she was near the scene of the crime, and practically saw you commit the murder. She could be brought in as an accomplice after the fact, you know."
"Did she--did she-see me--commit the crime?" stammered Clarice, hoarsely. "Well, no; but she saw you stamp the corpse, and--"
"Stop! for heaven's sake stop!" cried the girl, and, sick with fear for her miserable brother, she fell forward on the Turkish table, and on her outstretched arms, not insensible, but nearly so. By this time the Desert was crowded with people, and many were wandering aimlessly here and there near at hand. Camels were grunting, mules squealing, Arabs shrieking, nautch-girls were dancing, and the busy, glittering life of pleasure hummed everywhere with feverish persistency. Osip, rather amazed at what he took to be Baird's unmanly weakness, was about to stoop and raise "him," when he saw Ackworth running rapidly forward. He did not know the soldier, but saw that some man was bearing straight down on him. "A trap--a trap," said Osip, with a glare at Clarice, and she overheard.
"No! no!" she gasped, with a last effort, "but I am a woman--Baird's sister!"
"Damn!" breathed Osip, thoroughly taken aback, and casting one fearful look around at the people, whose attention was now attracted, he slipped away amongst the crowd. Anthony raced up, breathless.
"What has he done? Let me give the alarm. He must be----"
Clarice clutched his arm desperately, and raised herself to her feet. "No, no! for my sake--for Ferdy's--for--" and then she fainted in earnest.
"The heat--the heat," said Ackworth, sharply, to an officious attendant. "My friend--ill-health--delicate boy. I'll look after him. Get out, clear the way, damn you."
And the crowd, accepting the natural excuse, fell back.
The next day, late in the afternoon, Clarice sat in the drawing-room of The Laurels, waiting for the arrival of several people. It was a very wet day, and the rain beat drowsily against the windows. Through the streaming panes she could see the dull grey skies, the leafless gardens, and the soaking lawns, dismal and depressing. With a sigh, the girl thought how the hopeless weather resembled her life at the present moment. Her brother was in danger of arrest, and even if he were not arrested, how could she have anything to do with him again, when he was practically a murderer? Even now, and in spite of Zara's evidence, as reported by Osip, the girl could not bring herself to believe that Ferdy had actually struck the blow. But only from his own lips could she hear the truth--that is if he could be induced to speak it, and she was anxiously waiting for him to be brought over from Gattlinsands by Ackworth. Until Clarice accused him herself, she and Anthony had arranged that Ferdy should be left in ignorance that the secrets of his life had been discovered. Also a telegram had been sent to Sir Daniel Jerce, asking him to come down on especial business, and he likewise was ignorant of the true significance of the message. Finally, Mr. Clarke was expected.
These meetings had been arranged by Clarice, who could see no other way to clear up the many mysteries which seemed to environ the death of Henry Horran. It was necessary to take some steps, to come to some decision, and as speedily as possible, for it was likely that Osip, out of revenge for the trick Clarice had played him, would inform Scotland Yard of Ferdy's guilt. So Clarice, clothed in her mourning for the dead man, waited in silence and in sorrow.
Never would she forget the return journey on the previous night. After being revived by a glass of brandy, Anthony had taken her at once in a cab to Liverpool Street Station, and there they had been fortunate enough to catch a late train to the Junction. Ackworth had telegraphed for a closed brougham, and in this he drove with Clarice to Crumel, some miles distant. Then, after he had seen her safely in the hands of Mrs. Rebson, he had departed in the fly for Gattlinsands, promising to bring over Ferdy on the afternoon of the ensuing day. All that could be done had been done, and now Clarice waited with a sick heart for the coming interviews with Ferdy and Jerce. Both promised to be stormy ones.
Exactly as the clock struck four, Ferdy's voice, gay and bright, was heard in the hall. Clarice shuddered as she heard him. It was extraordinary to her that Ferdy could laugh at all, seeing what he had on his conscience. But he entered quite gaily, smiling and brisk, with Anthony at his heels, looking grave. When the boy had kissed his sister, he commented on Ackworth's low spirits, gaily.
