Lovel flushed angrily at the ironical tone in which his visitor made his last remark, but kept his temper in a way wonderful for so passionate a man, and replied with all calmness: "As I told you before, Mr. Mexton, a few personal details about myself are necessary to make you understand my position; otherwise you will never comprehend how Mother Jimboy consented to perjure herself for my sake at the inquest."
"I beg your pardon," said Paul, feeling ashamed of his rude speech; "I should not have spoken as I did. Pray continue."
"When gran had related my family history," resumed Lovel, quietly, "she told me that she had come to Barnstead specially to watch over me. She knew that I was not rich, and having discovered--how, I know not--that Miss Clyde was in love with me, she implored me to marry that lady. I refused."
"Because of Milly?"
"Yes," assented Lovel, "because of Milly; and I told gran the cause of my refusal in plain words. She was angry with what she termed my folly, and said that if I met Milly again the consequences might be fatal."
"Oh! she said that, did she?"
"Yes; but only to insist upon her foolish prophecy earlier in the day. As I told you, she declared that Milly would meet with a violent death, and she urged that such death might take place at our next meeting, so as to induce me not to see the girl again. In a word, Mexton, the artful old woman was trying to frighten me with false fire; and I replied to her warning by telling her that I was to meet Milly the next evening in the Winding Lane. Mother Jimboy warned me once more that evil might come of it----"
"Might come, or would come?" questioned Paul.
"Might come," replied Lovel. "I don't think she anticipated any evil, but simply tried to put me off the meeting with words of warning. Well, Mexton, of course I did not believe in the nonsense she talked, and laughed at her; whereat she left me in anger, and swore that I should have reason to remember her prophecy. God knows I have now!" added the young man, bitterly.
"H'm!" said Paul, thoughtfully. "Do you believe in palmistry, Lovel?"
"No," said the other, promptly; "in spite of my gipsy blood, I am no believer in the influence of star, or cards, or lines on the palm. Yet, in Milly's case, it is very strange that Gran Jimboy's prognostication of evil should come to pass."
"Bah! In my opinion she contributed to the fulfillment of her own prophecy."
"Mexton! surely you don't believe that a feeble old woman like gran killed Milly?"
"No, I do not," replied Paul, decisively; "but I believe that she brought about the death by her arts. Tell me when it was you saw her?"
"About three o'clock in the afternoon."
"Very good; then you told her of your intended meeting with Milly? No one else knew of that."
"No," said Lovel, thoughtfully. "I told only Gran Jimboy; but Milly might have informed her sister."
"That is improbable," said Paul, drily. "Milly knew well enough that her sister Iris did not approve of her flirtation with you, and assuredly would have stopped the meeting had she known of it. Or would have formed an inconvenient third at such a meeting," concluded Paul.
"Well, well," cried Lovel, impatiently, "assuming that my grandmother was the only person who knew that I was to meet Milly on that Sunday night--what then?"
"Simply this: that I firmly believe Gran Jimboy wrote the letter which brought Herne down to witness your meeting."
Lovel started from his seat in surprise. "How do you know Herne was there? I did not tell you that."
"No; but I know. You are aware that he saw your meeting."
"Yes; I saw him."
"You--saw--him!" repeated Paul, slowly.
"You confuse me!" said Lovel, impatiently, striding up and down the room. "I'll tell you how and where I saw Herne later. Just now inform me why you think Gran Jimboy wrote those letters?"
"Because I learnt from Catinka----"
"You have seen Catinka?" interrupted Lovel, stopping.
"Yes, yes! Allow me to proceed. She told me that the letters were written on dirty scraps of paper, by an uneducated person."
"But my grandmother would do nothing to harm me.
"My dear Lovel," said Paul, coolly, "no doubt by informing Herne of your meetings she thought that she was acting in your interests. Remember, she wanted you to marry Miss Clyde; well, if she could have got Herne to stop your meetings with Milly, she no doubt fancied you would cease loving the poor girl, and consent to make Miss Clyde your wife."
"Admitting that, what about the prophecy?"
"Oh, knowing that Milly was deceiving Herne, the old gipsy fancied she might take the law into her own hands, and kill her; hence the prophecy about a violent death."
"My dear Mexton, all this is pure theory."
"True. I am waiting to hear you state the facts of the case."
"You shall," said Lovel, resuming his seat. "And, pray, attention, please! You may be able to make more out of the matter than I. On that night I met Milly in the Winding Lane about a quarter past eight. We walked up to the stile at the end where the lane goes out into the common. While walking I saw Brent, and bribed him to say nothing."
"You paid him well," interjected Paul--"five pounds."
"I did not pay him at all on that night," replied Lovel, gloomily, "but next day, after the murder. I told him that I was innocent, but in peril, and gave him five pounds, with the promise of more when he wanted it."
"You bribed him lest he should inculpate you in the murder?"
"That's about it," confessed Lovel. "But if Brent hadn't thought me innocent he would not have taken the money. I'll do him that justice."
"I think you do him too much justice," said Paul, coolly. "Brent is a scamp, and would accept your money even though it were blood-stained. Go on, please, Mr. Lovel."
"I was talking to Milly, standing by the stile," continued the young man, "and there I was telling her about Herne's flirtation with Catinka. Of course, I knew that there was no flirtation, but I wanted to make Milly jealous, so that she should break off the match with Herne and marry me. Well, while we were talking the clock in St. Dunstan's Church began to strike nine, and Milly, saying she must go home, stepped away a short distance. At that moment a shot was fired, and with a cry the poor girl fell. If you only knew what I felt when I saw her fall!" cried Lovel, clasping his hands. "I did not see from what direction the shot came, but bent over Milly. She moved a little, and then died."
"And you?" asked Mexton, who was following this narrative with intense interest.
