"You see," said Drek, complacently, "that it is quite easy to get up a case against you, Mr. Lovel; yet I feel convinced from your late actions that you are innocent. Therefore you will understand that I am inclined to doubt even the strong evidence you have obtained against Mr. Chaskin. He may be as guiltless as you are. The evidence against Herne is as strong; yet you think his hands are clean of blood. Why, then, should you suspect Chaskin so much?"
"He refused to explain the loss of the pistol."
"So far as that goes, he refused because he did not think either you or Mexton had any right to examine him. But if a person like myself, having authority----"
"Go and see him, Drek, and find out if he will confess to you!" said Paul, eagerly.
"No; I shall take no steps in the matter until this trial of Dr. Lester's is concluded."
"And in the meantime Chaskin will run away," said Lovel, bitterly.
"I don't think so," rejoined the inspector, nettled by the sneering tone of the young man, which cast a reflection on his judgment. "The conduct of Mr. Chaskin does not augur that he intends to fly; and if he did, I would take means to prevent his flight."
"You will have him watched?"
"I will have both him and Herne watched."
"And what about Mother Jimboy, who is so important a witness in this case?" said Paul, suddenly; "she is seriously ill, and being so old it is not improbable that she may die at any moment."
"True," said Drek, thoughtfully. "You think of everything, Mexton. I'll have her deposition taken as soon as I learn that she is in danger. At the present moment Dr. Lester, who is in attendance on her, assures me that the chances of recovery are in her favour. Oh, you may trust me," concluded the inspector, rising, "I'll do my best to bring the assassin of Miss Lester to justice."
"Chaskin!" cried Lucas, emphatically.
"Or yourself, or Herne," retorted Drek, putting on his hat. "Don't forget my argument about the evidence, Mr. Lovel. Take my advice, and keep quiet until Lester is discharged; then we shall see what is to be done."
"Arrest me, I suppose!"
"Sir!" cried Drek, with indignation, "I am this much of an Arab, that did I intend to be your enemy, and act so traitorous a part, I should not have broken bread with you; in other words, I should have declined your whisky-and-soda and the very excellent cigar which I have just smoked."
"I beg your pardon, Drek; I take back my words. Good-day."
"Good-day, Mr. Lovel; good-day, Mr. Mexton. At present we know not what is before us," and Inspector Drek left the room with an air of great dignity. When the door was closed after him Lovel turned towards his friend.
"What do you think of the position now?" he asked.
"I think that we had better wait and see the outcome of Lester's trial."
"Bah! I know the outcome! He will be acquitted."
"Well," said Paul, who was tired of the discussion, "let us wait till he is acquitted, and then renew our search for the assassin."
"I say Chaskin--he is the assassin!"
"And I say, Herne. Time and opportunity will be needed to prove which of us is in the right," said Paul; after which the conversation concluded, and each of the young men went his different way. With their opinions so diametrically opposed to one another, they felt that continued companionship might result in a quarrel; and at the present stage of their acquaintance, and seeing that they were mutually interested in bringing to justice the assassin of Milly Lester, they were unwilling that a rupture should take place. Hence, they very wisely parted.
During the following week there was great excitement in Marborough. The Assizes were being held, and the Barnstead crime occupied the most prominent place in the list of cases which had been set down for trial. It was rumored that Lester was innocent, but at Marborough the precise way in which his innocence was to be proved was not known. In Barnstead itself, thanks to Miss Clyde and the indefatigable Mrs. Drass, the inhabitants were better informed, and looked upon the coming trial as a mere farce for the discharging of Dr. Lester. But there was a new source of excitement in the village, as it was reported that Mr. Inspector Drek had found the assassin, and would have him condemned on the most irrefutable evidence. But the name of the accused was not given, and many were the surmises as to who the criminal might prove to be. Thanks to the discretion of Paul, Lovel, and Drek, not a word was breathed hinting that Mr. Chaskin had anything to do with the matter.