"I can't make out what's up with Anthony," said he, taking a seat by the fire and poking the coals into a blaze. "He came back late last night, looking like an owl. I was playing snooker with Flanigan, and he didn't even take an interest in the game, although I made some ripping shots. What's the matter with him?"
"You are--" said Clarice, indignantly.
Ferdy dropped the poker with a clatter. "I am?" he echoed. "Why, what do you mean?"--he glanced at Ackworth. "I say, old chap, what's the joke? Have I been doing anything wrong?"
Ackworth shrugged his shoulders and walked to the window. Then he glanced at his watch, and mentally noted that Jerce's train was almost due. If Ferdy was to be disposed of, before the doctor arrived it would be necessary to make him confess at once. Ferdy eyed Anthony in astonishment, but no reason for this pointed silence occurred to his shallow brain. He turned to his sister. "I say, Clarry!--"
"Sit down!" she commanded, harshly.
"What do you mean?" he flushed up. "Don't speak to me in that way."
Anthony crossed the room rapidly, and, taking Ferdy by the shoulders, made him sit down. "You must not speak to your sister in that manner, while I am by," he declared, sternly. "You are about to be spoken to, in a way you won't like."
"Then I'll go," raged Ferdy, evading Ackworth's grip, and making for the door. "How dare you lay hands on me--how dare you?"
"If you leave the room, Ferdy," said Clarice, in a quiet and level voice, "you will run straight into the hands of the police."
The young man's face changed immediately to a chalky white, and he fell nervelessly into a chair near the door. "The police?" he whispered.
"Yes," said Clarice, pitilessly, for his unmanly terror disgusted her; "you will probably spend your night in gaol."
"Clarice!" Ferdy staggered to his feet, violently trembling. "I--I--I--don't know what you mean."
Ackworth gave a low laugh of scorn, and strolled to the hearth-rug to take up his position before the fire. "You had better confess," he said, in his sharp, military way.
"Confess what?"
"Oh!" Clarice clenched her hands and her eyes shot fire. "Why will you keep up this pretence? You know well enough what you have to confess. Will you do so here, or in the dock?"
"In the dock?" Ferdy flung forward half-way across the room. "I don't--I never did--what is it?--oh, Clarry, you are making a mistake."
"Is this a mistake?" asked his sister, and showed him the stamp.
Ferdy was drawn towards it like the ship to the fabled magnetic rocks in the Arabian tale. "Where--where did you get it?" he whispered.
"In your room--hidden away."
"And who put it--who hid it--who--oh--" he caught his breath--"this is a conspiracy to ruin me."
"Zara will ruin you--"
"Zara!"
"Jerce will ruin you--"
"Jerce!"
"Osip will ruin you."
"Osip! Osip! Osip!"
"Only Anthony and I can save you. Tell the truth--the whole truth."
"Clarry!"--Ferdy collapsed into a chair--"I--I never killed him."
"Zara declares that you did. She saw you through the window."
"She saw me--yes--she told me she saw me--but I was marking the forehead of Uncle Henry with that"--he pointed to the stamp. "He was dead when I entered the room; I swear that he was."
"Then you WERE in Uncle Henry's room on that night?" cried Clarice, springing to her feet with horror-filled eyes. "You DID stamp his poor flesh with that accursed Purple Fern. Oh, Anthony, Anthony," she rushed towards her lover and caught at him with both hands, "how can I bear it--how can I bear it? Disgrace--shame--murder--"
Ferdy slipped on to the floor, and clutched at her dress. He was terrified at seeing Clarice desert him in this way, and whimpered like a child that had been left alone in the dark. "Not murder. No! no! I swear not murder. But--but--but--" he broke down crying, and hid his shameful face in his hands, sobbing bitterly.