"I rose from my knees when she was dead and rushed into the bushes to see who had killed her. I could see no one at first, but I heard the sound as if some one was retreating. I followed quickly, and in the shadow of the trees some distance away I saw--Darcy Herne!"
"He had killed her!" cried Paul, rising.
"No," denied Lovel, with vehemence; "he was in one of his trances. I expect he had seen me kissing Milly when we parted, and that the sight had excited his nervous system to such a degree that he went into the cataleptic state. I touched him, I shook him, I spoke in his ear; but all to no purpose; he was quite senseless, and blind to all external things. Then I became aware of my own peril, and was afraid lest I should be accused of killing Milly. I had met her; I was in love with her; and I saw that on all sides I was in danger of being accused of the crime. Mexton," cried Lovel, "I was not master of myself; I felt like a madman, and rushed away. Where I went I don't know; but when I grew calmer I found myself on the high road. Then I thought I would protect myself by an alibi, and swear that I had not met Milly. I went to Mother Jimboy's tent and told her all. She said she would help me, and made me lie down. That is all I know of the crime, Mexton. I did not kill the girl, I swear; and I swear also that Herne is innocent."
"Are you so sure of that?" said Paul doubtfully.
"Sure! Of course I am. The man was in a trance, and had no pistol in his hand."
"It might have fallen," suggested Paul.
"No; I looked before I went."
"Why did you return after midnight?"
"Who told you that I returned?" asked Lovel, curiously.
"Iris Link. She thought that her step-father had committed the crime; and, to save him, she went to the spot to look for the pistol she fancied he might have dropped. But we know now that Miss Clyde took away his pistol before the crime was committed."
"I heard that story," said Lovel, thoughtfully; "but, of course, I never thought that Dr. Lester was guilty. Did Iris see me?"
"Yes; and you ran away?"
"I did," said Lovel, flushing. "I went to see if Herne was still there; and hearing footsteps--those of Iris, no doubt--I went away lest I should be implicated in the murder. What else could I do in such a position? Well, Mexton, I have told you all I know. What do you make of my story?"
Paul rose. "You come with me, Lovel, and see Mother Jimboy," said he, putting on his hat, "and we'll see what she knows of the matter."
"She knows nothing; she was not out of her tent."
"I am not so certain of that," said Mexton, quickly. "If she wrote those letters, as I suspect, I am certain she would go to see if Herne was watching you."
"She did not say so to me," replied, Lovel, rising in his turn; "but it may be as well to question her. I am as anxious to secure the assassin as you are. Let us go. I only hope that gran is well enough to speak."
"Is she ill?" asked Paul, as they left The Herne Arms.
"She had an accident yesterday--was run over by a baker's cart, and has suffered some internal injury. Dr. Lester saw her this morning."
"I have not seen him, so that is the first I have heard about the accident."
The two young men walked through the village, and turned off to the high road. The shortest way to gran's tent was through the Winding Lane and across the common; but for obvious reasons, connected with the memory of the dead, they were unwilling to pass the fatal spot where Milly had come by her timely end. They walked smartly along the high road, and when well on their way Paul produced and showed to Lucas the handkerchief of Herne found by Iris.
"It is spotted with blood, you see," he said earnestly; "that looks as though Herne had something to do with the murder."
"I dare say when he came out of his trance he examined the body," said Lucas, "and dropped the handkerchief in the blood--Milly's blood, poor girl! Ugh!" and he shuddered.
"We'll see what Herne says about it," said Paul, taking back the handkerchief. "I expect him back from London to-morrow."
"He believes me guilty, Mexton, and I quite see how. He saw me with Milly, and then fell into his trance. When he came out of it he discovered that I was gone and the girl dead. I don't wonder he suspects me."
"But, if so, why did he not raise the alarm on the moment?"
"Afraid to inculpate himself, no doubt," replied Lucas. "But here we are."
Mother Jimboy's tent stood on the verge of the common, all by itself. She was with none of her kinsfolk, and camped alone in quite a hermit fashion. Since her illness a long lean girl with sharp black eyes had come forward in some mysterious fashion to take charge of her, and it was this damsel who appeared round a corner of the tent when the young men approached. Evidently the girl knew Lovel, for she nodded to him in a familiar fashion and addressed him directly.
"Gran's better, rye," said she, "and wants to see you. I was just going for you."
"I wonder what she wants to see me about," speculated Lovel, as the girl lifted up the flap of the tent. "We'll soon learn. Come, Mexton!" and they crept into the dwelling of the old gipsy.
Gran was lying on the ground amid a pile of dingy blankets, over which was thrown a gaily striped quilt. Her face was leaner and more wrinkled than ever, and her eyes were sunken. Still, they glittered with intelligence, and she seemed to have all her faculties about her, as she bent forward and clutched the hand of her grandson.
"Eh, dearie, I be main glad to see 'ee, for sure. An' t'other rye--who be he?"
"I am Paul Mexton," said that gentleman, "and I have come with Mr. Lovel to hear what you have to say about the murder."
Gran began a cackling laugh, and choked in the middle of it. "Oh, 'tis gran as knows the pure truth o' that," she said, when her breath came back. "I wanted to tell mun to you, dearie, so that you may be cliver and save yourself."
"To me?" cried Lucas, bending forward. "Do you know who killed Milly?"
"Ees, for sure. I was at the stile when mun fired wi' pistol."
"Who fired the pistol?" asked Paul, much excited. "Herne?"
"No; nor Miss Clyde, nor Brent, nor my grandson here. Bend, dearie, and I'll whisper who killed the good maid."
Both men bent forward and held their breath.
"It was t'passon," said Gran Jimboy. "Master Chaskin--'e killed t' lass!"