In the meantime the illness of Mother Jimboy took a bad turn, and it was evident that her days were numbered. Drek visited her, and she held to the story of Chaskin's guilt, but point blank refused to make any sworn deposition to that effect. Her obstinacy on this point led the inspector to believe that the old woman was lying, but for what purpose he could not conceive. Drek did all he could to force her to sign a confession, but in vain, and the day for Lester's trial arrived without the accomplishment of this object. Nevertheless Paul Mexton haunted the tent of the gipsy and loudly declared that he would not leave until she was dead or had signed a confession. So obstinate was he on this point that not even the trial could seduce him into Marborough, and the "Tory Times" had to employ another reporter in his place. For this kindness on the part of the editor, Mexton promised that the confession of Mother Jimboy should be published in that paper; when the country would be astonished. Paul did not know at the time how truly he spoke.
On the second day of the Assizes the trial of Dr. Lester came on. The court was crowded, and Iris, dressed in mourning, with a heavy veil over her face, was present, under the charge of Mrs. Mexton. She would rather have stayed away, but having been subpoenaed as a witness on behalf of the Crown, she was obliged to attend. Miss Clyde was also present, and with her Mrs. Drass. Indeed, the court was full, principally of Barnstead folk, who thought that they had a right to the best seats on account of the murder having taken place in their village. Lovel came in shortly before the trial began, and while standing in the crowd--for he did not wish to make himself prominent--he felt a light touch on his arm, and was surprised on turning to find himself face to face with the Polish violinist. She looked paler than usual, and more than a trifle anxious; but Lovel was quite unable to account for these signs of emotion.
"Catinka!" he said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"I came down to see the trial," she replied. "I saw the body of the poor girl, and I desire to behold the wicked murder man."
"You won't see him here, then. No one knows who killed Miss Lester."
"But this doctor----"
"Is innocent," interrupted Lovel. "The trial is a mere farce. When Dr. Lester is discharged we must look for the real assassin. Can you help us?"
"I, my dear?" Catinka shrugged her shoulders. "No; I told to that good Mexton all that I know. Where is he?"
"At Barnstead--on business."
"And my good friend, Mr. Herne?"
"Yonder he is, standing beside that clergyman."
"The priest? And who is that priest?"
"Mr. Chaskin, the Vicar of Barnstead."
"He is a ver' handsome man," said Catinka, calmly. "Hush, Mistar Lovel; we will listen to what they say. Lester is in his place, and his lawyer talks."
"No, no; that is counsel for the Crown."
"Ah; but, my friend, it is no matter, no matter at all."
To this speech Lovel made no reply, as he was listening intently to the opening speech of the counsel for the Crown. This barrister--an eminent man in his profession--set forth all the circumstances of the crime, detailing the supposed movements of the prisoner on the night of the murder, and ended with an allusion to the witnesses he proposed to call in order to prove his guilt. Then one by one those who had appeared at the inquest, including Lovel and Iris, gave their evidence, which, as may be guessed, incriminated Lester in a very decided fashion. To the majority of the spectators, ignorant of what had been discovered since the inquest, it seemed probable that Lester was guilty, that he would be convicted, sentenced, and ultimately hanged.
Thinking thus, those present in the court were astonished to see how serene was the demeanour of the prisoner. Dr. Lester, dressed in mourning for his child--a fact which the female portion of the audience resented as hypocrisy--stood quite composed in the dock, and paid the greatest attention to the accusations which were leveled against him. Only once did he wince, and that was when allusion was made to his drunken habits and frequent states of dangerous frenzy induced by intoxication. Otherwise he was unmoved.
"You say this one not wicked!" whispered Catinka to Lovel, who had returned to his seat after giving his evidence. "I think they all say he kill that poor daughter."
"Wait till you hear both sides of the question," replied Lovel, in the same low tones; "the doctor has yet to make his defence."