A silence ensued. Clarice concealed her face in Anthony's breast, and he held her tightly to him, feeling absolutely helpless under the strain of the moment, and feeling also that he was unable to console her in any way. The door creaked and swung inward gently under a scratching paw, and old Jane hobbled into the room, on the look-out for afternoon tea. Seeing Ferdy on the ground, she went up to him and licked the hands which concealed his face. In a mechanical manner he smoothed her head, and in the stillness the clock on the mantelpiece could be heard ticking steadily in the pauses of the beating rain. Anthony was the first to recover his composure. "We must come to some arrangement before Jerce arrives," he said.
"Jerce!" Ferdy leaped to his feet so unexpectedly that Jane ran under the sofa with a howl of dismay. "Jerce?"
"He is coming down--he will be here in a few minutes. Clarice, dear"--he led her to an armchair--"sit down and compose yourself."
"I am all right now," said Clarice, in a suffocating voice, and calmed her unruly nerves with a violent effort. "Now then, Ferdy," she said, in an ominously quiet voice, "we are waiting for your story."
"How much do you know of it?" asked the miserable young man.
"As much as Zara could tell me," said his sister, in a sad voice, "as much as Osip knew."
"You have seen Osip?"
"Yes. I need not tell you how I came to meet him. But he accuses you of the murder of Uncle Henry, and for all I know, he may already have given notice to the police."
"What?" asked Ferdy, in a grating voice, "when he is wanted himself, and for that crime?"
"Osip is innocent of this particular crime," interposed Ackworth.
"Then if he did not kill Uncle Henry, I don't know who did," declared Ferdy, his face becoming sullen.
"You WILL tell lies," said Clarice, between her teeth.
"It is the truth; I swear it is the truth."
"Tell your story and let us judge," said Ackworth, imperiously, "and remember, that your life is at stake."
"Would you betray me?"
"We would save you, and only by knowing the absolute truth can we save you. Come, Baird, out with it."
Ferdy stared at the ground, and felt that he was being very hardly treated by the two before him. He stole a look at their set faces, and saw that he would have to lay bare the secrets of his shallow, false life. A bolder man would have braved the matter out; a weaker man would have fainted in the extremity of his terror. But Ferdy Baird, half fool, half knave, acted up to his double character--that is, he told all that could place him in a pleasant light, and suppressed what he could. But by questioning and browbeating the lovers got the truth out of him at last. In substance his story came to this, but he told it in a somewhat different way:--
"Since you must know all," he said, sullenly, and with his eyes on the carpet, "Jerce is the one to blame for the whole trouble; and Uncle Henry is also--"
"Not a word against him," said Clarice, sternly, and placed her hand in that of Ackworth's, for she felt that she needed what solace she could obtain in this hour of sorrow and disgrace.
"Uncle Henry should have allowed me more money," said Ferdy, doggedly, "and then I should not have got into trouble with Jerce. I thought that I would be able to get what I wanted, since I was heir to two thousand a year, and when I went to London I had a good time."
"A mad time--a reckless time--a wicked time," said Clarice.
"That depends upon the way you look at it," said the young man. "I had a ripping time, I say, but it cost money. Jerce lent me some, because he wanted to marry you, Clarry, and wished me to use my influence to bring about the marriage."
"You never had any influence," said Clarice, while Anthony looked at his future brother-in-law with the air of a man who wished to kick him out of the house.
"Jerce thought I had, and lent me money. But I got into debt. I was in love with Zara a year ago, and she made me spend no end of cash on motor-drives and flowers and jewels, and all the rest of it."
"But you told me of two thousand pounds, Ferdy. Was there more?"
"Much more. I gambled, you see, and lost heavily on bridge. But it's no use saying what I did, or how I spent the money, as I was simply desperate. I did not dare to go to Uncle Henry, so I asked Jerce again. He refused to help me, so I--I--" here Ferdy kicked a mat with his feet and blurted out the shameful truth unwillingly, "I forged his cheque for two hundred pounds."
"What!" Clarice nearly fainted.
"You young scoundrel!" gasped Ackworth, his face growing red.
"That's right. Preach away and kick a chap when he's down. I didn't exactly forge the name, but I altered the figures of a cheque for twenty pounds given me by Jerce, to one for two hundred. So you see I am not quite a forger," ended Ferdy, cheerfully.