When Gran Jimboy revealed her secret, she finished with a croaking laugh of triumph, and lay back breathless on her pillow. Her hearers remained silent, in sheer astonishment at the astounding statement which she had made, and which neither could believe. The old gipsy was irritated by this unspoken scepticism, and reiterated her charge.
"I ses that t'passon killed that gude maid!" she declared; upon which Paul found his tongue.
"It is impossible!" cried he indignantly. "How dare you bring a charge like that against Mr. Chaskin! What motive had he for killing an innocent girl?"
"Eh, dearie, he loved her. Iss, gran spakes trew."
"Chaskin loved Milly!" said Lovel, a colour rising in his swarthy face. "What are you talking about, gran? If he had loved Milly, she would have told me.
"The maid was no fule, dearie," replied Mother Jimboy with feeble sarcasm; "she played wi' all hearts, and tould not one o' the other. Did mun spake tu t' Squoire o' you, dearie? No. Nor did mun spake to you o' t'passon. Oh, dearie me, but yon maid was cliver, for sure!"
'Gran spoke so positively that Lovel half-believed her, and stared with angry eyes at her cunning old face. His companion did not say a word, for it had just come into Paul's mind that Miss Clyde, learning the fact from the gossip of Mrs. Drass, had brought the same charge against Chaskin. Evidently it was true, and Milly had inveigled the Vicar into loving her, in the intervals of her flirtation with Lovel and her demure conversations with Herne. She was determined that all should minister to her vanity and love of admiration; and had so played off the three men, the one against the other, that not one of the three knew that she was flirting with his rival. Yet, as Paul considered, the Vicar must have occupied a different position, for he was aware that Milly was engaged to Herne, and must have known, what all the country gossips knew, that she was playing fast and loose with Lovel when her future husband's back was turned. Truly the village beauty had been a torch of destruction in her small way--a local Helen--and undeniably a foolish, wicked, vain creature, with only her beauty to recommend her. Cruel as the thought may seem, Mexton fancied that it was just as well she was dead and done with. Had she lived she would have contrived further mischief.
"Suppose we grant that Mr. Chaskin was in love with Miss Lester," said he, after a pause, "why should he kill her?"
"For pure jealousy," replied gran. "Ye don't think I spake trew? See ye here," and gran brought out a bundle from under the pillow. "I picked this up on the place where that poor maid was took."
Lovel undid the bundle rapidly, and there lay before him a neat silver-plated pistol, the weapon, as he knew without being told, with which Milly had been killed. As in the case of the incriminatory revolver of Dr. Lester, produced by Miss Clyde, there was a name on the butt. "Francis Chaskin" was the name.
"So he killed her, after all!" cried Lovel, and handed the weapon to Paul, with a fierce light in his eyes.
"Aye, aye; 'tis so," mumbled gran, wetting her dry lips. "I was at the stile when mun fired the pistol."
"Did you see him fire it?" asked Paul. "Did you see him kill the girl?"
"No," replied Mrs. Jimboy, "but I seed him on the common afore I came to the stile. He walked to the lane, an' I hears the shot. When I got to that stile, I see nothing but the dead maid. After I sees summat bright on the ground twinkle-twinkle in the moonlight. 'Twas yon pistol, dearie; an' I picked it up an' run back to my tent quick as my old legs could carry me.
"Did you think Chaskin was the murderer at that time?"
"No, dearie; only when I saw the name o' mun on the pistol. I told that gude maid that she would goo down to the grave."
"And you thought that Herne had killed her," said Paul, sternly. "Oh, you need not look so astonished, Mrs. Jimboy. I know you wrote a letter to Mr. Herne telling him that his promised wife was to meet Lovel on Sunday night."
"Ees," said gran, in a hard voice; "I wrote; 'twas I as brought mun down."
"You!" cried Lovel, aghast. "In heaven's name, why?"
"For your sweet sake, dearie," whimpered the old woman. "You be bone o' my bone an' flesh o' my flesh; an' you hev nowt o' goold, poor lamb! 'Tis my wish as you'd wed wi' Mistress Clyde, an' hev lands an' money. But that dead maid was witchly, and was drawin' your heart into the net o' mun. I thought as t'Squoire, seeing her wickedness, would take her fro' you, for religion's sake, an' wed her, so it might be she'd tempt ye no more; an' he could save the soul o' mun fro' the burnin' pit."
"You are a wicked old woman," said Lovel, vehemently. "By bringing Herne down you brought about the death of Milly."
"No, dearie, no. 'Twas passon killed her. T'Squoire did nowt, dear heart. For your good I told mun o' his maid's bad doings."
"Gran," said Paul--for Lovel was too angered to speak--"you prophesied a violent death to Miss Lester. Did you make that prophecy knowing that she would be killed within twenty-four hours?"
"Eh, dearie, I know'd not when she would be killed. But fair maids wi' fierce lovers had best be wary, an' I thought if t'Squoire knew o' her wickedness, he might hev anger wi' her."
"In other words, you brought down Herne in the hope that he might fulfil your prophecy, and kill Milly," cried Lovel. "You are a wicked old Jezebel, and, blood or no blood, I shall have nothing to do with you!"
The old woman began to whimper and expostulate with feeble energy; but her grandson would listen to no excuses. With an angry look at her, he crawled out of the tent, and walked hastily across the common, trying to get rid of his wrath by violent exercise. It was easily seen, as he considered, that gran, had hoped for the death of Milly at the hands of Herne. That the squire had not killed her was due to the trance into which he had fallen while witnessing her fickleness; a trance which had rendered him incapable of inflicting punishment on the fair woman who had deceived him. Without doubt--judging from the evidence of the pistol--Chaskin had committed the crime; and finding Herne in the trance, had probably taken his handkerchief and dipped it into the blood, with the idea of saving himself and inculpating his friend. Lovel could not conceive how Chaskin could have known of the meeting, unless----
"Gran Jimboy again!" he cried, stopping short, as the idea struck him. "She told Chaskin, she excited his jealousy, and guided him to the spot. Failing Herne, she was determined that the parson should kill Milly, and so fulfil her evil words, I see it all! We have been puppets, and that infernal hag has pulled the strings to make us dance."
