When Paul returned to Barnstead he felt satisfied that he had done wisely in seeking the confidence of Miss Clyde. Without doubt her statement had simplified matters in connection with the crime, although it had not altogether solved the mystery which shrouded the death of Milly. Instead of suspecting three people, as he had done prior to his visit, Paul now directed his energies to the discovery of the guilt of one, and that one, as may be guessed, was Lucas Lovel. Miss Clyde had exonerated herself; she had proved the innocence of Lester; so the obtainable evidence now pointed to the guilt of Lovel. Herne and Iris believed that he had committed the crime; Brent and Miss Clyde insisted that he was innocent; and Gran Jimboy, for a reason of her own, had provided a lying alibi to extricate the suspected man from a dangerous position. Paul, reflecting on the situation, did not know what view to take.
There was no doubt that Lovel recognised his danger, and had induced the old gipsy to aid him in averting it by perjuring herself at the inquest; also he had bribed the ploughman Brent into concealing his presence in the Winding Lane on the fatal night, at the fatal hour. But one thing was certain, that Lovel was the last person who had seen the murdered girl alive. This was proved by the evidence of Brent and Miss Clyde--both friendly witnesses to Lovel--both of whom stated distinctly that he had been with Milly Lester within half an hour of her death. It was therefore impossible, as Paul thought, that he should not know something about the murder, if, indeed, he had not committed it himself. Yet, if he were guilty, he would have sought safety in flight; but as yet he still lingered at The Herne Arms.
"I'll see if he comes to the funeral," said Paul to himself as he sat at luncheon; "that will go far, to my mind, to prove if he is innocent or guilty. If Milly is really dead by his hand, I don't think he will have the hardihood to see her body placed in a grave. If, on the other hand, he did not kill her, he will come to her burial, and I can tell from his demeanour what his thoughts are. Even the most reticent man must reveal his feelings at such a moment; and if Lovel is guilty, he will be wise enough to keep away."
Going by this theory, the suspected man was innocence itself, for when Paul joined the throng of curious sightseers which was crowding into the cemetery, one of the first persons he saw was Lucas Lovel. Nay, more; the young man did not lurk in the background, but thrust himself forward so as to compose one of the group which stood immediately round the grave. He was dressed in black; pale, but composed, he exhibited none of the agitation which a guilty man would have found it difficult to conceal. Tested thus, and tested by his own free-will, Lovel was innocent; and despite the evidence to the contrary, and the openly stated beliefs of Iris and Herne, the journalist was inclined to believe that Lovel had not killed the girl.
Naturally, under the circumstances, there was a great concourse of people at the funeral of the dead girl. Iris and Mrs. Mexton were there, Paul and Lovel, Miss Clyde and Mrs. Drass; also Herne, who had been engaged to the deceased, and Francis Chaskin, who read the service over that untimely grave. But these persons attended because they were kinsfolk and friends of the person whom they were burying. The majority of the crowd were attracted to the spot by morbid curiosity. It had been rumoured that Dr. Lester, who was suspected of the murder, would be allowed to attend the funeral of his unfortunate child; and the crowd were determined to give him a warm reception for his insolence in attending the successful outcome of his iniquity. Fortunately, however, for the decency of the funeral, Lester remained locked up in Marborough Gaol, and the multitude, or rather the mob, of over-zealous persons, were disappointed. There was no one at whom to gaze as a genuine criminal; no one to shoot, or to throw stones at; and when the earth was heaped over the coffin of Milly Lester, the throng melted away with the conviction that it had been swindled out of a sensation. The burial had proved less interesting than they expected.
Chaskin was overcome with emotion several times as he read the service, and Paul wondered if what Miss Clyde had asserted was true, and if the vicar had also been conquered by, the triumphant beauty of Milly. It seemed likely, but Paul had heard no rumour in confirmation of the report. From the face of Chaskin he looked to that of Herne, and saw that the latter was scowling at Lovel, who, with his bent head and dejected mien, stood on the other side of the grave. Lucas took no notice of Herne's stern gaze, but stared with tearful eyes into the hole, at the bottom of which lay the coffin of Milly Lester. So sad did he look, so overcome with a sorrow far removed from remorse or terror, that Mexton unhesitatingly acquitted him of complicity in the crime. Whosoever had cut short the thread of that young existence, it was not Lucas Lovel.