Counsel for the accused made a very short speech. He stated that the prisoner had been drunk on the night and at the time of the murder; that he had taken a loaded pistol, and had gone out in search of Mr. Lovel at half-past eight o'clock. After leaving the house, he recollected no more until he returned home at dawn; and the Crown relied on this state of forgetfulness, caused by intoxication, to prove the prisoner's guilt. Under the circumstances it indeed was hard to tell if the prisoner had not shot the deceased in mistake for Mr. Lovel; but fortunately, in the interests of justice, he, the counsel for the accused, could produce, and intended to produce, a lady of well-known veracity, who could prove that the man in the dock was entirely innocent, and had not committed the crime alleged against him. Counsel stated also that he had only one witness, a lady, and that lady Miss Clyde, but that she would be able to refute all the evidence brought against the prisoner by the prosecution. As the jury now understood what he proposed to do, he, counsel for the defense, would call Selina Clyde.
Miss Clyde at once stepped into the witness-box, and was duly sworn. She gave in detail the evidence of her taking the pistol off Lester, and related almost in the same words the story which she had told to Mexton. Counsel for the Crown cross-examined her severely, but nothing could shake her testimony; and when she left the witness-box the tide had turned in favour of Lester, and all present believed him to be guiltless. The summing up of the judge inclined towards this view; and the jury, without leaving the box--so great was the impression produced by Miss Clyde's evidence--pronounced the prisoner innocent. A verdict of not guilty was given; the judge discharged the doctor, and Lester stepped down from the box a free man, amid the applause of the court.
"So he did not kill after all?" said Catinka, who looked rather disappointed with the verdict.
"No," replied Lovel coldly. "You have heard the evidence; Lester is innocent."
"And who is guilty?"
"I don't know."
Catinka laughed in a scoffing manner. "I thought you would have known by this time," she observed with a shrug.
"Do you know?" demanded Lovel sharply.
"I do. I was told by the man himself."
"The man himself! Who is he?"
"Wait; you will hear in a few minutes."
"In this court?"
"Yes. See!" Catinka stretched out her arm. "Mr. Herne knows who killed the poor lady; see, my dear, he rises to tell the name."
And indeed Herne, in spite of an attempt on the part of Chaskin to prevent him, was on his feet, demanding permission to speak. Before the judge could retire, before the lawyers could rise from the table, before the jury could leave the box, or a single person the court, Herne, without waiting for the permission he had asked for, was making a speech. His face was flushed with excitement, his eyes flashed, and he spoke rapidly, clearly, and to the point. His words solved the problem of Milly's death, and they were few.
"My lord," he cried, "and you, gentlemen of the jury, you have liberated one man as guiltless of the death of my promised wife; now I require you to order the arrest of another man--of the man who came by stealth and killed her, to save her soul from ill. You wish to know who killed Millicent Lester. Here is the man!" Herne struck himself on the breast. "I killed her! I saved her soul! I--I--I!"
After this extraordinary outbreak of Herne's, in which he accused himself of Milly's murder, Chaskin led him away, and the court was adjourned till next day. The situation of a man accusing himself thus was so utterly without precedent that the presiding judge did not know how to act. Without sifting the matter and finding why Herne accused himself so publicly, he did not want to take upon himself the responsibility of ordering his arrest. Moreover, the judge, who knew somewhat of Herne's eccentricities, was privately of the opinion that the man was not quite right in his mind. The tragic death of his future wife had evidently disturbed the balance of his brain, and had led him in a frenzy of horror and self-humiliation to accuse himself publicly of a crime he had not committed. On these grounds, reasonable enough, Herne was permitted to go free, until the truth of his extraordinary confession could be proved.
Nevertheless, the judge, while thus cautious and lenient, intimated that it was his opinion that the police should personally see after Herne. If he were guilty, he should be arrested forthwith, if insane, he was not fit to be at large. Acting upon this advice, Inspector Drek followed Herne and Chaskin to their hotel, and requested an interview. In response to his inquiry the Vicar presented himself.
"You cannot see Mr. Herne at present," he said gravely; "he is much excited; but I have persuaded him to lie down. Is it your intention to arrest him, Mr. Drek?"
"If I see reason to adopt so extreme a course," replied Drek. "What is your opinion of this confession, sir?"
"I don't believe one word of it."
"You think, then, that Mr. Herne is innocent?"
"Most decidedly," returned Chaskin. "He is as guiltless as I am."
"Is that a good example?" said Drek with some dryness. "You know that Mrs. Jimboy accuses you as the author of the crime, on the evidence of the pistol."