While he was thus talking to himself, Paul came running up, and expostulated with Lovel for having left the tent so hurriedly. "Gran is a wicked old woman," said he--"I admit that; and she has acted ill; but it is for your sake, Lovel, that she has done these things."
"I know it, I know it! She wishes to force me into marriage with Miss Clyde. Marry that Amazon, with her mannish ways and rough tongue! I'd rather die!--the more especially when I know that Milly was put out of the way to bring about the match," he concluded, biting his fingers.
"My dear fellow, you forget. Herne, brought down by that letter, did not kill Milly."
"No; but Chaskin did," replied Lucas wrathfully; "and I believe that gran told him of the meeting, and induced him to come to the place. However you put it, Mexton, that old wretch is responsible for the tragedy."
"Well," said Paul, as they resumed their walk, "that point will bear arguing. But now that we know the truth, what is to be done?"
"We must tell Drek, and have Chaskin arrested."
"Well, no; I don't think it is wise to do that. Let us call at the Vicarage, and give the man an opportunity of defending himself."
"He can make no defence, seeing that we hold the pistol with his name on it."
"My dear fellow," remonstrated Paul, "remember Herne's handkerchief. But for your evidence that he was in a trance, I should have believed him guilty."
"Chaskin does not fall into trances."
"I know that; but he may have some other defence. At all events, it is only just to give him a chance before making the affair public."
"As you please," said Lovel suddenly. "Let us go to the Vicarage at once. But Chaskin will only lie, and deny his guilt."
Chance had taken Lovel's steps across the common, for in his anger at Gran Jimboy's revelations he had not perceived where he was going. Paul had followed him, and while talking they had unconsciously drawn near to the stile which divided the common from the Winding Lane. Only when they halted at the stile itself did they realise where they were; and in silence they looked at one another.
"Shall we return?" said Paul, in a low voice.
Lovel shook his head, with a frown on his face, and climbed over the stile. Paul followed, and they walked on towards the scene of the tragedy. On the very spot where Milly's dead body had lain a man was standing with folded arms. He looked up as the young men drew near, and they saw the face of Darcy Herne. It was sad and downcast, and he appeared to have been meditating on the tragic death of his promised wife.
"Herne!" cried Paul, halting in his amazement, "I thought you were in London!"
"So I was," replied the squire carelessly, "but I came down to-day instead of waiting till to-morrow. My business was finished, so there was no need for me to idle in town. How are you, Lovel?" he added abruptly, turning his eyes towards Lucas.
"I am as well as can be expected under the circumstances," replied Lovel gloomily; "but why do you pay me the compliment of asking after my health, Mr. Herne? Do you not regard me as the murderer of Miss Lester?"
"No," replied Herne quietly. "I did so once, but I have changed my mind."
"Since seeing Catinka?" questioned Paul, sharply.
"What do you know about Catinka?" asked Herne, just as sharply.
"I know all that she could tell me about the Rainbow Feather, and her visit to Barnstead."
"She told you about the Rainbow Feather?" repeated Herne. "And how did you trace her connection with the Rainbow Feather?"
"That is too long a story to tell," rejoined Mexton coolly; "but I got the clue on the day you found the Rainbow Feather on this very spot. Catinka placed it on the body."
"But Catinka did not commit the murder."
"I know that; nor did Lovel here."
"H'm!" said Herne, looking at the pair; "perhaps you suspect me of the crime?"
"What makes you think that?" asked Lovel.
"Because, if Mexton saw Catinka, she no doubt told him of my visit here on the night the murder was committed."
"Yes, she did tell me," admitted Paul.
"Then, as you know so much, I may as well tell you all," said Herne. "I received a letter by the last post on Saturday night telling me that Mr. Lovel was to meet Milly here on Sunday night. The letter was not signed, but I know who wrote it."
"So do I, Herne," said Lovel. "Gran Jimboy, the gipsy, wrote it. She learnt from me at three o'clock about the meeting, and wrote at once, so as to catch the London post."
"Why did she trouble to betray you?"
"For reasons I'll explain hereafter," replied Lovel. "But what of your secret visit? It was jealousy which made you come down, no doubt?"
"No," replied Herne, coldly, a light coming into his eyes; "it was a desire to save Milly from the snare set by you."
"Thank you for your good opinion."
"Oh, you may sneer," said Herne, with energy; "but I know you are not a child of God. I fought against you for the soul of Milly, as angels fight against devils of the pit. I had rather she died than lived to be your wife, and lose her soul in worldly pleasures."
"All this is beside the question," sneered Lovel. "I want to know about your visit."
"I came down to Marborough in a kind of disguise," said Herne, dropping his religious tone for that of a man of the world--"that is, I muffled myself up so that my face could not be recognised. From a stable on the outskirts of Marborough I hired a horse and rode over to Barnstead. I left the horse at The Chequers, where I was not known, and came to this lane, where I watched, hidden behind yonder tree. I saw you, Lovel, come up with Milly; I saw you kiss; and such was my rage that before I could advance I fell into one of those trances to which I am subject. When I came to myself I was alone, and on the ground was the dead body of Milly. It was then, Lovel, that I thought you had killed the poor girl; but I could not prove your guilt because of my trance. Again, as I had come by stealth to Barnstead, I was afraid lest under the circumstances I should be accused of the crime. Therefore I held my tongue about my presence here on that night."