Later on Paul caught a glimpse of Gran Jimboy's red cloak flaming on the outskirts of the crowd; and when the service was over he went to look for her, in the hope of discovering why she lied at the inquest. But either the old dame had guessed his intention, or did not want to be spoken to by anyone; for before he could reach the spot where he had seen her standing, she had vanished and he could not determine in which direction she had gone. While he was wondering how he should find her he was greeted by Darcy Herne, who looked haggard and worn in his black clothes.
"Mr. Mexton," said he, leading Paul to one side for confidential discourse, "I know from Iris that you are looking for the assassin of Milly. Well, I wish you to do nothing further in the matter till I return."
"Till you return!" repeated Paul, with a swift glance at the pallid face of his companion. "Are you going away?"
"Yes; I am going to London."
"On one of your missions connected with religious work?"
"No; on a mission connected with the murder of my poor Milly."
"Really!" Paul looked sceptical. "I can't conceive how the commission of a crime in Barnstead can take you to London. May I ask for your reasons?"
"Not at present," replied Herne quietly; "later on I may explain them."
"At least tell me why you wish me to do nothing in the matter until your return?"
"No," said Darcy decisively; "the explanation has too much to do with my reasons."
"But I have found out something which goes to prove that you are right in suspecting Lovel."
"I do not suspect Lovel," was Herne's strange answer.
Paul was bewildered. "But you said----"
"I know what I said, Mexton; but I was wrong. I don't think Lovel killed Milly."
"Then who did? Dr. Lester is innocent; I have discovered that much."
"I know he is innocent," rejoined the squire; "and so is Lovel. As to the guilty person, my journey to London is concerned with that."
"You have a suspicion?"
"I have; but it may go for nothing."
"When did you find this clue you are following to London?"
"On the day you and I and Chaskin examined the spot where the murder was committed."
"Oh!" Paul's thoughts flew back to Herne's trance, and subsequent behaviour. "So you think that the rainbow feather is a clue?"
"What do you know about the rainbow feather?" questioned Herne sharply.
"Nothing--save that you picked up a parti-coloured feather, and called it by that name. Is it a clue?"
"I think so. I am not sure," replied Darcy, doubtfully. "I'll tell you on my return."
"When do you return?"
"In three days. Have I your promise not to pursue the investigation against Lovel till I come back?"
"Oh, yes!" said Paul, yielding readily enough, the more easily as at the moment he did not know how to act in the matter. "I'll do nothing till you come back and explain. But the rainbow feather----"
"Good-day, Mexton; I'm in a hurry," said Herne, cutting short the speech; "in three days you will know as much as I do about that feather."
He hurried away, and Paul stood looking after him, wondering how the discovery of a dyed feather could affect the case. Had some blood-thirsty person come down from London especially to murder Milly, and had the rainbow feather been left as the sign manual of the work, after the fashion of a secret society? Paul smiled at the fantasy of the idea. Milly did not know anyone in London--or rather had not known, since the poor girl must now be spoken of in the past tense--and the fame of her beauty could not have spread beyond the environs of Barnstead and Marborough. The tragedy of her death had given her a fame much wider.
After some meditation Paul found himself unable to explain Herne's conversation; and for the time being he put the matter of the squire's departure to London out of his mind. His attention was further distracted by the approach of Miss Clyde, her companion, and Iris. This trio paused before him, and Iris began to talk.
"Paul," she said, lifting her veil, "Miss Clyde is exceedingly kind. She intends to offer herself as bail for my step-father."
"With Mr. Mexton, of course!" said Miss Clyde in her hearty voice. "We can go to Marborough tomorrow, and after the due formalities, have Dr. Lester released. Then he can come back here."
"Alone?" said Mexton, thinking of Lester's weakness.
"Ah," cried Mrs. Drass, penetrating his thoughts, "that is just what I say! If Dr. Lester comes back, he will take to the brandy-bottle again."
"I don't think so," said Iris, shaking her head. "Miss Clyde's lesson has been very severe."
"Oh! so you know that Dr. Lester is innocent, Iris?"
"Of course she does," interposed Miss Clyde cheerfully. "I told her about it before the funeral."
"Well," said Mrs. Drass with a doubtful look, "I only hope that the lesson will do the doctor good; but you mark my words, he'll drink again when alone in his own house."
"He won't be alone," said Iris quietly. "I shall come back with him."