"Go on," commanded Anthony, curtly, and soothed the girl, who was weeping bitterly. "Hush, Clarice, darling. We have heard the worst now; nothing more shameful can be revealed."
"A forger and a murderer," cried Clarice, in agony--"my own brother."
"I am neither the one nor the other," said Ferdy, in a brazen manner. "If you'll only listen to me, I can explain. Jerce got the cheque and held it over me as a whip. He said that he would put me in gaol, if I did not do what he wanted. For a long time he left me alone, and then"--Ferdy sank his voice to a terrified whisper--"then he brought me the stamp of the Purple Fern, and told me that I was to kill Uncle Henry and stamp his forehead with the fern, so that the crime would look like the work of Osip."
"And you accepted?" shrieked Clarice, with horror.
"I accepted to gain time," said Ferdy, sulkily. "What else could I do? I was in Jerce's power, and could be sent to prison. But I never intended to kill Uncle Henry."
"Why did Jerce want him killed?" asked Ackworth, suddenly.
"Well, he said that Uncle Henry's disease puzzled him, and that the reason could not be found out, unless he was dead and his body was examined. It was scientific curiosity."
"Pshaw!" said Anthony, while Clarice heard this explanation with incredulous horror. "Do you mean to tell me that Jerce would place his neck in a noose in order to gain surgical knowledge?"
"He was going to place my neck in a noose," corrected Ferdy, sulkily, "and Jerce was quite mad about science. I found out a lot about his devilries when I lived with him. He was a vivisection enthusiast, too. Yes! You often wondered, Clarry, why Jane"--he glanced at the dog lying quietly under the sofa--"why Jane hated Jerce so. Well, it was because he started to vivisect her, and lamed her leg."
"What a wretch," cried Clarice, trembling with horror. "Oh, Anthony, I can't bear it--I can't bear it."
"Hush, dear, hush." He sat beside her in the chair, and held her in his arms like a mother nursing a babe. "Go on, Baird," he commanded.
"Jerce wasn't altogether bad," said Ferdy, grudgingly. "He let Jane go, when he found that she wasn't much use as a subject, and gave her to you, Clarry."
"Jane! Jane!" called the girl, faintly, and when the dog came she patted the smooth head. "My poor Jane, how cruelly you have been treated," whereon Jane licked the kind hand which caressed her, and sat down with her tongue out, the picture of happiness.
"Well," said Ferdy, after a pause, "you see how I was placed. I had to kill Uncle Henry, or go to gaol through Jerce. I tried to find out something against Jerce that would give me the whip hand of him, but he was too clever. But I did find out some things. Jerce used to pretend to go to Whitechapel, and sometimes he did, but usually he changed his dress and went on the spree."
"What do you mean by on the spree?" asked Clarice, sharply.
"I shouldn't like to tell you," said Ferdy, with great simplicity, "for Jerce was a terror. I'm no great shakes, but Jerce was worse. He spent money like water on women, buying jewels and houses and furniture and dresses, and running race-horses, and gambling, and, in fact," ended Ferdy, with an air of fatigue, "Jerce was, and is, a blackguard; and even I, don't know everything about him."
"It's impossible that a well-known man like Sir Daniel Jerce could go on in this way," said Anthony, decidedly.
"Oh, but he did. I found lots of shady people who knew him. But Jerce was clever in covering his trail. Then Barras was in with him."
"Good heavens!" cried Clarice, in despair. "Are there no good men?"
"Barras wasn't good. He used to lark about also, but I think Jerce led him away, from what I can gather."
"Remember, dear," said Anthony, bending over Clarice, "we saw them together at the Shah's Rooms."
"What?" cried Ferdy, quickly, "have you been there?"
"Never you mind, go on with your story. You say that Jerce wanted Uncle Henry to be killed so that he might find out the reason for the disease?"