"But you accused me!" said Lovel, bitterly.
"I do not accuse you now," replied Herne, coldly.
"And why?" retorted the young man. "Because you know that Chaskin is the assassin."
Squire Herne stared blankly at Lovel, and burst out laughing. "Frank Chaskin!" said he; "my old friend, the murderer of my promised wife? You are mad to say so!"
"I am not mad, as you know very well, Mr. Herne. I daresay you came out of your trance on that night quickly enough to see Chaskin steal away from the scene of his crime?"
"I swear by all that I hold most sacred that I saw nothing of my friend on that night. I rode back to Marborough, and caught the night express to London, without speaking to anyone with whom I was acquainted. I have told you that I came hither in disguise; is it likely, I ask you, Mr. Lovel, that I would nullify that disguise by speaking to my dearest friend? Not only my second self, mark you," added Herne, haughtily, "but a priest of the English Church, to whom I could not without shame reveal my secret visit. I acted for a good object, no doubt, but the means I was forced to adopt were none the less distasteful. I deny that in any way I know that Frank Chaskin is guilty; and, what is more, gentlemen, I would be prepared to stake my existence that he is innocent."
"I should like to agree with you, Mr. Herne," said Paul sadly, "but unfortunately I have here a proof of his guilt."
"Proof! What proof?"
"This pistol," said Paul, producing the weapon and handing it to Herne. "It was found by Mother Jimboy on this spot, on the night of the murder, and shortly after the committal of the crime. You will see that the Vicar's name is engraved on the butt."
Herne glanced carelessly at the pistol, and returned it to Mexton. "I have no need to see," he said sternly. "I recognise the pistol well enough. It is one of a pair which Chaskin had when he was in the army. It was found on this spot, you say. What of that?"
"Simply this," broke in Lovel, "that Chaskin must have dropped it after killing Milly."
"It does not argue that Chaskin was here at all," retorted Herne. "This pistol was no doubt stolen from his study, where he kept it. Mother Jimboy, you say--a gipsy, a thief. Why," he added, struck by a sudden thought, "she was in Chaskin's study a week before the murder! I remember quite well. No doubt she stole the pistol."
"And killed Milly, why don't you add?" sneered Lovel.
"Because I don't accuse her of so purposeless a crime. No doubt she gave the pistol to the murderer."
"Admitting that she did," cried Paul, "whom do you suspect?"
"No one," replied Herne. "Though I might suspect Lovel."
"Oh," said Lucas, shrugging his shoulders, "are you going over the old ground again?"
"No, I am not," replied Herne. "I say again that I do not suspect you."
"And I ask again why have you changed your mind?" said Lovel. "I was with Milly when you fell into your trance, and I was absent when you came out of it. So far as you knew, no one else was in the lane, and you awoke from your senseless state to see Milly's dead body. On these grounds you can suspect me only."
"You state a very good case against yourself," sneered Herne. "Evidently you wish to be hanged!"
"No, but I wish to hang the villain who killed Milly. I can defend myself if needful. But can you defend Chaskin?"
"I would do so with my life! He is innocent."
"I'll have to hear that from his own lips," replied Lovel. "Myself and Mexton are on our way to see him. Will you come also?"
"No; Chaskin can defend himself. I have just left him, and he said nothing which leads me to doubt him."
"The pistol----"
"No doubt he can explain the pistol. But go and ask him. For myself, I must bid you good-day. I have an engagement."
"One moment," cried Paul, catching him by the arm as he was moving off, "do you intend to abandon the search for Miss Lester's assassin?"
"No," replied Herne coldly. "I will find the assassin without your help."
"Because you know he is Chaskin!" cried Lovel scornfully.
"I do not know he is Chaskin!" retorted Herne disdainfully. "The person whom I suspect--whom I know--killed Milly is one you would never dream of accusing. Mine shall be the hand to bring this person to justice. Till then"--he waved his hand--"I have nothing to say," and with these final words he moved away.
Paul stood looking after him with a look of doubt on his face. "Whom do you think he suspects?" asked the journalist.
"I don't know."
"It can't be Dr. Lester, or Miss Clyde, for we have evidence that they are innocent," said Paul, perplexed, "nor you, because he denies that you are guilty; nor Chaskin, for the same reason; so----"
"I don't believe his denial of Chaskin's guilt," cried Lovel, with a frown; "nothing will make me believe that he did not kill Milly. Perhaps Herne suspects Catinka."
"Impossible! She cleared herself in my eyes."
"Well," said Lovel, dismissing the subject with a shrug, "let us see how the Rev. Mr. Chaskin intends to clear himself. He will find it hard to deny the evidence of that pistol."
Paul thought so also, but as his companion seemed indisposed for further conversation he held his peace. The two young men walked slowly through the Winding Lane, each intent on his own thoughts. Mexton wondered on how many more people the blame of this tragic death was likely to fall. Lester, Miss Clyde, Lovel, Catinka, and Herne all had been suspected on sufficiently strong evidence; but on evidence equally strong the innocence of one and all had been clearly proved. Now the circumstantial evidence of the pistol was against Chaskin, and it would appear that he had killed the girl; but for all that Paul was not inclined to be certain of his guilt. Others had cleared themselves by reasonable explanation; so why should not Chaskin do the same? Mexton quite expected that the Vicar would be able to explain the loss of his pistol, and account in some plausible way for his meeting on the common with Mother Jimboy. And if he proved himself to be guiltless, it would be quite impossible--so far as Paul saw--to discover the assassin of Milly. Her fate would remain a tragic mystery; and the person who had wrought such ill would live on in defiance of the law. But though he--or she, for it might be a woman, thought Paul--escape the law of man, there was yet the law of God to be reckoned with. Come what might, the dastard who had fired the fatal shot would not escape punishment in the next world.