"I do not wonder at her belief," answered Chaskin quietly; "the pistol is mine; it has my name on the butt, and it was found on the spot where the poor girl's body was discovered by me. Men have been hanged on less evidence, Mr. Drek."
"No doubt; but they have made some attempt to defend themselves," retorted the inspector. "You, sir, as I understand from Messrs. Lovel and Mexton, decline to say if you are innocent or guilty."
"I did decline," was the Vicar's reply, "for the sake of my poor friend; but----"
"Ah!" cried Drek, sharply, "then you were afraid lest he should be arrested; you refused to speak, so as to screen him?"
"I did," said Chaskin simply. "You must remember, sir, that Mr. Herne is my dearest friend, and I would do much to save him from the consequences of his own folly."
"What folly? The public confession?"
"Yes--a public confession which is false?"
"If it is false, why should Mr. Herne make it? A man does not put his neck in danger for nothing."
"Are you so sure of that, Mr. Drek? I have heard of many men giving themselves up for crimes of which they were guiltless."
"Uneducated men."
"Yes, and men of education also. I tell you, Mr. Drek, that my friend did not fire that shot."
"Then who did? Yourself?"
"No; I am innocent, as I can say now freely. I refused to speak because I thought that my speaking might get Herne into trouble. Now that he has made a public statement--not a confession, mind you--accusing himself of a crime which he did not commit, I think it my duty to tell you what I know. Sit down, please, Mr. Drek, and listen to what I have to say."
Drek did so, in some perplexity, for he did not know what the Vicar could tell him likely to nullify Herne's statement. Only a knowledge of the name of the real assassin could prove Herne's innocence, and the Vicar confessed that he was ignorant of such name. However, the case had become so complicated that Drek was thankful for any story, or confession, or statement, or declaration likely to throw light on its darkness. Therefore he forebore to speak, and with his keen eyes fixed upon Chaskin, he waited patiently to hear what the Vicar had to say. At the present moment Drek's mind was in a state of confusion.
"When Messrs. Mexton and Lovel came to see me last week," explained Chaskin, "I had just parted from my friend. He had lately returned from London, where he had seen a lady called Catinka Poluski."
"I know," said Drek, with a nod; "the violinist. Mexton told me about her."
"Well, it appears that she was in the lane on the night of the murder."
"I know that also, Mr. Chaskin. She saw the corpse, and to inculpate Mr. Herne, so as to get a hold on him for his money, she left a rainbow feather on the spot. Herne knew by that of her presence, and went up to see her. Well, sir, and what did she say?"
"She stated that she saw Herne watching Miss Lester and Lovel; also that he fired a pistol and killed the girl; then he fled."
"Do you believe that, Mr. Chaskin?"
"No," replied the Vicar decidedly, "because when Herne saw the pair he was thrown into such a state of emotion that he fell into a trance. When he recovered the girl was dead, and the pistol was gone."
"Lovel told me about the trance," said Drek thoughtfully. "But about this pistol. It is yours, I believe?"
"Yes. And on that assumption Mr. Lovel accused me of the crime. I said nothing in order to screen my friend; but I can tell you now, Mr. Drek. Herne took that pistol out of the case in my study three months ago."
"For what reason?"
"Well, you know Herne is philanthropic, and has many acquaintances amid humble people; also amid Socialistic societies. One of these societies asked him for money, which he refused to give, as he did not approve of the purposes for which the society had been founded. In a rage--for the members had revealed their secrets to Herne--they threatened to kill him. He told me of this, and laughed at their threats; but I, knowing the class of reckless men he had to deal with, advised him to go armed. I gave him that pistol myself."
"And he had it with him on the night of the murder?"
"Yes, Mr. Drek," added the Vicar after a pause. "I do not mind telling you that the mind of my friend is not properly balanced. He had an idea that Milly Lester was lost if she did not marry him; and hearing of her entanglement with Lovel, he came down here with the firm intention of killing them both. This he confessed to me; he wished to save Miss Lester's soul at the expense of her body, and kill Lovel for tempting her away from him. With the pistol he went to the Winding Lane to kill the pair, and he would have done so but for his trance."