"That was the reason Jerce gave me, and said that it would be a merciful release, as Uncle Henry could not live long. But one night I overheard a conversation between Barras and Jerce--not the whole of it, but scraps, and I gathered that Barras was giving Jerce some of Uncle Henry's money--that is our money."
"Oh!" Clarice started to her feet, "the forty thousand pounds. I am beginning to see. Sir Daniel Jerce had that money."
"I can't say--I'm not sure. But there was some question of our money being lent; for Barras--as I heard--said something about Uncle Henry becoming suspicious of the business. I couldn't exactly make out what was meant," ended Ferdy, "but I gathered that the finances of the estate--our estate--were wrong."
"I can see," said Clarice, quickly, "I can understand. Barras told a lie when he said that he gave Uncle Henry the forty thousand in gold. He gave it to Jerce, and made Uncle Henry the scapegoat. Nothing wrong was ever suspected by poor Uncle Henry. He told me some days before he was murdered that I should find everything in order."
"Well, you did."
"Yes," said Clarice, indignantly, "because Mr. Barras cooked the accounts, and put the blame of the missing thousands on to my poor guardian, who could not defend himself. The villain. And you knew this, Ferdy--you knew this, and did not tell me?"
"How could I, when I was in Jerce's power over that bill? Besides, I didn't clearly understand things. I only heard bits of the conversation, you know."
"Go on--go on," said Ackworth, quickly, "tell us how you committed the murder."
"I did not--I did not," cried Ferdy, furiously. "I swear I am innocent of that crime. After Christmas, Jerce said that if I didn't kill Uncle Henry before the end of the year, that he would denounce me. He said that if I stamped the corpse with the Purple Fern everyone would think that Osip had killed him. Then he told me about Frank Clarke, and how he had given him the stamp and the gold box."
"Then he did have the gold box?" asked Clarice.
"Yes. He gave me the stamp, but he kept the box in his pocket, as he thought it was safest there. He feared lest it should be found, and lest the amethyst fern on it should give him away. When Osip attacked him out there"--Ferdy pointed to the terrace--"Jerce managed to throw it away, and then bamboozled me when I came up, about not having Osip arrested. He dared not," cried Ferdy, tauntingly, "as Osip might have given him away."
"Oh, great heavens!" moaned Clarice, rocking herself to and fro, "is there much more of this?"
"No," said her brother, quickly. "I'm sure I want to end it as much as you do, Clarry. I never intended to kill Uncle Henry, but Jerce insisted."
"You've said that several times," said Anthony, impatiently.
"And I say it again. I got drunk on that night because Jerce worried me so. I was quite feverish."
"Were you really drunk?" asked Clarice, eagerly.
"Yes, I was. Mother Dumps had been feeding me up with bad champagne in honour of Zara's coming home. I came back, and you locked me in my room, Clarry. I fell asleep, and didn't wake up until nearly two o'clock in the morning."
"Are you sure of the time?" asked his sister, quickly.
"Yes, I am. I lighted the candle and looked at my watch. Then I drank some water, and sat on the bed to think of what I should do. I felt jolly miserable, I can tell you," said Ferdy, in an aggrieved tone, "what with all my debts, and being in love with Prudence, and with Zara worrying me, and with Jerce making things hot. Then I thought that it would be best to go down and see Uncle Henry, and tell him all. Remembering the conversation of Jerce and Barras, I fancied that the accounts were wrong, and that if Jerce made it hot for me over the bill, that Uncle Henry could make it hot for Jerce. I swear," cried Ferdy again, "that when I went down the stairs I never intended to lay a hand on the man who had been like a father to me. I intended to tell him all, and throw myself on his mercy."
"How did you get out, when I had locked you in?"
Ferdy cast a contemptuous look on her, "Why, I had another key, of course. You locked me in several times, and thought that I was safe, but I could get out whenever I liked. I unlocked the door, and went down to see Uncle Henry in my cloth slippers and dressing-gown."
"If you intended no harm," asked Anthony, "why did you take the stamp with you--the Purple Fern stamp?"