On their way to the square of St. Dunstan, where the Vicarage was situated, the young men met with Dr. Lester, who at once stopped to give them some news.
"I have just heard from Drek that my trial takes place next week," he said eagerly, "and I must surrender to my bail. I shall be glad to get the thing over, as, notwithstanding my innocence, I feel uneasy until I am pronounced guiltless."
"That need not trouble you," said Paul; "you assuredly will go free. We know now who committed the murder."
"Who was it? Who is the assassin?"
"I'll tell you that later on. Is Drek here?"
"Yes, he is at The Herne Arms."
"Then tell him to meet Lovel and myself there in an hour. We have something to tell him which is of the greatest importance."
"Is it the name of the assassin?"
"Yes," broke in Lovel fiercely, "it is the name of the assassin; and I hope I'll see him in gaol to-night. Where are you going now, doctor?" he asked abruptly.
"To see Mother Jimboy. She is ill, you know."
"Yes, I know," assented Lovel gloomily. "Will she die?"
"I hope not; but she is old, and should fever intervene, or inflammation be set up, I am afraid she will die."
"It may be well if she does," muttered Lovel to himself. "Good-bye, doctor. You shall know who killed Milly this very night."
When Lester took his departure, which he did very unwillingly, as he was anxious to know the truth, Paul and his companion went to the Vicarage, and without much difficulty were shown into the presence of Chaskin. The Vicar happened to be at home at the moment, and saw them with apparent willingness; but Lovel, with jealous eyes, perceived that he changed colour when they entered. Also, his voice shook when he asked them to be seated; and from these signs of emotion in the absence of any apparent cause Paul augured ill. For an innocent man Chaskin was strangely moved.
"We have come to see you on a very important matter, sir," said Paul.
"Yes," responded Chaskin, trying to preserve his calmness; "and about what?"
"Let me answer that question," said Lovel, before Paul could speak. "About the murder of Miss Lester."
"What about the murder, Mr. Lovel? Why do you come to me on such errand?"
"Because I think you can best answer our questions."
Chaskin rose suddenly from his chair, and commanded his voice with a powerful effort of will, but the perspiration beaded his brow as he spoke.
"What am I to understand by this speech, Mr. Lovel?"
"That you are the assassin of Milly Lester!"
"I--I!" gasped the Vicar, sitting down again, less by will than because he could no longer stand upright. "You dare to accuse me of this terrible crime! Mr. Mexton, is your friend mad?"
"No, Mr. Chaskin," replied Paul in sad tones. "I believe the same as he does."
"That I killed Miss Lester--I, who read the service over her coffin!"
"Yes," exclaimed both men together.
Chaskin passed his hand across his brow and groaned. "This is some horrible dream," he said in an agitated voice, "You cannot be serious!"
"But we are serious," said Mexton, agitated also. "I would willingly believe you guiltless, sir, but what can I say--what can Lovel say--in the face of such evidence as this?"
"My pistol!" Chaskin took the weapon from Paul's hand, and looked at it in a startled way. "Yes, it is mine; my name is on it. Mr. Lovel! Mr. Mexton! how did you come by it?"
"I received it from Gran Jimboy," said Paul.
"And Gran Jimboy picked it up on the very spot where Milly's body was lying," added Lovel, "shortly after the shot was fired. How did it come there?"
By this time Chaskin was the colour of paper; but there was a certain dignity in his answer. "I cannot tell you, gentlemen," he replied. "I did not lose it in the Winding Lane."
"But it is your pistol," said Lovel with a scowl.
"It is; but I--I lost it over a month ago!"
"I thought you would try and get out of it in that way," scoffed Lucas. "A weak defence, truly!"
"I need make no defence," said Chaskin, haughtily. "I am innocent."
"Then how can you explain your presence on the common before nine o'clock of that night?"
"How do you know I was on the common?"
"Mother Jimboy says she met you."
"True." Chaskin again passed his hand across his face. "I did meet her. I was going to see a sick man on the other side of the common."
"Away from the village?"
"Yes. I went there and saw this man immediately after evening service. It was on my return about midnight that I found the body of that poor girl, and gave the alarm. But I stated all this at the inquest."
"I remember," said Paul, with a nod. "But Mrs. Jimboy declares that before nine o'clock you were going towards the Winding Lane, and----"
"She is making a mistake," interrupted the Vicar hurriedly. "I was going in the other direction."
"She denies that," said Lovel, sharply; "and it was shortly after she saw you go into the woods about the Winding Lane that she heard the shot."
"I did not fire it!" said Chaskin, emphatically; "and let me ask you, Mr. Lovel, if you were with Miss Lester on that night, at that hour?"
"I was," admitted Lovel. "I don't mind saying so, as I can prove my innocence."
"Then you must know who killed Miss Lester!"
"I do not. The shot was fired out of the darkness of the trees."
"Were you standing by the stile?"
"Yes; with Miss Lester."
"Then if I came towards that stile you must have seen me.
"I didn't see you, I admit," replied Lucas, somewhat disconcerted; "but if you are not guilty, Mr. Chaskin, you know who is."
"I can say neither one thing nor the other," said the Vicar; "if you think me guilty, you must do so."
There was a silence after this declaration of Chaskin's, for neither of the young men knew what reply to make. The Vicar did not affirm his innocence, as he had done earlier in the interview; nor did he accuse anyone else of committing the crime with which he was charged. He took up a purely negative attitude, and by doing so threw on Paul and Lovel the onus of proving their accusations. Nothing in the way of defence could have been more unsatisfactory. On seeing their hesitation Chaskin reiterated his speech.
"I do not repeat that I am innocent," he asserted. "If you think that I killed that unhappy girl, you must continue to do so. But," added the Vicar with irony, "I fail to see what motive you can ascribe to me for such an act."