"H'm! you are rather a Devil's Advocate, Mr. Chaskin!" said Drek, doubtfully; "your testimony, so far as I can see, is rather calculated to harm your friend than to do him good."
"I must tell the truth at all costs," said Chaskin sadly; "my only hope of saving my poor, foolish friend is to be honest and outspoken. Catinka lies, because she wishes to terrorise Herne into giving her money. But she does not know his nature. As soon as he heard from her that he had fired the pistol, he resolved to denounce himself before the court at the trial of Dr. Lester. Catinka came down to see if he would carry out his intention, for I saw her in the court, standing by Lucas Lovel. Well, he accused himself, as you know, but he is guiltless, I am certain."
"But if he went there to kill the girl, and took the pistol to commit the crime, he must have carried out his intention."
"No, he intended to do so, but God mercifully stayed his hand. He fell into a trance, and when in such a condition he can do nothing. I believe that the assassin saw him stiff and rigid in his trance, and took the revolver out of his hand to kill the girl. The deed done, the assassin fled, and Herne came out of his cataleptic state to find the dead body of the girl. At first he thought Lovel had acted thus; but when Catinka told him that she had seen him fire the pistol himself he withdrew his accusation."
"H'm! it might be as you say, sir, but----"
"Chaskin! Frank! where are you?"
"There is Herne!" said the Vicar rising rapidly. "In his present state of mind he must not see you. I'll keep him in the bedroom."
He walked rapidly towards the door of the inner room; but before he could enter it was flung violently open, and Herne, in a terrible state of excitement, threw himself into the arms of his friend.
"Frank! Frank!" he gasped, "I Have been dreaming; the devils came in my dream to drag me down for the sin on my soul. I killed Milly, and they want my soul!"
"My dear Darcy, you did not kill Milly," said Chaskin, soothing the distraught man as he would a child. "You are innocent."
"No, no; I am guilty! guilty! There is blood on my hands! Yet I killed her to save her soul. God knows I wanted to save her from sin. I--I--ah! what!"--his gaze suddenly fell on Drek--"are you there, bloodhound of the law? Do you come to take me to gaol? Do so, do so; I fear no punishment of man, for God has laid the burden of Cain upon me."
"I have not come to arrest you, Mr. Herne," said Drek, pitying the nervous agitation of the man. "I believe you to be innocent."
"Then you believe wrongly," retorted Herne, recovering himself a trifle. "I came down on that night from London in disguise to kill Lovel and Milly--to punish the first and save the second. I took Chaskin's pistol with me--he will tell you so--and I shot my poor darling."
"You did nothing of the sort!" insisted Chaskin. "Before you could raise the pistol you fell into one of your trances. God forgive you, my poor friend, for on that night I know that murder was in your heart. Still, in His mercy He took away your power of action, and you did not commit the crime."
"Catinka says that I did."
"Blackmail!" said Drek contemptuously. "She thought you would be frightened into parting with money to her society; but by a public confession you have taken the game out of her hands. Don't you believe that young woman, Mr. Herne; she's a liar."
"I can't believe it!" exclaimed the unhappy man, clasping his hands. "When I fell into my trance, Milly was alive; when I came out of it she was dead. Also, you found my handkerchief stained with blood; I dropped that while bending over her. I was there on the spot----"
"And the pistol was gone!" said Chaskin--"don't forget that."
"So I say," cried Herne; "and I say also that I was in a trance. But how do you know that I am not lying?"
"For the very good reason that Lovel saw you in the trance," said Drek.
"Did he see me fire the shot?"
"No; he saw no one fire the shot, but he heard it. When the girl fell dead he rushed round to see who was the assassin, but the dastard had fled. Then, afraid lest he should be arrested for the murder, he went away to Gran Jimboy's tent, and persuaded her to swear that he had been there all the evening."
"Did he leave me still in the trance?"
"Yes; you were as still as stone. When did you wake up?"
Herne passed his hand over his forehead. "I don't know," he said in a faltering voice. "When I came to myself I found Milly's dead body; and then, recognising my own danger, I fled also, and got my horse. I rode back to Marborough, and returned to London; but I swear that I did not think I killed the girl, else I would have given myself up. I did not know until Catinka told me of my sin."
