At first Iris intended to follow Milly, thinking that she suffered from some slight indisposition; but recollecting that up to the moment of leaving the girl had seemed perfectly well, she concluded that it was merely to escape the sermon Milly had left so hurriedly. For this reason she kept her seat, until it struck her that the exit might be designed in order to meet Lovel. However, a glance assured her that the young man was still in his seat, and showed no intention of following her sister. The strange lady remained, but of course Iris had not observed her as Milly had done. Mrs. Drass, in a pew a little way off, gave a sniff of significance, and glanced at Miss Clyde, but that lady, seeing that Lucas was listening attentively to the sermon (she had caught a glimpse of him, and had turned round to look), paid no attention to the hint. All this passed unperceived by the rest of the congregation.
Mr. Chaskin invariably limited his discourse to fifteen minutes; and on this occasion he was even shorter and more pithy than usual. The service was concluded by eight o'clock, and Lucas was one of the first to leave the church. At once he was followed by the strange lady, whom he had not observed, and when Iris emerged from the porch she found that both had disappeared. Neither was Milly in sight, so, concluding that she had gone home, Iris prepared to follow. Shortly, however, she was accosted by Mrs. Drass, who had left Miss Clyde in order to discover the reason of Milly's exit. To the suspicious mind of the ex-governess, everything done by the doctor's daughter was a covert act of insolence against her former pupil. To such an extent can prejudice distort a naturally liberal nature.
"Good evening, Miss Link," said Mrs. Drass, puffing and blowing--for she was very stout, and had made considerable haste to overtake Iris. "I am so glad to see you. I want to walk home with you and see your dear pa. He is in, I dare say?"
"He was when I left, Mrs. Drass," replied Iris, who quite understood what the good lady was aiming at. "Do you not feel well?"
"Not very, my dear. The heart, you know, and shortness of breath. I thought I would just see Dr. Lester before I drove home with Selina."
"Where is she?" asked Iris, glancing round at the dispersing congregation.
"Speaking with Mr. Chaskin. She will call for me at your house in half an hour, so I shall have time to see your pa. By the way, my dear," said Mrs. Drass, as they walked slowly onward side by side, "I hope your sister is not ill?"
"She did not mention that she was ailing," replied Iris, dryly.
"Then why did she leave before the sermon?"
"I do not know, Mrs. Drass. No doubt we shall find her indoors, and then you can ask her yourself."
"Oh, my dear!" Mrs. Drass exclaimed in a shocked tone, as though virtuously indignant at the idea of gossiping. "I would not think of troubling about such a trifle. I simply thought your dear sister was ill, seeing she left before Mr. Chaskin's sweet discourse; and I had half a mind to follow with my smelling bottle."
"Very kind of you," said Iris, briefly; and then, as she disliked the conversation, held her tongue. Mrs. Drass at once began on a fresh topic.
"Did you see that stranger in church?" she asked--"a handsome young lady, most beautifully dressed. I wonder who she can be?"
"I did not observe her particularly."
"She looked at Mr. Lovel a great deal," continued Mrs. Drass artfully, "and at your sister. I was ill-placed for observation, but I turned and saw their looks."
"I don't understand you," said Iris, on her guard at this coupling of Milly's name with that of Lovel.
Mrs. Drass became tart at once. "Oh, my love, it is not very difficult to understand," she said stiffly; "in my opinion, your sister exchanged so many glances with Mr. Lovel that the strange lady thought----"
"I don't want to know what she thought, Mrs. Drass. You forget that my sister is engaged."
"I think it is Milly Lester who forgets that!" cried Mrs. Drass venomously; "it is really disgraceful the way in which she flirts with Mr. Lovel!"
"Mrs. Drass!"
"Now, don't be cross with me, my dear," wheezed the fat old lady, as they stopped at the gate of Poverty Villa. "I only repeat what all the village talks about. I don't know what Mr. Herne will say to your sister's conduct! Such a good young man as he is!"
"Here is Dr. Lester," said Iris, cutting short these remarks; and leaving Mrs. Drass in the company of her stepfather, she retired hastily in search of Milly. To her surprise, the girl was not in the house. Iris searched everywhere, and, alarmed by this unexpected absence, went downstairs with the intention of leaving the house to look for her. Passing by Dr. Lester's room, the door of which was ajar, she heard the oily voice of Mrs. Drass accusing Milly of flirting with Lovel. Although she hated eavesdropping, Iris listened in the interests of her sister.
"Indeed, my dear doctor, I should advise you to interfere," Mrs. Drass was saying; "you know how particular Mr. Herne is. If he learnt too much about Milly----"
"He shall learn nothing," broke in Dr. Lester's harsh voice, "unless you tell him."
"Excuse me, I never speak of my neighbours' business. This has nothing to do with me."
"But it has a great deal to do with Miss Clyde."
"I don't understand----" began Mrs. Drass, when the doctor cut her short with a short and rude laugh.
"Oh, you understand well enough!" he said, contemptuously. "I hear gossip as well as you do. Miss Clyde wants to marry Lovel, and cannot do so till Milly is out of the way. In the interest of your friend, you wish Milly to marry Herne, and so will not tell him of this--flirtation."
"There is some truth in that," admitted Mrs. Drass, "although you put it rudely."
"I put it plainly, you mean," said Lester. "You can go away content, madam, for I shall speak to Milly."
"Poor motherless girl! She needs talking to," sighed Mrs. Drass, and prepared to take her leave, satisfied in every way with the success of her mission.