"The motive of jealousy," said Lovel sullenly; "you were in love with Milly. Oh, you need not deny it, Mr. Chaskin; I know it for a fact."
"My friend," said Chaskin coldly, "I do not intend to deny it; but I question your right to make such a statement. It is true that I loved Miss Lester; but she never knew of my passion. She was the promised wife of my friend, and as such I did not think myself justified in revealing my feelings. You, Mr. Lovel, were less scrupulous."
"I admit it," replied Lovel, attempting a weak defence; "but I loved her."
"All the village knew as much; but I do not call that love which debases its object. If you had said nothing to Miss Lester, she might have refused to meet you. And had she not met you," added Chaskin emphatically, "this tragedy would not have taken place."
"As to that, you know best!" sneered the younger man.
"As you please, sir," rejoined the Vicar. "I refuse to defend myself to you."
"Can you defend yourself at all?" questioned Mexton suddenly.
"I shall answer that question when I am asked it by the duly constituted authorities."
"At least tell us how you lost that pistol."
The Vicar rose from his chair, and walking across to a side table, lifted therefrom an oblong box of mahogany. This he opened and placed before his visitors.
"This is a remnant of my soldiering days," he said. "Once it contained two pistols; now, as you see, there is only one. The other, I admit freely, is the weapon which you showed to me, Mr. Mexton."
"The weapon with which Milly was murdered," said Lovel viciously.
"No doubt; but, as I told you, I lost it some four weeks ago,"
"How did you lose it?" asked Paul; for it seemed to him that Chaskin was evading the point.
"I cannot tell you," replied the Vicar; "the box stood always on that table. I see many people in this room; any one of them might have taken it."
"Mother Jimboy, for instance?"
"No; for the simple reason that Mother Jimboy never came to the Vicarage."
"Herne says she did," cried Lovel; "and that you saw her in this room before the murder."
Chaskin drew a long breath, and seemed to consider his reply: "Mr. Herne is mistaken," he said at length; "the gipsy was never in this room."
"Then somebody is telling a lie!" said Lovel, looking sharply at Chaskin.
"No doubt," he answered coolly; "but I am not bound to find the liar for you."
"Perhaps I know where he is to be found without your aid!"
The Vicar shut down the lid of the box with a snap, and once more rose to his feet. "This conversation has lasted long enough," he said with dignity, "and I have replied to your questions very patiently. I refuse to answer any more."
"You say you are innocent?" asked Paul.
"I say nothing."
"You know who is guilty?" insisted Lovel.
"I know nothing."
This was all the answer they could obtain from Chaskin, so, seeing that it was useless to prolong the interview with so obstinate a man, Paul and his friend departed. Their visit had been productive of no good, and--if Chaskin were guilty--they had only succeeding in putting him on his guard. But was he guilty? The two young men took different views of the question. Paul was inclined to side with the Vicar; while Lovel was equally bent on insisting that the Vicar was the assassin.
"If he has not killed Milly, he would declare that he was innocent," said he.
"He did so, when we first spoke to him. That is a point in his favour."
"I don't see it at all," said Lovel obstinately; "he did not know what evidence we could bring against him. When he knew, he took refuge in silence."
"Well," objected Paul, more just than his prejudiced companion, "if you remember, he denied that Mother Jimboy had stolen the pistol. If he were guilty, it is probable that he would seize on every chance to exculpate himself and inculpate others. The suggestion made by Herne would have been a good opportunity of shifting the blame from his own shoulders on to those of the gipsy; but, as you heard for yourself, Lovel, he declined to take advantage of the opening."
"Bah! that is his cunning. I daresay he has a defence all ready."
"If so, he did not entrust us with it," rejoined Mexton, a trifle drily.
"No; he's not such a fool as to show his hand unless forced to do so. Should Drek arrest him, he would have lies in plenty to prove his innocence."
"I don't think there is sufficient evidence to arrest him."
"Drek may think otherwise," replied Lovel, looking at his watch. "Come to The Herne Arms, Mexton, for I expect the inspector will be waiting for us there. We will tell him of our interview with the Vicar, and see what his opinion is about the matter; I should not be surprised if Mr. Chaskin was in gaol by this evening."
"I should be very much surprised," said Paul emphatically. "As Lester is already accused of the crime, and is to stand his trial next week, Drek cannot arrest Chaskin as yet, however guilty he may think him. You can't have two people legally accused of the same crime. One must be proved innocent before the other can be imprisoned as suspected of guilt."
"As to these points of law, I know nothing about them," replied Lovel impatiently; "all I know is that to my mind Chaskin is the guilty person. The evidence of Gran Jimboy and the production of that pistol are sufficient to hang him. However, we shall see."
There was nothing more said at the moment, as the conversation threatened to become disagreeable, and the two men walked to The Herne Arms. Here they found Inspector Drek, who informed them that Lester had delivered the message, but could not be present at the interview, as he had been called out to see a patient some miles away, and did not expect to be back before six o'clock. However, he was at their disposal, and very anxious he was to know why they had sought the interview.
"Come up to my room, and I'll tell you," said Lucas, and led the way to his sanctum. Here he ordered cigars and whisky; and having made his friends and himself comfortable, he related to Drek the story of his connection with Mrs. Jimboy, and his knowledge of what had taken place in the lane on that fatal night. All of which has been already set forth.
"I think it wise that you should know all this, Mr. Drek," he said, concluding, "as someone else may relate my history in a more or less distorted fashion; and I am, as I can see plainly, in too dangerous a position to trifle with the law. Now our friend Mexton here can tell you of his visit to London, and our visits to Mrs. Jimboy and Chaskin."
"Mr. Chaskin! the Vicar!" cried Drek, who in his interest had let his cigar go out. "What has he to do with the matter."