"And leave my mother, Iris?" said Paul.
"Yes. Mrs. Mexton thinks I should be with my stepfather; and I think so also. He Has lost poor Milly, and I must do my best to comfort him."
"I saw you talking to Mr. Herne," said Mrs. Drass to Paul. "What has he to say to this death, Mr. Mexton?"
"He is very much concerned, Mrs. Drass, and wishes to hunt down the assassin."
"Lucas Lov----" began Iris quickly, and then stopped, as she recollected how Miss Clyde loved the suspected man.
"Oh! go on," said Miss Clyde, with all calmness. "I know Mr. Lovel is innocent, so I don't mind how much you and Mr. Herne suspect him."
"I beg your pardon," said Paul, "but Mr. Herne does not suspect Lovel now."
"Why not?" asked Iris, astonished.
Paul shook his head. "I can't tell you," he said, "but Mr. Herne asked me to do nothing further in the matter touching Mr. Lovel."
"What have you done?"' asked Miss Clyde sharply.
"I have found out that he was with Milly twenty minutes before the murder."
"He was not!" cried Mrs. Drass eagerly; "he was in Mother Jimboy's tent. She swore that he was!"
"I know," replied Paul quietly; "and she swore a lie. Miss Clyde knows."
"I know that Lucas went into the Winding Lane with Milly," said Miss Clyde in rather a troubled voice; "but no doubt he left her at the stile and went straight on to the gypsy tent."
"But he swore at the inquest that he was not in the lane on that night!" said Iris.
"I know; I know, my dear," was Miss Clyde's reply. "But he did that to save himself from being unjustly suspected. I don't believe he killed Milly; and you hear what Mr. Mexton says: that Mr. Herne is of the same opinion."
"His opinion has changed then!" remarked Iris, "and I should like to ask him why."
"You can't at present, Iris. Mr. Herne has just gone to London."
"To London!" echoed Miss Clyde, in surprise. "What bad taste to go away so soon after the funeral. Why has he gone?"
"I don't know, Miss Clyde."
"But I do," said Mrs. Drass, with a sniff; "he has gone to see that minx!"
"What minx?" asked Paul, astonished.
"Catinka, the violinist," replied Mrs. Drass, coolly. "Oh, Mr. Lovel told me all about that hussy! Mr. Herne did not love Milly; he loves this Catinka, and she loves him. That was why Mr. Herne went up to town so often; and why he has gone now."
"Impossible!" said Mexton, growing pale as he thought of his own passion for the violinist.
"I tell you it is so!" rejoined Mrs. Drass, wrathfully. "If she doesn't love him, why did she come down here?"
"To Marborough?"
"No, to Barnstead. She was in the church on the night Milly was murdered."
"What!" cried Iris, sharply. "Was she the strange lady I saw leaving the church?"
"She was!" said Mrs. Drass, triumphantly. "I saw her, too, and made it my business to find out all about her. There was a Marborough friend of mine in the church who saw Catinka when she gave her concert. She tells me to-day--I have just parted from her--that the strange lady who was in the church on that night was Catinka. Now what do you say, Mr. Mexton?"
Paul had nothing to say. He did not even open his lips, but wondered if Catinka had anything to do with the rainbow feather, the finding of which had disturbed Herne so greatly.
With the discovery that Catinka had visited Barnstead on the night of the murder a new element entered into the case. Paul was satisfied that both Dr. Lester and Miss Clyde were innocent of the crime; and that Lovel, although appearances were against him, might possibly be guiltless also. Failing these three individuals, there remained no one who might have an interest in getting rid of the girl; but now that Catinka's presence in Barnstead had been proved by the gossip of Mrs. Drass and her friend from Marborough, it was not impossible that she might have something to do with the matter. She might even have shot Milly; for here the quality of jealousy might come into play. Herne, as was stated by Lovel and Mrs. Drass, knew the violinist, and had paid several visits to her in London. What, then, more likely than that she was in love with him and he with her, and that the discovery of his engagement and near marriage to Milly might have prompted Catinka to remove a possible rival from her path? But this, as Paul admitted to himself, was all theory; and the facts supporting it had yet to be proved.
In the meantime, according to his promise to the absent Herne, the journalist took no immediate steps towards prosecuting his inquiries relative to proving the guilt of Lovel. He was determined to do nothing further until the squire's return, and possible explanation; and pending this result Paul betook himself to Marborough in the company of Miss Clyde, for the purpose of releasing Dr. Lester from gaol. The proceedings in furtherance of this object included an interview with Drek.