Before searching for Milly, who was yet absent, Iris determined to speak to her stepfather. The ice had been broken, and it was now easier to induce him to interfere. When Mrs. Drass took her departure, which she did almost immediately, Iris entered the doctor's consulting room at once. Lester already had got out the brandy bottle and was filling himself a glass. He looked red-eyed and wrathful, and turned viciously on Iris before she had time to open her mouth.
"What is this I hear about Milly and Mr. Lovel?" he snarled. "Is her name to be on the lips of every village gossip? Can't you look after her?"
"No, I can't. She laughs at me."
"Where is she? I'll take care she doesn't laugh at me!" cried Lester. "Send her in here at once."
"How can I? She is not yet in."
Lester looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes past eight o'clock!" he growled; "and you let her gad about at this hour! No doubt she is with Lovel now!"
"I should not be at all surprised," said Iris, coldly.
"Good Lord! how coolly you speak!" raged the doctor, setting down his empty glass and filling it again. "Don't you know that if Herne hears of these things he'll break off the marriage!"
"I shouldn't blame him if he did."
"Rubbish! I tell you, if Milly loses Herne, everything will smash up. We can't hold out much longer. Herne has promised to pay all we owe and to lend me money. It all depends on Milly; yet you let her flirt with Lovel, and run the risk of ruining all. If Chaskin heard about this Lovel affair, he would tell Herne, and then--curse it!"--the doctor broke off hastily, and drank another glass of brandy--"I must do something!"
"You won't do much if you go on taking that!" said Iris pointedly.
"What is that to you, miss? Mind your own business! I shall drink as much as I please." He filled himself a third glass of brandy. "As for Lovel, if I catch him I'll trash the life out of him! Spoiling Milly's chance of a rich husband--I'll kill him before he does that. I shall lock her up, and you also, you--you----"
Not waiting to hear what he called her, Iris withdrew, sick at heart. She knew well enough that this was the commencement of a drinking bout, which would last three or four days. Did Lester meet his daughter in the company of Lovel while the drunken fit was on him, he was quite capable of proceeding to personal violence. Iris left the house hurriedly, with the intention of finding Milly, and bringing her home lest ill should befall. At that moment, with her miserable home, the burden of Milly's follies, and her own aching heart, the poor girl felt thoroughly ill and wretched.
On leaving Poverty Villa, she turned her steps towards the main street of the village, and wondered where she would find Milly. It was yet light, a kind of luminous twilight, with a star-sprinkled heaven, and a gentle breeze sighing amid the trees. Few people were about, as it was now about nine o'clock, and the majority of Barnstead folk were within doors, lingering over their suppers. Iris paced slowly along, her head aching with nervous pain, and her heart full of anxiety. When she arrived in the square where St. Dunstan's Church was situated she paused in utter helplessness, for she knew not in which direction to look for the truant; nor for very shame could she ask any of the passers-by if they had seen the girl. For the moment she was completely at a loss what to do.
Unexpectedly the chimes began to ring, and the clock of St. Dunstan's struck nine with slow and ponderous strokes. As Iris counted them idly, she fancied she heard the sharp sound of a distant shot, and, for the moment wondered who could be shooting at that late hour. But the deep tone of the church bell striking the hour confused her, and hearing no more shots she thought that she must have been dreaming. After a pause she pursued her way, and turned homeward.
It struck Iris that Milly might have met Lovel by appointment, in which case the meeting, to elude observation, would undoubtedly take place on the outskirts of the village. Iris therefore made a detour, and walked homeward round by the common and through the sparse woods which fringed the town. But all to no purpose; not a sign of Milly or of anyone else could she see, and it was with a sigh that she reentered Barnstead streets on her way to the villa. As she passed the Herne Arms, she saw a carriage drive off, and as it whirled past her on the road to Marborough, she noted that it was occupied by a lady. However, as she did not recognize the face--which she saw indistinctly in the twilight--she took no further note of the incident. In a few moments she reached home, and was met at the door by Eliza in a great state of alarm.
"Oh, miss, I am glad you've come," cried the servant. "Your pa's run out like a raging bull, and I was feared lest he could 'urt you."
"I did not meet him," replied Iris, with a chill feeling in her heart. "Is Milly inside?"
"No, mum; that's why I am feared. Your pa was screeching out something about you and Miss Milly, an' I did believe as he was wanting to murder you both."
"Nonsense!" cried Iris irritably, as she entered the dining-room. "Dr. Lester is not well, and I daresay Miss Milly will be back soon. She--she has gone to see some friends," finished Iris, thinking she must make some excuse.
"Well, I 'ope she's safe, miss," said Eliza, ominously, "for if she meets her pa he'll hurt 'er. Jus' like a mad lion he were, miss."
When the servant withdrew Iris sat down and tried to eat; but all in vain. The excitement and trouble of the evening were too much for her, and she could only swallow a glass of wine and water. Eliza was informed that she might go to bed, and Iris sat up far into the night waiting for the return of Milly. Ten, eleven and twelve o'clock struck; still the girl did not appear, and Iris became terrified. Such a thing had never happened before; and she felt sure that some accident had occurred. Several times she went to the door, but saw no one. At twelve she ventured as far as the gate, and then in the darkness she heard the tramp of feet, and saw several men advancing, bearing something between them. In front walked a man alone.
"Father!" cried Iris, throwing open the gate. "Milly!"
"Hush!" said the grave voice of Mr. Chaskin. "It is I, Miss Link. There has been an--an accident. Your sister is--dead!"