"She told a lie, Mr. Herne," said Drek with a nod. "I told you her reason before: blackmail."
The squire, still convinced of his guilt, was about to begin his protestations anew, when the door opened and Paul Mexton, breathless with haste, rushed in, waving a paper.
"Chaskin, Herne! I beg your pardon," he cried, "but I was told at the police office that Drek was here, and I couldn't wait there to see him. I had to come on at once."
"What is the matter?" asked the inspector, rising.
"Mother Jimboy is dead!"
"Dead!" echoed Chaskin, starting. "And her confession?"
"Here it is, written down by me, signed by her, and attested with due legality by two witnesses of full age and intelligence."
"Does she say who killed Miss Lester?" asked Drek, with a glance at Chaskin.
"Yes, the name of the guilty person is here. Who do you think killed poor Milly?"
"I did--I did!" cried Herne, beating his breast.
"You!" cried Paul, astonished. "Nothing of the sort! The wretch who killed Milly was none other than Mother Jimboy herself."
The three men were amazed at this statement, so different from what they expected, and looked at Paul with incredulity. Herne was the first to recover his presence of mind, and, carried away by his feelings, fell on his knees with clasped hands in a frenzy of relief and gratitude.
"O God!" he cried with a broken voice, "I thank Thee that Thou hast removed this doubt from my mind, this sin from my soul. I am innocent of this crime."
"I knew you were," said Chaskin, laying a kind hand on his friend's shoulder. "Did I not tell you so? Rise, Darcy, and let us hear the particulars. No doubt Mr. Mexton can tell us how the crime was committed."
"Certainly," said Paul, who had thrown himself into a chair. "But I have no breath left to tell you the details. They are all in the confession which Drek holds in his hand."
"Read the confession, Mr. Drek," said the Vicar.
The inspector, who was rapidly glancing over the paper, nodded in an absent manner, being taken up with what he was reading. His face expressed amazement, and when he came to the end of the confession he looked round at the assembled company with an uneasy smile. Evidently he had fallen several degrees in his own estimation.
"She did it, sure enough;" he said, in a crestfallen manner; "but who would have suspected that harmless old woman? I put the blame on to everyone but her; and she must have chuckled at the mistakes I made. Well, well; even detectives are mortal, and liable to err; it is only in novels that they never go wrong. But then," added Drek, with sarcasm, "the detective of a novel knows as much as the author who writes about him."
"What was the motive for the crime?" asked Herne, abruptly; he was not interested in the inspector's feelings.
"Love of her grandson."
"Her grandson!" echoed Chaskin. "I did not know she had one!"
"Yes; Lucas Lovel is her grandson."
"Ah!" said Herne, thoughtfully; "I am not surprised. Lovel told me that he was half a gipsy; but I did not know he was so near of kin to Mother Jimboy. Why did he not admit the relationship?"
"He did--to me," said Paul, "but he did not think it necessary to make the announcement public. I don't blame him. Gran Jimboy was hardly a relative to be proud of."
"I wonder if Lovel knew that his grandmother was guilty," said Chaskin, doubtfully.
"No, sir; had he thought so he would not have accused you," cried Drek, with energy. "Besides," he continued, tapping the paper, "in this confession she declares that she told no one."
"Let me hear the details," said Herne; and this request being echoed by Chaskin--for Paul, of course, was already acquainted with the contents of the document--Drek read out the confession of Mrs. Jimboy. The statement ran as follows:
"My name is Nance Jimboy, but I was born a Lovel. My son was a musician, and, tired of gipsy life, he went among the Gentiles, with whom he became famous. He married a Gorgio woman against my wish, and cut himself off from the gentle Romany. His rani died in giving birth to a son--Lucas Lovel--for his father took my maiden name when he turned to the Gentiles. Then my son perished, and the boy was brought up by a maiden aunt. I knew all about his life, and watched his progress, as he was my only grandson. He became a painter, and wandered abroad for many years. When he returned he came down to Barnstead, and fell in love with the beautiful girl who was to marry Squire Herne. I say she was beautiful, but she had a bad heart, and would have ruined my grandson. For Squire Herne I cared nothing, but I thought a great deal of Lucas: bone of my bone he is, and flesh of my flesh. I heard of his return, of his living in Barnstead, and of his love for that wicked witch. I came to watch over him; and at first I tried to part him from Miss Lester by writing to Squire Herne of her stolen meetings with my grandson. I thought that in his rage he might kill her, and so she would be removed from the path of Lucas."