They found the inspector at the police office in a very tranquil frame of mind. He had quite overcome his early doubts about Eliza's evidence, and was now quite convinced that Lester was guilty. Also he congratulated himself on his own cleverness in capturing the criminal so speedily; quite ignoring the fact that the discovery of the guilty person--as he deemed Lester to be--had been thrust upon him. As to Mexton's dealings with the case, Drek had not given them a thought; and he was surprised when the journalist and Miss Clyde called to see him.
"Well," said Drek, when the formalities of the reception were ended, "and what do you wish to see me about, Mr. Mexton?"
"About the bail of Lester."
Drek shook his head. "I am afraid you will find that difficult," he said, sapiently.
"Why? Miss Clyde and myself are willing to give a bond for Lester's due appearance at his trial. You know we can pay; that we are good for a thousand pounds. I don't suppose the magistrates will ask for a larger amount?"
"I don't think they'll ask for any amount!" replied Drek, drily, "because I do not think they will grant bail."
"What!" exclaimed Miss Clyde--"do you mean to say that they intend to keep Lester in gaol until the trial?"
"Yes, Miss Clyde; that is exactly what I do mean. The evidence is so clear against the prisoner that he will find it hard to escape the gallows. If he is released, he would certainly make a bolt of it."
"I don't think so, Mr. Drek--for the simple reason that Dr. Lester is innocent."
"Innocent!" repeated Drek, in surprise; "why the man doesn't even attempt to defend himself!"
"I am aware of that," retorted Miss Clyde; "and why?--because Dr. Lester does not recollect the events of that night. If he did he would know that he did not shoot his daughter."
"Have you any reason for believing in his innocence?" asked Drek, puzzled by her speech.
"The best of reasons, Mr. Inspector. I took this pistol from him before the shot was fired at nine o'clock."
Drek started, and taking the weapon which Miss Clyde presented to him, he examined it carefully. "Yes," he said, after a pause; "I see the name Lester is engraved on this piece of silver, so I have no doubt it is the pistol of Dr. Lester. May I ask how it came into your possession?"
Miss Clyde replied to this question by telling in detail the story she had related to Paul on a previous occasion. Drek listened without interruption, his eyes fastened on her face, to judge by the expression if she was telling the truth. Apparently he was satisfied, for when the tale ended, he said, after a short meditation:
"I think you are right, Miss Clyde. Lester is innocent, and if you tell this story to the magistrate you will have no difficulty in having your bail accepted. But I must own that I am rather disappointed. I made so certain that the man was guilty."
"Well, Mr. Drek, you see he is not."
"H'm! I wonder who did kill the girl?" said Drek, musingly.
"It is impossible to say at present," said Paul, on whom the gaze of the inspector rested; "at present the whole matter is enveloped in mystery."
It will be seen that Paul said nothing about his suspicions regarding Lovel, or mentioned the fact of Catinka's visit to Barnstead. The fact is, after the impetuous act of Drek in arresting Lester, the journalist did not think it advisable to speak too plainly, lest the inspector should put Lovel in gaol. It was best, thought Paul, to first secure absolute proof against the man, before calling in the aid of the law; and, knowing as much as he did, Mexton determined, when Herne returned, to follow up the clues regarding Lovel himself. As to Catinka, her connection with the matter was so vague at present, that Paul said nothing about her, until--as in the case of Lovel--he had proof of her guilt.
"Well," said Drek, seeing that he could obtain no aid from either Miss Clyde or Mexton, "it seems that I have been too hasty, although against Lester the evidence was clear enough. I must go with you to get him released for the time being; and begin again in the attempt to discover the mystery."
"It is my opinion that you will discover nothing," said Miss Clyde, as they left the police office; "the mystery of Milly's death will remain one."
There was no difficulty about the release of Lester. The inspector took his visitors before the magistrate, and repeated--with corrections from Miss Clyde--the tale about the pistol. Much impressed by the story, the magistrate accepted bail for Lester at a thousand pounds on the bonds of Miss Clyde and Mexton. At the same time he reproved Miss Clyde for not having told her story at the inquest.
"Dr. Lester is innocent," he said, "and should not have been put in gaol."