Barnstead was provided with a new sensation, and that of the most extreme kind. The beauty of the village--for so Milly was accounted--had been murdered by some unknown person, and everyone was excited by the tragedy. Far and wide the rumour spread, gaining details more or less truthful as it slipped from tongue to tongue, until by noon of the next day it reached Marborough. From the streets it penetrated into the office of the "Tory Times," which, as its name denotes, is an old and long-established newspaper of the south of England; and so became known to Paul Mexton, who was the chief reporter of the journal. The news appealed to him more than it did to the majority of the public.
In the first place, it roused his journalistic instincts, as eminently satisfactory "copy" for the columns of the paper; in the second, he was personally acquainted with the Lester family, and particularly with Iris. The late Mr. Link had been a solicitor in Marborough, and in that town Iris had been born, and had lived for seventeen years, when, her father dying, her mother had married Dr. Lester and had removed to Barnstead. The second Mrs. Lester did not live long after her foolish second marriage, and when she died Iris was left to look after Milly and the miserable domestic affairs of Poverty Villa. But all this has been set forth before, and the main point now is the acquaintance of Mexton with Iris Link.
They had been boy and girl together, and Paul had been like a brother to Iris for many years. Twice or thrice a month he was accustomed to ride over to Barnstead, when permitted by his journalistic duties; and at one time Iris thought that their youthful friendship might develop into the warmer feeling of love. But, as has before been stated, she lost her heart to Herne, and later on Paul confessed to her that he was in love with a Polish lady who for some months previously had given violin recitals in the Marborough Town Hall. Therefore, up to the present Paul and Iris were simply good friends and nothing more.
Paul valued his friendship with Miss Link, as he was ambitious and she sympathised with his aims and aspirations. He wished to make a name in London as a novelist, to live in the metropolis, and to mix with the literary society of the day. To Iris he told all his dreams and schemes and successes and failures; and in her turn Iris consulted him about her domestic worries, the eccentricities of Dr. Lester, and the trials she experienced with Milly and her lovers. Paul, therefore, was well acquainted with the events which had preceded the tragedy; and now that the tragedy itself had taken place he was hardly surprised by its occurrence.
"I knew Milly would get herself into trouble, poor girl!" he thought on hearing the news; "but I hardly expected her follies would result in her murder. I wonder who killed her, and what was the motive for the crime? By Jove! I'll ride over and see Iris; she needs a friend just now, and she can give me all details for the paper."
No sooner had Paul made up his mind to this course than he saw the editor, and requested permission to go over to Barnstead. It was accorded at once, and, knowing Mexton's ready pen, the editor anticipated an unusually interesting account of the crime, to be in the next day's issue of the "Tory Times." Prompt and rapid in his actions as a war correspondent, Paul was on the road to Barnstead within an hour of receiving the intelligence of the murder. But the police, advised by telegram, were beforehand with him, and he found the inspector--Drek was his name--investigating the matter when he arrived at Poverty Villa.
Drek was in the untidy garden talking to a policeman when Paul rode up, and he eyed the young man in anything but a pleasant manner when he dismounted. The inspector was an alert but somewhat sour man, who had no great love for press or pressman; and he distinctly resented the prompt arrival of Mexton on the scene. With a frown he looked at the keen and handsome face of the young man, and nodded curtly in response to his greeting.
"Where the corpse is there gather the vultures," said Drek, who dealt at times in proverbs.
"Are you talking of the police, Mr. Inspector?" asked Paul, smiling.
"No, sir; I talk of the Fourth Estate, of you confounded gabblers of the press. It is my business to investigate crimes like these; but it is not yours to spread any discoveries all over the country, and put the criminal on his guard."
"Oh! then you have some inkling of who killed Miss Lester?"
"No, sir; up till now I have not gained the slightest clue."
"Then why do you say that the criminal is a man?" said Paul shrewdly. "The assassin may be a woman, for all you know."
"Women don't fire pistols as a rule."
"The New Woman does," retorted Mexton. "So the poor girl was shot?"
"Right through the brain--must have been killed instantly."
"Where did the murder take place?"
"In the lower part of the Winding Lane."
"About what time?"
"I don't know yet. How should I know?" replied Drek with a vexed air. "Now, look here, Mr. Mexton; I'm not going to answer any more questions. You'll put all I say in your paper."
"I'll keep out anything you wish, Mr. Inspector," said Paul, who saw the necessity of conciliating the man; "and, as a matter of fact, I am here not so much to get copy as to see Miss Link."
"Why do you wish to see Miss Link?" asked the inspector suspiciously.
"For the very natural reason that she is in trouble, and that I am her oldest friend. You don't object to my seeing her?"
"She'll object herself," replied Drek grimly. "At present she shut herself up in her room and refuses to see anyone."
"What about Dr. Lester?"
"Oh!"--Drek shrugged his shoulders--"the doctor is in his consulting-room--drinking!"
"What does he say about the murder?"
"Nothing. I can get no sense out of him; the man's brain is upset."
"I don't wonder at it," rejoined Paul drily; "the tragic death of his daughter is quite enough to upset it. Is the--the--body in the house?"
"No; it has been taken to the Herne Arms for the inquest."
Mexton nodded, and brushed past the inspector on his way to the house. "I'll try and see Miss Link." he said quickly. "Poor girl, she will need some comfort. You have absolutely no clue?" he asked looking back.