"I intended to give it to Uncle Henry, and tell him how Jerce had got it from Frank Clarke, and the use he intended to make of it. Well, then, I went down carefully, and opened the bedroom door. I thought that Uncle Henry might be awake. But he wasn't; he was dead."
There was a pause. "Are you sure?" asked Clarice, in a husky voice.
"I can swear to it. He was dead--stabbed to the heart--with the bedclothes all disarranged, and I very nearly gave the alarm. Then I thought that as Uncle Henry was dead, all I had to do was to stamp his forehead with the Purple Fern, to get the cheque from Jerce into my possession. I was about to do so," said Ferdy, frankly, while his sister groaned at this fresh instance of callous wickedness, "when I heard a noise outside, and slipped under the bed."
"Why on earth did you do that?" demanded Anthony, bluntly.
"It was very natural," protested Ferdy, sulkily. "I was afraid lest the murderer should return and kill me; and, of course, I didn't want anyone to see me beside the dead body of Uncle Henry, considering the circumstances. I fancied Chalks might be coming, and dreaded lest I should get into trouble, as I had no business in the room at that time. Oh, there were plenty of reasons for me to make myself scarce."
"Well, and was it Chalks?" said Clarice, tapping her foot, impatiently.
"No, it wasn't. Old Clarke came in at the window calling softly on Uncle Henry. I heard his voice, and peeped out to see him. He nearly squealed when he spotted the body, so I don't think that he is guilty. Then he groaned and prayed, and, for some reason, arranged the bedclothes smoothly. Afterwards he cut as hard as he could, frightened out of his life, as I was. In a few minutes I crept out, and stamped the corpse's forehead, which was the only thing I could do to put myself square with Jerce. When I crept upstairs and locked myself again in my room, I thought that everything was safe. But it wasn't," grumbled Ferdy, apparently thinking himself aggrieved. "Zara was knocking about, and spotted me through the window. She made me break off with Prudence by threatening to tell the police. I said that Prudence wouldn't let me off, but Zara said she could manage that, and she did too, by telling the poor girl that Mr. Clarke had committed the crime, which I swear he hadn't," finished Ferdy, generously.
"Is that all?" questioned Clarice, when he ended out of breath.
"What more do you wish me to say?" asked Ferdy, indignantly. "I'm not to blame, as I couldn't help Uncle Henry being killed. And I never forged the cheque--that is, the name, you know, Clarry--I only altered the figures a little. And I swear I never stabbed Uncle Henry, but just stamped him with the Fern."
"That was an abominable thing to do," cried Ackworth, angrily.
"I don't see that," said the young man, obstinately. "What did it matter when Uncle Henry was dead? I had to get even with Jerce, and save myself somehow. And I did, too. Jerce, when he came for the post-mortem, and saw the stamp on the forehead, gave me back the cheque right enough, and I burnt it, so no one can harm me in that way. I think you are making a great row over nothing," ended Ferdy, in an injured tone, "as I am quite innocent."
Clarice looked at Anthony, and Anthony at Clarice, in despair. Both of them were amazed at the callous view Ferdy took of the case. He really did not seem to be aware of the enormity of his fault, and looked upon his crimes--for crimes they were--as merely mistakes of ordinary life. Perhaps Anthony--for Clarice was too heart-broken to speak--would have proceeded to lecture Ferdy on his iniquities, but that a ring came to the front door. Jane, at Miss Baird's feet, raised her head, and Ackworth went to the drawing-room door. When he opened it the cheerful, bland voice of Sir Daniel Jerce was heard remarking on the bad weather to Mrs. Rebson. At once Jane began to growl, and she flew across the room.
"Anthony, catch her," cried Clarice, and the young man had only time to grip Jane by the scruff of the neck, and swing her aside, when the doctor entered the room. Jerce looked quiet and smiling, and apparently had no idea of the danger of his position. He laughed, when he saw Jane snapping and snarling with blazing eyes, the picture of impotent wrath. "I really wonder why that dog hates me so?" said Sir Daniel, shrugging.
"She knows you better than we do," retorted Clarice, sternly.