"Dr. Lester is a drunkard," retorted Miss Clyde, "and the fright of being a prisoner on the charge of murder may reform him."
"I doubt it; I doubt it greatly."
That was all the magistrate said; but he granted the order of release, and the three went off to the gaol, where they saw Lester, and speedily brought him out of his cell. The man was haggard and worn with anxiety and remorse--for he was not quite clear in his mind as to his innocence--so Paul took him to his mother's house, and gave him a meal. He even insisted that he should have a whisky-and-soda, though Lester protested he did not want it.
"I shall never touch alcohol again," he said, piteously; "it made me mad on that night. For all I know I may have killed Milly."
"That you did not," rejoined Miss Clyde; and told her story for the third time. Lester listened in silence, and the tears rolled down his cheeks when he heard how mercifully he had been preserved from committing a terrible crime.
"I am thankful to God for having preserved me by your hand," he said, when she finished; "and I am grateful to you for having given me a lesson sadly needed."
"I hope the lesson is learnt," said Miss Clyde, drily.
"You may be sure it is," replied Dr. Lester, eagerly. "I shall never touch strong drink again; I shall go back to Barnstead, and work hard to redeem my character. Iris, will you come with me?"
"Of course, father!" said Iris, who was present; "we will return this evening, and begin a new life."
"Poor Milly! poor child!" sighed Lester. "Could it be that Lovel killed her?"
"No; he did not!" replied Miss Clyde, sharply. "Mr. Lovel is quite innocent! If I have done you a service, Dr. Lester, don't repay me by accusing the man I love of a crime."
"I shall say nothing--nothing," answered Lester, who was quite broken down; and then Paul led him away into his own particular den for a confidential talk. He wished to learn what he could about the relations of Herne with Catinka, and thought that Lester might inform him. It was the merest chance that anything might come of the conversation, yet Paul determined to try. In his present perplexity he was like a drowning man, and clutched at a straw.
"I wish to put a few questions to you, doctor," said he, when Lester was comfortably established with a full pipe, "and you must answer them honestly."
"I will do so, Paul; you may command me," replied the man, submissively.
"Very good, doctor. You know that Milly was engaged to Darcy Herne?"
"Yes, I know that; everyone knew it."
"And that Lucas Lovel admired Milly so much that he wished to marry her?"
"I know that also," said Lester, with a clouded face. "It was my poor child's meetings with that man which indirectly brought about her death."
"We will talk of that later," replied Paul; "but I want to know if Lovel ever saw you with reference to his passion?"
"Yes, he did. About a week before Milly's death he came and told me that he loved her."
"What did you do?"
"I told him that he was a scoundrel to speak so, seeing that my daughter was engaged to Squire Herne. Then I showed him the door."
"Did he take the hint?"
"No. He said that he had come to inform me that Herne was not a fit husband for Milly."
"Oh!" said Paul, recalling the accusations of Lovel, in the presence of himself and Chaskin when on the spot where the murder had taken place; "he said that Herne led a double life, didn't he?"
"Yes!" replied Lester in surprise. "How did you know?"
"I heard something of it before from Lovel himself. Tell me exactly what was said."
Lester thought for a moment. "He said that Herne was in love with a violinist called Catinka."
"I know Catinka," said Paul; "she is a Polish woman, and gave concerts in this city. I saw her once or twice, but I did not have much conversation with her."
"Is she beautiful?"
"She is very beautiful," replied Mexton, blushing; "I admired her very much; indeed, I fancied at one time that I was in love with her. But I see now that I was mistaken."
"How long is it since you saw her?"
"About a year. But tell me, doctor, what else did Lovel say?"
"Nothing much," replied Lester, with a shrug. "He declared that Herne went to visit Catinka in Bloomsbury Square."
"Oh, is that the address?" said Paul, taking out his note-book.
"It is. Number one thousand, Bloomsbury Square," said Lester. "Why do you make a note of it?"
"I'll tell you later on. What did you say to Lovel?"
"I told him that I would ask Herne as to the truth of these accusations."
"Did you do so?"
"I did. The very next time that he called at the house I saw him myself, and told him what Lovel said."
"Did he defend himself?"
"No." was Lester's unexpected reply. "He said that he knew Catinka well, and that he often visited her in London; but that his friendship with her was nothing to which Milly, or I, as Milly's father, could object."
"How did he explain this friendship?"