"Absolutely none," returned Drek disconsolately. "The girl was found dead by Mr. Chaskin about midnight. I say, Mexton----"
"Well," said Paul impatiently, his hand on the doorknob.
"Tell me what Miss Link tells you."
"She may tell me nothing, Drek. However, I'll get all I can out of her, and do my best to aid you to catch the murderer of poor Milly Lester. And you?"
"I intend to question the servant," said Drek. "It seems she knows something; at least, she hinted as much to Warner here," and he indicated the policeman with a nod.
"H'm!" said Paul slowly. "So Eliza knows something. Drek, you tell me all that you get out of the servant, and I'll reveal the result of my examination of the mistress. Let us work together."
"I'm quite agreeable," said Drek, who knew the keen intelligence of Mexton, "but you must not put too much in your paper."
"You shall see everything in proof," cried Paul, and with a nod he vanished into the house.
There was nobody in the drawing-room or dining-room when Mexton entered; therefore he looked into the doctor's consulting-room, where he found the wretched Lester half-intoxicated, with the brandy bottle before him. Indignant at the man's condition at such a time, Paul walked over to the table, seized the bottle, and threw it out of the window. In sheer amazement Lester stared blankly at him, holding a glass of brandy in his shaking hand.
"What--what did you do that for?" he asked thickly.
"To prevent you making a beast of yourself," replied the young man sharply. "Have you no sense of shame, man? Your daughter is lying dead--murdered--and yet you sit drinking here as though nothing had occurred. Shame, Dr. Lester! Shame!"
The drunkard listened vacantly to this speech, and mechanically raised the glass he held to his lips. In a moment Paul had dashed it out of his hand, and put himself on the defensive for the attack which he expected the creature to make on him. In place of doing so, and asserting some little manhood, the doctor bowed his shameful face on his hands, and began to weep in a maudlin manner.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear! that I should be treated like this in my own house! Poor Milly dead, and I denied any comfort."
"You won't get much comfort out of the brandy bottle," said Paul contemptuously. "Pull yourself together, Dr. Lester, and aid me."
"Aid you--in what?" asked Lester confusedly.
"In discovering who killed your daughter."
The doctor wrung his hands in a helpless sort of manner. "No chance of that," said he; "no chance of that."
"Why? Do you think the murderer has got clean away?"
To the journalist's surprise, Lester put the same question to him as he had put to Drek. "How do you know the criminal is a man?" asked the doctor.
"I did not say so."
"You said murderer; if you had ascribed the crime to a woman you would have used the more correct word, murderess."
"I think not, doctor; I am no purist. But what do you mean by such a speech, sir? Do you know who killed your daughter?"
"No!" Lester looked confused. "Good Lord, Mexton! how should I know?" he burst out. "If I did--if I did----"
"Well?" cried Mexton, impatiently, "if you did----?"
"I want some more brandy," said Lester, with a vacant look.
Paul was about to reply with some sharpness when he felt a light touch on his arm. It was Iris who had attracted his attention; and she had just entered quietly by the door. Her face was pallid as that of a corpse, her eyes were red and swollen with weeping, and she looked not at Mexton, but at the miserable creature who was her step-father. The expression in her eyes was one of mingled terror and repugnance.
"Don't speak to him any more, Paul," she said, hurriedly; "he is not in a condition to answer questions."
Mexton glanced at Lester, expecting him to make some defence; but the man was rapidly lapsing into a comatose condition. Without another word, he submitted to the pressure on his arm, and was drawn out of the room by Iris. In the passage she stopped and withdrew her hand.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I came to see you, Iris; to assure you of my sympathy."
"Is that true?"--she looked searchingly at him--"or did you come to learn all the particulars of our shame, to publish them to the world?"
"Whatever I publish will be in your favour," retorted Paul. "I am your friend--not your enemy."
"My friend? God knows I need one! I suppose everyone in Marborough knows that Milly is dead?"
"Yes; many people know."
"And that she was--murdered?"
"They know that also."
Iris looked at him strangely. "Who do they say killed her?" she demanded.
"Nobody knows; nobody ventures an opinion."
"Has any name been mentioned?"
"No. I have come over here to offer my services----"
"To the police?" she burst out, clutching his arm.
"To you," replied Mexton. "Let me help you to find the criminal."
"He will never be found."
"It is a man, then?" said Mexton, for the third time.
"He will never be found," repeated Iris coldly--"never."
"But if I search I may----"
"Paul," she said in a low tone--"as you value my friendship, never look for the assassin of Milly--never, never, never!"
Before Paul could express his surprise at the strange remark of Iris, she left him, with a warning glance. Still, astonished both at her speech and action, he was about to follow, when Inspector Drek made his appearance. He beckoned to Mexton in a peremptory manner.
"I am about to examine the servant in the drawing-room," he said hurriedly; "you can be present if you like."
"As you please," answered Mexton, with feigned indifference. "She may throw some light on the subject."
"Has Miss Link done so?"
"No. I saw her for a few moments only; but she said nothing worth talking about."
In making this statement Paul did violence to his own opinion; for, on consideration of the last remark made by Iris, he was persuaded that she knew more about the matter than she chose to tell. She did not want him to search for the criminal, therefore it would appear that she was aware of the identity of the guilty person, and did not want him, or her--for it might be a woman--arrested. But why should she thus side with the murderer of her sister? Paul could find no feasible answer to this question.