"Let me explain," said Paul; and, in his turn, he told the inspector of his interview with Catinka, his discovery of the pistol in the gipsy tent, and finally the interview which, with Lovel, he had taken part in at the Vicarage. Drek, being thus in possession of all the evidence gathered by the pair, was in a position to deliver judgment. This, however, he found it difficult to do, as he was not a particularly clever man; and the multiplicity of facts with which he had now to deal somewhat bewildered his brain. However, he saw what was expected of him in his official capacity, and rising to the occasion, he did his best to grapple with the situation.
"If you will permit me, gentlemen," said he, taking a drink of whisky to freshen up his faculties, "I will recapitulate all that we have discovered--severally discovered--since the crime was committed. Then we can see against whom the evidence is strongest, and perhaps learn thereby who killed the girl. But I confess," added Drek, with a downcast air, "that I am not very sanguine."
"Why not?" exclaimed Lucas, hotly. "There is plenty of evidence."
"That is the whole point, sir, there is too much evidence."
"Against Chaskin, I mean."
"And against Herne, also," observed Paul. "If the pistol found by Gran Jimboy incriminates Chaskin, no less does the blood-stained handkerchief point to the guilt of Herne."
"But Herne can't be guilty," protested Lucas, angrily. "I tell you he was in a trance when the shot was fired."
"After the shot was fired," corrected Mexton. "Remember, you did not see him until the girl was dead."
"He couldn't have fired the shot and then have fallen into a trance."
"Why not? The very act might excite his nerves to such a degree as to cause the trance. You know that these cataleptic states of Herne's are caused by violent emotion."
"But if he had fired the shot I should have found the pistol in his hand."
"He might have dropped it."
"No! I searched for it," said Lucas, obstinately, "and didn't find it."
"In your agitation you might have overlooked it," replied Paul as obstinately.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," cried Drek, intervening in the matter; "this discussion is unprofitable. You may both be right, and both wrong. But we shall not arrive at any conclusion by such loose arguments. Let us begin at the beginning and state all the cases."
"What cases?" asked Lovel, abruptly.
"The cases against all those connected with the matter," said Drek. "Dr. Lester, Miss Clyde, this Polish violinist, yourself, Mr. Herne, and finally, Mr. Chaskin. There is strong evidence against each."
"I daresay," retorted Lucas, tartly, ill pleased at his name being in the list; "but such evidence has proved the most of us innocent. Dr. Lester, for instance."
"Well, sir, Dr. Lester; look at the case against him. He is very poor; he wished his daughter to marry Mr. Herne, and learnt that the marriage--important to him as the means of securing a rich son-in-law to pay his debts--is likely to be broken off by the young lady's flirtation with you. The doctor becomes mad with drink, and taking a pistol, starts out to kill you. He remains away all the night, and cannot account for his actions. In the interval his daughter is killed; so we may assume that, intending to shoot you, Mr. Lovel, he shot her."
"Quite so," said Paul, drily; "but all that evidence is nullified by Miss Clyde's statement."
"I know that," replied Drek, with coolness, "but failing Miss Clyde's statement the evidence is strong against Dr. Lester. But he is innocent, so he is out of the case. Now Miss Clyde: she is in love with Mr. Lovel, and is jealous of Miss Lester. She takes a loaded pistol off the doctor, and is lurking in the lane to see the meeting of the man she loves with the woman she hates. Here, then, we may say that out of jealousy, and to get rid of a rival, Miss Clyde killed the girl."
"That evidence is rebutted by the fact that Miss Clyde could not have arrived home in time if she had killed Milly. Her hour of arrival at the farm can be proved by Mrs. Drass. Also, if Miss Clyde were guilty, she would not have produced that pistol."
"Very good," assented Drek, still imperturbable; "then we will strike out Miss Clyde also. Now, then, for Catinka. She wants Mr. Herne's money, and thinks she will lose it if he marries Miss Lester. To remove this obstacle, she comes down to Barnstead and kills the girl."
"Bosh!" said Lovel, rudely. "If she had killed Milly she would not have left the clue of the rainbow feather, whereby she could be traced. You can strike Catinka out of your list also, Mr. Inspector."
"Certainly," replied Drek, obligingly. "Catinka is innocent, although, as you see, the evidence against her is very strong. Now we come to you, Mr. Lovel."
"Oh," said that young man, ironically, "and how do you intend to prove my guilt?"
"I am not presuming your guilt," said the inspector. "I merely intend to state the evidence against you."
"I am all attention," said Lovel.
"Well, sir, to put it briefly, you love this girl; you are with her at the hour of the murder; you set up a false alibi; you do everything to bring suspicion of guilt on yourself."
"But I am innocent."
"We will presume so for the moment," replied the inspector, coolly; "but you must know, Mr. Lovel, that beyond your bare word we have no proof that; you did not kill the girl."
"Drek!" Lovel jumped to his feet with almost a shriek. "You don't say that I killed Milly?"
"Going by the evidence----"
"Hang the evidence! Isn't it stronger against Herne and Chaskin? Did you find my handkerchief, bloodstained? Did you discover a pistol with my name on it?"
"No; but some lawyers might say that you stole the pistol out of Chaskin's room to inculpate him in a projected crime; also, that you took Herne's handkerchief out of his pocket when he was in a trance, and dropped it into the blood to get evidence against him. Oh, I don't say that you are guilty, Mr. Lovel, but you must admit that the evidence is strong. You think that Mr. Chaskin killed the girl; Mexton here inclines to think that Mr. Herne is guilty; but the evidence against the two is no stronger than that against you. A lawyer could build up a powerful----"
"Stop! stop!" cried Lovel, sitting down. "Stop! You will make me believe that I killed the poor girl after all!"