"On the ground that Catinka was a fellow-worker with him to help the afflicted. From what I can gather the lady seems to be a kind of Socialist, who uses her profession to mask her real business, which is intriguing against Russia. She wishes, so Herne said, to free her country, and enlisted him in her society."
"Oh, she has a society, then?"
"Oh, yes; it is called, as Herne told me, 'The Society of the Rainbow Feather.'"
"What!" cried Paul, jumping up. "The Rainbow Feather?"
"You are excited," said Lester.
"Excited!" echoed Paul, walking hurriedly to and fro--"I have every reason to be so! Do you know that a rainbow feather was found by Herne on the very spot where Milly lay dead?"
"What of that?" asked Lester, whose slow brain could not follow Paul's idea.
"Can't you see--Catinka must have dropped that feather there!"
"But she is in London!"
"She was in Barnstead on the night of the murder," replied Paul, sharply; "and by the evidence of that feather she must have been in the Winding Lane on the night of the murder."
"I can't see her reason."
"I can. She heard that Herne was engaged to Milly and came down to see her. She followed her to the Winding Lane, and, for all I know, shot her."
"Why should she shoot Milly?" cried Lester, rising.
"I don't know; I can't say. I must find out. Lester, not a word of this to anyone. You return to Barnstead with Iris, and I'll go up to London to-morrow."
"To see Catinka?"
"Yes, and Herne. What; you don't know? Herne has gone up to London also, about that feather. I am sure of it, though I have no proof. I'll call at Bloomsbury Square, and find out the truth about him and Catinka. Also, I'll know why she came to Barnstead, and what she was doing in the Winding Lane."
"But how can you get her to speak?"
"How? By means of the Rainbow Feather, of course!"
Before Iris departed for Barnstead with her stepfather, she contrived to have a short talk with Paul. The girl was touched by the kindly way in which her old playfellow had behaved to Dr. Lester and herself in their trouble; and she wished to thank him for his disinterested zeal. Seizing the opportunity when her step-father was conversing with Miss Clyde, she took Mexton by the hand.
"How can I ever thank you for all you have done?" she said.
Her face was flushed with a rosy hue, her eyes sparkled like stars; and at the moment, stirred by generous emotion, Iris Link was a beautiful woman. Paul had never noted the fact before--perhaps from long familiarity with her face, and an unavoidable comparison of it with the brilliant beauty of the dead Milly. The revelation of the soul which rendered her beautiful came on him with unexpected force, and he wondered how he could have been so blind as not to have admired her before. In that moment love germinated with unexpected suddenness in his soul; and he pressed the girl's hand warmly.
"Don't thank me at all, my dear," he said in a low voice. "I am only too glad to help you and yours."
"Will you come to Barnstead this evening, Paul?"
"No, Iris. I have a great deal of work to get through before going to London."
"You are going to London?"
"To-morrow morning. I fancy I have a clue to the identity of the person who killed Milly."
"Does the clue guide you to London?"
"Yes. I have ascertained that a third person was in the Winding Lane on that night when Milly and Lovel met."
"Who is the person?"
"Catinka, the Polish violinist," replied Paul; and forthwith he told Iris all that he had learned regarding the rainbow feather from Dr. Lester.
"It certainly looks as though she had been there," said Iris thoughtfully; "but it is impossible that she could have killed my sister."
"Why? From all accounts she is in love with Herne."
"I don't believe she is!" insisted Miss Link. "Mr. Herne's explanation to my father is far more likely. I fancy her association with him is founded on patriotic grounds. She knows that he is rich and enthusiastic, and wishes to secure him as a member of her ridiculous society. With his money she could do a great deal towards her object of inciting a revolt against Russia."
"That is very probable. But on these grounds I do not see why she came to Barnstead on the night of the murder."
"Nor I. You must ask her that yourself, Paul," added Iris suddenly. "Is not this the lady you love?"
Paul blushed in his turn. "It is Catinka whom I admired," he replied with an emphasis on the last word; "but I do not love her--at least, not now. My fancy for her has passed away. My heart is free--far more so than yours, Iris."
"What do you mean?" asked his companion, a trifle coldly.
"Why," said Paul in surprise--"surely you know! Do you not love Darcy Herne?"
"No, Paul; my fancy for him has died away, like yours for Catinka."
"For what reason?"
"One which satisfies myself," said Iris resolutely, "but one I cannot tell you."