Eliza made her appearance in the drawing-room in a state of hardly-controlled excitement, and took her seat before Mr. Inspector and Paul with the air of one who considers herself of the greatest importance. She was a constant reader of novels, and now fancied that she was the heroine of a story in real life. Short, red-faced and fat, Eliza wore the honours thus thrust upon her with an air of dignity. But these airs and graces were completely thrown away on Drek, who spoke to her sharply, and gave no latitude in answering. There was no romance about the inspector.
"Well, Eliza," said he, looking her up and down, "and what do you know about this murder?"
"Sir," replied the servant, with dignity, "I don't know much, but I guess a lot."
"That is not to the point. We want facts, not fancies. Do you know who killed this poor girl?"
"I 'ave my suspicions, Mr. Policeman."
"To whom do your suspicions point?"
"To my master, sir--to Dr. Lester."
"Nonsense!" said Drek, while Paul started up with an exclamation of surprise. "You do not dare to say that Dr. Lester killed his own daughter--knowingly?"
"That's just where it is, Mr. Policeman. He killed her, I could swear; but he didn't know what he was doin'."
"Perhaps you will explain?"
"Certainly, Mr. Policeman. Last night my master was drinking hard, and had had words with Miss Iris on the subject of the late deceased. Miss Iris went to look for the corpse before nine o'clock----"
"What do you mean by that expression?" interrupted Mexton. "Miss Lester was not dead then; and if she was, Miss Link, ignorant of her fate, could not have gone to look for a 'corpse!'"
"I don't quite mean that, sir," said Eliza, rather confused that her attempt at eloquence had proved so misleading; "what I do mean is that Miss Milly 'adn't come 'ome before nine, and Miss Iris went to look for her."
"I understand. But what about Dr. Lester?"
"He stayed in, drinking brandy, and when he was quite mad he went out with a pistol to look for his daughter."
"How do you know?" asked Drek, rather startled by this explicit evidence.
"Because I was watchin' and listenin'," said Eliza with great candour. "I thought, as he was drinking, he might smash the furniture, according to custom; and Miss Iris, she asked me always to perteck the furniture, if needs be. I watched the door of the consulting-room, gentlemen, and I seed Dr. Lester come out with a weapon in 'is 'and----"
"A pistol?"
"Yes, Mr. Policeman, a double-barril revolver. He rushed out, screeching that Miss Milly was a--well," said Eliza, checking herself, "I can't say what he called her, but it was somethin' bad, you may be sure. I waited in, with great 'orror, sir, and when Miss Iris came back, I was glad to see she weren't a corpse. I thought as Dr. Lester might have met 'er, and killed 'er right out."
Drek and the journalist glanced at one another, for this candidly-delivered evidence certainly seemed to implicate Lester. "What did Miss Link say when you told her that Dr. Lester had gone out?" demanded Mexton hurriedly.
"She seemed 'orror-struck, like me, sir; and then I went to bed, and she waited for the corpse. It arrived about midnight with Mr. Chaskin. I was woke up by a wild screech, Mr. Policeman, and came down to find the tragedy. For the rest of the night we all sat up till morning, when the deceased was taken for the inquitch to the Herne Arms, where she now is, an' may the Lord 'ave mercy on 'er soul," finished Eliza, with clasped hands.
"What time did Dr. Lester return?"
"In the mornin' at seven o'clock. He 'ad been wanderin' about all night, and tumbling into the mud. Miss Iris made him take off his clothes, 'cause they were all over red clay, an' he's been sitting drinkin' ever since."
"Red clay!" repeated Drek sharply. "And the corpse was found by Mr. Chaskin in the Winding Lane."
"What of that?" asked Paul, curiously.
"Simply this: that red clay is found in the Winding Lane, and owing to the late rain there is a good deal of mud about there. Dr. Lester must have been in the Winding Lane last night."
"An' so was Miss Milly," cried Eliza; "they found 'er remains there."
There was silence for a few moments, and the three people looked at one another. All the evidence seemed to prove the guilt of Dr. Lester. He had gone out mad with drink and angry with the dead girl; he had taken with him a pistol, and Milly had been murdered by such a weapon; finally, his clothes were covered with red mud, which was most plentiful in the neighbourhood where the corpse had been found. On this circumstantial evidence it would seem that Dr. Lester had killed his own daughter in a fit of drunken frenzy. This discovery added to the horror of the crime.
"My girl," said the inspector after a pause, "have you spoken of this to any one else?"
"No, sir; I swear as I 'asn't breathed a word."
"Then don't breathe a word till I tell you," said Drek shortly. "You can go now--and hold your tongue. Wait!" he added, with an afterthought, "where are the clothes Dr. Lester wore last night?"
"I can get them, sir; they are in 'is bedroom."
"Bring them at once to the consulting-room."
When Eliza departed on this errand, Paul looked at Drek in a questioning manner. "Why do you wish the clothes brought to the consulting-room?" he demanded.
"I want to demand an explanation of Dr. Lester."
"He is too drunk to understand you."
"No, he isn't. I saw him a few minutes ago, and he was coming round. Besides, a knowledge of his position will sober him."
"Do you really believe he killed his own daughter?"
"It would seem so," said Drek in a perplexed tone; "but----"
"But what?"
"Well," explained the inspector sagely, "I have been mixed up in one or two cases of this sort before, and I always mistrust evidence that is too plain."
"You speak in riddles."
"H'm! Maybe; but I tell you I doubt this evidence. It is all dead against Lester; still----"
Paul interrupted. "The best thing to do is to question Lester himself," he said, "force him either into confession or into defence."