Paul looked searchingly at her, but the cold look on her face baffled his scrutiny. "I do not understand you," he said, turning away his eyes.
"I don't understand myself," replied Iris bitterly, "but some day I may do so. At present, my dear Paul, you may be sure that my heart is as free as your own."
"Our hearts may not always remain in such a forlorn condition," said Paul suggestively.
Iris looked at him suddenly, and saw something in the expression of his face which made her blush. With the evasive instinct of a woman, she turned hastily away.
"See--papa is going," she said hurriedly. "I must follow him. Good-bye, Paul."
"Good-bye, Iris," was his reply; and when the two went away from the house with Miss Clyde--who had to return to Barnstead also--Paul stood looking after them with a smile on his lips.
"Strange if Iris should turn out to be my fate after all," he said to himself; and then went off to the office of the "Tory Times." His presence there was much needed, and he had to discard all speculation about Iris and a possible wedding, in order to plunge into journalistic work connected mostly with the dry subjects of politics.
The next morning, having finished his work, and obtained the necessary leave from his editor, Paul went up to London by the express train. It was noon when he arrived at Victoria, and he had luncheon in a Strand restaurant before calling on Catinka. Here Fate served him well, for she brought him into contact with a rising musician, who might be supposed to know all that there was to be known about the Polish violinist. Signor Baldini was a young man of Italian blood on the maternal side, and he had taken the maiden name of his mother, as more likely to look well on music paper. He had written one or two songs which had been more or less successful, and now he contemplated composing the music of a comic opera, which was--in his own estimation--to place him on a level with Sir Arthur Sullivan. Paul was hailed cheerily by this individual, and they were soon in confidential discourse.
After a chat about the comic opera, and people to whom they were both known, Paul ventured to ask his companion concerning Catinka. At this question Signor Baldini shrugged his shoulders.
"I have not seen her lately," he said, candidly. "She does not play so frequently as she once did. You see her name rarely on the St. James's Hall programmes now."
"Have the public got tired of her, then?"
"Not that I know of. I rather fancy it is she who has grown tired of the public. The fact is, Mexton, that charming young lady has a bee in her bonnet."
"What sort of a bee?"
"A political bee, that is intended to sting the Autocrat of all the Russias. Catinka is a Pole, you know, and of late she has been mixed up in politics of the Socialistic sort. I never take up a paper without expecting to see her name figuring as the heroine who has thrown a bomb at the Czar."
"Is she known to be a Socialist?"
"Well, it isn't in the papers, you know; but it is pretty generally talked about. Catinka has a kind of society, of which she is the leader."
"The Rainbow Feather Society?"
"Yes. I see you have heard of it, even in your native wilds. Did you ever hear so absurd a name, or imagined so ridiculous a symbol? A feather plucked from a goose and dyed in bars of red, blue, yellow, and green. Symbolical, no doubt, but no one outside the society knows the meanings thereof."
"Who belongs to this association?"
"Long-haired Poles and Russian exiles, and all that sort," replied the signor in a tone of disgust; "the most respectable member is a fellow called Darcy Herne."
"Do you know him?"
"Yes. I met him once at a musical party given by the lady. At least, it was called so," said Baldini, correcting himself; "but I daresay it was a gathering of conspirators. This Herne was there, and seemed a cracked kind of creature, full of whims. Believes in equality, and looking after the oppressed, and all that sort of rubbish. Religious, too, and has the Bible at his finger ends. Do you know him?" asked the musician in his turn.
"I do. He is the Squire of Barnstead, near which village I live."
"Then why doesn't he look after his preserves instead of mixing himself up in Catinka's mad schemes? She'll get him into trouble."
"I met her once," said Paul thoughtfully, "but I had not much opportunity of reading her character. What kind of young woman is she?"
"Oh, one of the Charlotte Corday sort!"
"She lives in Bloomsbury Square, I believe?"
"Yes--Number one thousand," said Baldini, rising. "If you intend to call on her, I warn you, my friend, you won't be well received. She cares for nothing but Anarchists."
"And Herne?"
"Oh, that's nonsense. She only cares for him because she wants his money to work up a plot against the Czar."
"Then there is no love in the matter?"
"Love!" echoed the signor contemptuously. "If you knew Catinka well you wouldn't ask so absurd a question. She's got no more heart than one of those bombs her friends manufacture. Well, good-day, Mexton; glad to see you. Sorry to go, but awfully busy," and Signor Baldini rattled himself out of the door, as though his life depended on speedy movement.