"It is the most straightforward way," assented Drek rising. "Let us go into the consulting-room at once and look at the clothes."
"And look for the revolver," suggested Paul significantly.
The inspector nodded, and they sought the presence of Dr. Lester. The wretched creature was recovering his senses, and as they entered he was drinking long draughts from the water-bottle to clear his head. At the sound of their footsteps he started nervously, and turned towards them a white and haggard face. Paul wondered whether his looks and manner were due to drink or to guilt; certainly to one, perhaps to both.
"Do you want to see me, gentlemen?" said the doctor, rising, with shaking limbs.
"Yes," said Drek, with a keen glance at the wreck before him. "I wish to ask you a few questions."
"Relative to the murder of my poor girl?"
"Relative to the red mud on your clothes."
"Red mud!" stammered Lester, with what appeared to be genuine amazement. "I have no red mud on my clothes!" and he looked down at his apparel.
"I refer to the clothes you wore last night," said Drek shortly.
At this moment Eliza entered with a bundle, which she threw on the floor; and to this Drek turned his attention. Coat, trousers, and waist-coat were all of light-grey cloth, and on the arms of the coat and the knees of the trousers were splashes of dried mud, red in hue. The inspector glanced at them, then at the startled face of Lester, and searched the pockets with a practised hand. He could not find a single article in any one of them.
"Where is the pistol, Dr. Lester?" he asked, rising from his knees.
"Pistol! What pistol?" said Lester, with a nervous tremour.
"The revolver which you took out last night."
"How--how do you know I took a revolver out last night?" asked the doctor, with a start.
"I saw you take it out, sir," broke in Eliza. "You took it out to kill Miss Milly!"
Lester gave a cry of alarm, and fell back in his chair. "Are--are you mad?" he said. "I--I--kill--kill my own daughter!"
"Well, you said you wanted to last night," persisted Eliza.
"No--no--no!" cried the doctor, covering his face. "It is impossible!"
"Improbable, but not impossible," corrected Drek. "Where is the revolver?"
"I don't know; I--I lost it."
"Where?"
"I tell you I don't know; I can't remember," said the wretched man.
"Dr. Lester," said the inspector in a stern manner, "let me advise you to be careful, sir, for you stand in a very dangerous position. There is evidence against you that you killed your daughter."
"I tell you it's impossible!" shrieked Lester, the perspiration beading on his forehead. "I kill Milly! I loved her! I would not kill a fly! I--I--O God!--Mexton, you don't believe that I killed Milly?"
"I can't say," said Paul, sorry for the man, although he was doubtful of his innocence. "The servant here says you were angry with Milly last night, and went out with a revolver in search of her."
"No, no! I went in search of Lovel."
"Lovel?" cried Drek, astonished by the introduction of this new name--"what had Mr. Lovel to do with it?"
"He was with my daughter last night; Iris said he was."
"At what time?"
"Between eight and nine o'clock. Milly was in love with him, and as she was engaged to Herne, I was angry with Lovel. I went out to threaten him, but not to kill him, or her--no, no!"
"Where did you go?" asked Paul quickly.
"I don't know, I can't remember. I left this house with a pistol, and that is the last thing I can recall till I found myself at dawn in my own garden."
"There is red mud on your clothes," said Drek, "so you must have been in the Winding Lane, where the red mud is most plentiful."
"I might have been. What of that?"
"Simply this: the dead body of your daughter was found in the Winding Lane. She was shot through the head, and you went out with a pistol."
"O God!" Lester clasped his hands together in an angonised way. "Do you think I killed her?"
"I do," said Drek. "I firmly believe it--so much so that I intend to arrest you on the evidence."
Dr. Lester shook all over, made an attempt to speak, and fell fainting on the floor. In the minds of the three spectators there was no doubt of his guilt. He had gone out to kill Lovel; and by mistake, or mischance, he had killed his own daughter. The assassin of Milly Lester was her own father.
From Poverty Villa, with its guilty occupant, Paul wandered through the village, into the neighbourhood of The Herne Arms. A crowd of people, more or less excited, filled the tap-room of the inn, and the space before it. Many were drinking ale at the bar, others idled outside in the street, and all were vigorously discussing the tragedy and surmising as to who was the criminal. Some hinted at Lovel, a known admirer of the dead girl; others boldly accused a nameless tramp of the crime, and declared that robbery was the motive for its committal; but no one had the courage or the fancy to hint at the possible guilt of the drunken father. Such an idea, owing to the relationship, was too monstrous to be entertained even by the most imaginative.
Paul, with unusual caution--for ordinarily he was an impulsive man--said nothing, but wandered from group to group, gathering opinions but offering none in exchange. There was no need for him to conjecture the name of the assassin. He knew that Dr. Lester had committed the crime, and that before twelve hours elapsed he would be arraigned on circumstantial evidence; perhaps, if his conscience proved trustworthy, on his own confession. Great as had been the horror inspired by the murder, the arrest of the wretched father of the victim would enhance that horror four-fold. Mexton knew this, but out of sheer humanity for the miserable criminal he held his peace.
The crowd babbled on, discussed the affair over their tankards, and looked up with awe at the windows, the drawn curtains of which notified that the dead body of Milly Lester was lying within. Policemen guarded the door of the room and the approach to the stairs, so that no one could enter. Paul Mexton had little desire to do so; he did not wish to see the still white face, which he had last beheld full of life and beauty and girlish vanity. Sick at heart, he turned away from inn and crowd and all the chatter of the market-place, to take his way to the Vicarage. On arriving there he inquired for Mr. Chaskin.
So far as his journal was concerned, Paul had collected sufficient "copy" for a long and interesting article; therefore it was with no zeal for his profession that he sought the clergyman. But the theory of the idlers before the inn, that a tramp might have killed Milly in order to rob her, inspired him with a faint hope that Lester might be innocent. All the evidence, that of Eliza, that of the mud-stained clothes, that of the pistol, pointed to the guilt of the unhappy father. Nevertheless, a man has been hanged before on circumstantial evidence and afterwards has proved guiltless of the crime for which he suffered; so it might be, thought Paul, that Dr. Lester was not guilty of this monstrous act of criminality. If the body had been robbed of jewellery and purse, these facts might hint at a vulgar murder by a tramp. Chaskin had found the corpse of the girl; therefore Chaskin was the necessary witness to prove the theory of a robbery. In the character of Dr. Lester's friend and well-wisher, Paul presented himself at the Vicarage to question Mr. Chaskin. Upon the result of the interview hung the question of Lester's guilt or innocence. The chances were greatly in favour of the former.
At first the servant who opened the door refused to admit Mexton. She declared that Mr. Chaskin was within, but stated that he was particularly engaged, and had given orders not to be disturbed. Paul scribbled a line on his card to the effect that his business was important with regard to the discovery of the assassin, and told the girl to ask Mr. Chaskin to afford him an interview on these grounds. After some hesitation the servant conveyed the message and shortly afterwards showed Mexton into the presence of the clergyman.
Mr. Chaskin was in his study, a comfortable room, which had somewhat of a sacerdotal atmosphere in its appointments and furnishing. There were many books lining the walls in bare and unpretentious bookshelves; a small altar in one corner with a bronze crucifix thereon; and several pictures of Catholic saints here and there. On the desk before the window another crucifix was standing amid a litter of papers, and beside the desk itself a chair was placed, hinting to the ready mind of Paul that Mr. Chaskin had been engaged with a visitor when he accorded him the interview.
Evidently the visitor had vanished through a small door on the right, wishing to escape unseen. Paul wondered who this unknown person might be, and why he or she had departed with such unnecessary haste and mystery. At the very door Paul felt that an uncomfortable and uneasy atmosphere pervaded the apartment.
The Vicar rose to his feet with an agitated air as Paul entered, and looked at the young man with the card in his hand. He seemed much moved, for his lean, ascetic face was white and drawn, his breathing quick and hurried. Not till the servant had closed the door did he speak, and then he addressed his visitor with a tremour in his strong voice.
"You come at an inconvenient time, Mr. Mexton," he said, hurriedly. "I was engaged with a friend; but your writing here"--he touched the card--"hinted at a matter of such importance that I decided to see you."
"I am sorry to interrupt you," replied Paul, taking the chair near the desk, "and you may be sure I should not have done so without a good reason."
"I am sure of that," said Chaskin, still standing, "but I hope your reason is not connected with your duties to your journal."
"No; it is connected with my friendship for the dead girl and for her father."
"Dr. Lester. Ah, I am sorry for him, in spite of his vice of drinking. The loss of his daughter will be a great blow to him. Where is he now, Mr. Mexton?"
"In his own house," said Paul, slowly, "under arrest."
"Under arrest!" repeated the Vicar, staring at the young man. "For what?"
"For the murder of his daughter."
"Mr. Mexton!" The clergyman fell back into his chair as though he had been shot, and turned even paler. "Impossible!" he groaned; "impossible!"
"Unfortunately, it is true," said Paul, sadly--"and on these grounds;" whereupon he rapidly detailed the evidence upon which Drek intended to obtain a warrant for arrest. Chaskin listened with clasped hands, the beads of perspiration bedewing his high forehead, and did not make any comment upon the intelligence until Paul had finished. Then he spoke slowly and with an effort.
"It points to the guilt of the poor creature," said he, raising his head; "but for all that I cannot believe that Dr. Lester committed a crime so abhorrent to human nature."
"I don't think he did it knowingly, Mr. Chaskin," replied Paul; "he declares that he remembers nothing of the events of the night. Might he not have killed his daughter while under the influence of drink? Not knowingly, as I say, but guided mechanically by his confused intelligence?"
"No," cried Chaskin, with a negative gesture. "No--no. Impossible!"
"Quite impossible," said a calm voice behind them. Paul turned his head to see who had interrupted their conversation, and at the side door beheld Darcy Herne. Evidently he was the visitor with whom Chaskin had been talking prior to the visit of the journalist.
"Quite impossible," reiterated Herne, advancing into the room. "I agree with my friend, Mr. Mexton. Whosoever killed my poor Milly, it was not her miserable father."
Paul said nothing for a moment, being taken up with an examination of the intruder. The squire was a man of middle height, lean even to emaciation; and, clothed in black as he was, from head to foot, he looked of greater stature than he actually was. His face was clean-shaven and handsome, though not strikingly so; but his eyes were hard and glittering, and perpetually changing their expression. They were the eyes of a leader of men, but of a fanatic; of a man rendered pitiless by religious mania. There was no softness, no tenderness in them; but they flashed like stars, brilliant as diamonds; the eyes of a Loyola, of a Torquemada. Darcy Herne was a reformer, a fanatic; in earlier times he would have been a prophet; but in whatever age he lived he would always have preserved the characteristics of a nature frozen and narrowed by a devouring devotion to religion. There was nothing loveable about the man; and it was little to be wondered at that the dead girl had feared him. The curious thing was that she could have brought herself to accept the attentions of this religious machine.