Left alone, Paul finished his luncheon thoughtfully. The explanation given by Baldini seemed to put the guilt of Catinka out of the question; at all events, it removed the sole motive she could have for such a wicked act--that of jealousy. If she was not in love with Herne, she could not be jealous at hearing--as she must have heard--of his engagement to Milly; and if she was not jealous, she had no reason to commit so preposterous a crime. Yet she had been in Barnstead Church on the night of the crime--as was proved by the Marborough friend of Mrs. Drass--and she had been on the fatal spot also, as was confirmed by the evidence of the rainbow feather picked up by Herne. What was the badge of a political society doing in the Winding Lane? and why had Herne seemed so startled when he picked it up? It was these questions which Paul wished to ask of Catinka; in the answering of which he hoped to find a clue to the assassin. He was convinced that the solution of the mystery was connected with the rainbow feather.
Catinka, as he found, occupied the first floor of a gloomy old mansion in Bloomsbury Square. When Paul ascended the wide staircase, which had borne the tread of Georgian belles and beaux, he found himself before a massive door, which bore a brass plate, upon which the name "Catinka" was inscribed. No one knew what was the Polish girl's surname, as she preferred to be known by that which she had made famous in the world of music. Perhaps she intended to reveal who she was when heading the intended revolt against Russia; but in all artistic London she was known only by her first name; and then, as everybody stated, "Catinka" by itself looked well on the bills.
A sallow maidservant with rather a foreign air opened the door, and conveyed the card of Paul to her mistress. Speedily she returned, and led him into a cosy sitting-room with two windows which looked out on to the grimy trees in the centre of the square. It did not appear like the den of a conspirator, for the paper was of a cheerful pattern, the chairs and sofa were covered with rose-sprigged chintz, and on the walls were portraits, signed by the leading musicians and singers of the day. Judging from the number of these, Catinka was a favourite with her fellow-artistes.
There was also a grand piano, covered with loose sheets of music, and a violin lying carelessly on the top; but what attracted Paul most was a fan of stained feathers, which was spread out in front of the mirror over the mantelpiece. The four colours mentioned by Baldini stretched in bars across the fan; and Paul became aware that he was looking at the symbol of the Anarchist society of which he had lately heard so much. Dyed feathers and an innocent-looking fan; yet the sign of the hatred borne by a crushed country against its conqueror. Paul was struck by the incongruity of the symbol and its meaning.
"Good-day to you, sir," said a voice behind him, with a slight foreign accent. "You wish for to--ah!" broke off Catinka, as Paul turned--"it is my nice critic of the English town! How do you do, Mr. Mexton?"
"You have not forgotten me," said Paul, in rather a faltering voice.
"Oh, my dear, no! I never forget those who speak well of me. Sit down, you good young critic, and let us talk of what you wish."
The violinist was a pretty, sparkling brunette, of no great height, with an olive-hued face, handsome and calm. She was dressed to perfection in a tea-gown of amber-coloured silk, trimmed with black lace; and her back hair was gathered into a kind of coronet, through which was thrust a tortoise-shell silver-headed pin. She was all vivacity and charm and sympathy; yet Baldini had assured him that she had no heart and that she was a dangerous conspirator. Paul could believe neither statement in the presence of this dainty little lady.
"And now, Mr. Mexton," cried Catinka, when they were seated, "why you come for this visit--eh?"
"I want to ask you a question."
"Oh yes; assuredly. What you will, my dear sir?"
"It has to do with Barnstead," said Paul, in a hesitating manner.
Catinka's charming face hardened, and she shot a keen look at Paul. "Ah!" said she, after a pause; "that is a place near to your city where I was giving--a concert. Quite so. Oh, yes. And what you say about Barnstead?"
"I want to know why you were in Barnstead Church three weeks ago?"
"Eh?" said Catinka, attempting no denial. "You see me there?"
"No, but I know that you were there--and also that you were in the Winding Lane on the night a young lady was killed."
Catinka leaned her cheek on her hand and looked at him curiously. "You are a police?" she asked.
"No, but I wish to know why you were there?"
"Oh, most certainly, my dear sir, you shall," said the violinist calmly. "I was in your Barnstead to watch on Mr. Herne--Darcy Herne--who was there on that night also."