"I did not know you were here, Mr. Herne," said Paul, without replying to the remark made by the squire.
"I came down to-day," replied Darcy, taking a chair. "It was not my intention to return until this evening, but my friend Chaskin telegraphed me about the death of Milly, so here I am."
He spoke with great deliberation and calmness; so much so that Paul stared at him in surprise, and wondered how he could be so social in the face of such a tragedy as the murder of his future wife. Paul had known Herne for many years, having met him frequently at the Lesters, and he had always had an unpleasant feeling towards him. Now that the man proved himself to be so devoid of any tender feeling towards the dead girl, Mexton felt that his latent distaste was developing into positive dislike. Perhaps he showed his feelings too plainly, for Chaskin bent forward and touched him on the knee.
"You must not think that my friend is heartless because he does not exhibit much sorrow," said he; "he feels this terrible event deeply."
"I feel it more than you or Mexton can imagine," said Herne, with an impressive look on his face. "I selected Millicent Lester to be my wife in order to save her from the snares which her beauty and vanity were laying for her. I designed that she should help me in my life-work of succoring the poor and lowly and oppressed. With her beauty and my wealth, I imagined in my vain pride that we would be powerful instruments in the hand of an all-guiding Providence; but alas! God has brought her down to the grave and myself He has left without a helpmate."
During this speech Herne had risen to his feet, and he delivered it with outstretched hand, in oratorical style. Paul was quite used to the vagaries of the man, but he resented the cold way in which he spoke of the poor girl as a lost instrument, and not as a human being, a beautiful woman done to death in a violent fashion. Chaskin seemed to resent it also, for he looked reprovingly at Herne--a look which was entirely lost on the fanatic. Not only did he disregard the warning, but he proceeded to talk of his private matters as though they were of greater moment than the murder.
"Do you know what I have been doing in London, Mr. Mexton?" he said in measured tones. "I have been seeing a young woman who has the cause of the oppressed at heart, and will aid me to lighten their burden. It is true that at present she is exercising the light and frivolous profession of a musician; but I hope to ween her from these vanities. A Polish girl must aid her downtrodden countrymen."
"A Polish girl!" cried Paul, with a start. "A musician--a violinist."
"Yes; Catinka. Do you know her?"
"A little. I saw her some months ago in Marborough, where she gave a concert. I rather admired her," concluded Paul, blushing.
"She is beautiful," replied Herne quietly, "but I do not look to the outward form, but into the mind. She is concerned to raise up her fallen race and she desires me to aid her. I hope to do so. Who knows?" cried Darcy, with a flash of his brilliant eyes, "she may be designed by God to replace my lost Milly?"
"I rather think it is of Milly we should speak, Herne," said Chaskin, reprovingly. "Leave off thinking of this Catinka, and let us see what we can do to prove the innocence of Dr. Lester."
"I am at your service," said Herne, the fire dying out of his eyes. "I am convinced that Dr. Lester did not kill the girl."
"Then who did?" demanded Paul, frankly.
Herne turned and looked at him steadily. "Lucas Lovel," said he, in composed tones.
"Impossible!" said Chaskin and Mexton together.
"I don't think so," persisted Herne. "Lucas Lovel wanted to marry Milly--to ween her from me; and frequently met her on the common and in the Winding Lane. I was told about these meetings by a certain person who shall be nameless; but I said nothing, trusting to Milly's true heart. I believed that she was true to me; and that for such a reason Lovel killed her."
"But Lovel was not with her on Sunday night."
"I believe he was," said Darcy, "although I have no means of proving it. I intend to see Mr. Lovel and force him into confession; but before doing so I wish to examine the spot where the murder took place."
"For what reason?" asked Chaskin, hurriedly.
"To search for evidence. Let us go now, while the daylight lasts. Mr. Mexton, you will come also?"
"Willingly," said Paul, rising. "I wish to see the spot, too; indeed, I came here to ask Mr. Chaskin for all particulars regarding the finding of the body."
"Why?" asked the clergyman, quickly.
"Because I wish to prove the innocence of Dr. Lester. Black as is the evidence against him, I cannot think that he killed his own daughter. The murder may have been committed by a tramp for robbery."
"No," said Herne, doggedly. "Lovel killed her."
"Mr. Chaskin," said Paul, taking no notice of his interruption, "were the earrings and rings and bracelets of Milly on the body when you found it?"
"Yes," replied Chaskin, promptly, "they were; and her purse was in her pocket also. I thought the murder might be due to robbery, and I examined the body carefully; but nothing had been touched. It was lying with outspread hands face downwards. Apparently the poor girl had been shot from behind and fell prone on her face stone dead."
"Nothing was touched," murmured Paul to himself. "Then that disposes of my tramp theory. Whatever the motive of the crime, it was not robbery."
"Of course not," said Darcy, quickly; "it was jealousy."
"Of the dead girl?"
"Of me--on the part of Lovel. I believe he killed her."
"He would not commit a crime for so slight a cause," protested Chaskin.
"Why not? Lovel has gipsy blood in his veins; he told me so himself, and his passions once roused he does not care what he says or does. Face to face with him, I'll force him into a confession."
"Then you believe that Dr. Lester is innocent?"
"As innocent as I believe Lovel is guilty!" replied Herne, with emphasis.
After this direct statement, Chaskin and Mexton felt there was no more to be said.