"The wicked woman!" cried Chaskin, aghast at this cool and cynical statement.
"It is true, it is true!" groaned Herne, remorsefully. "I would have killed her on that night, but that the Lord stayed my hand. That gipsy knew me better than I did myself."
"Did you know that she wrote the letters?" asked Paul.
"I did; they were not signed, but for certain reasons, which I need not explain, I fancied that Mrs. Jimboy was my correspondent. I taxed her with the writing of them, and she admitted the fact. But I daresay she tells all this in her confession."
"No," replied Paul, shaking his head. "However, she tells a good deal. Go on, Drek."
"My object in getting rid of Miss Lester," said Drek, reading from the document, "was to let Lucas make a good marriage. I knew that he was loved by Miss Clyde, of Clyde's Farm, a rich lady who was devoted to him. Lucas is not clever enough to make money for himself, and as he had very little I wanted him to place himself beyond the reach of poverty by wedding with Miss Clyde. I urged him to do so; but, not knowing that I was his grandmother, he refused to speak with me on the subject. He continued to meet Miss Lester, until, by pretending to read her hand, I gave her a friendly warning of what she might expect if she continued her evil ways with Lucas."
"That was the prophecy on the day before the murder," said Paul grimly. "I knew all Mother Jimboy's palmistry was humbug."
"Miss Lester laughed at my warning; so when she left Lucas I saw him again, and revealed our relationship; also I urged him for his own sake to give up his foolish fancy for the doctor's daughter and marry Miss Clyde. He was much astonished to learn that he was my grandson, but refused to leave Miss Lester or to marry the other lady. Also, he told me that he had fancied, from certain words let fall by his aunt--a foolish woman--that he was partly a gipsy, and had said as much to a lady called Catinka, who in her turn told Squire Herne. Well, I could not induce Lucas to give over his folly, but when he told me that he intended to meet Miss Lester in the Winding Lane on the next night, I wrote to Squire Herne in London and warned him of the meeting."
"How did she know your address, Herne?" asked Chaskin.
"I told it to her, so that she might advise me of Milly's behaviour with Lovel."
"That was unworthy of you," said the Vicar coldly; "no English gentleman should condescend to employ a spy."
"I know, I know!" cried Herne with an ashamed look; "but let it pass. Go on, Drek."
The inspector continued to read: "The next evening, after eight o'clock, I went to the Winding Lane to see what would occur. I did not know if Squire Herne would come down in answer to my letter, but I knew that if he did he would certainly kill the girl. I had heard his determination to do so."
"I wished to save her soul," groaned the Squire; "now I see that I was wrong."
"In the Winding Lane, close by the stile," read Drek rapidly, "I saw Miss Lester and Lucas talking together. I was hidden in the bushes near them. Shortly afterwards Squire Herne, wrapped in a heavy cloak, stole through the wood. I saw him pause a short distance away from me. I could have almost touched him. He had a pistol in his hand. I thought he was going to shoot the girl, and I was glad----"
"Horrible! horrible!" cried Chaskin, with a pale face.
"I was glad because I wished her out of the way, so that Lucas could marry Miss Clyde. But Squire Herne did not shoot, although, as I thought, he had stood up to do so. I crept near him, and found that he was in a trance, and quite incapable of motion. I suppose rage at the sight of Lucas and Miss Lester threw him into the trance. The pistol had fallen from his hand and lay on the grass. I seized it, for I was angered to think that my plot to rid myself of the girl by the hand of Squire Herne should fail. I waited for a moment, and then raised the pistol and fired. Miss Lester fell with a cry, and I saw Lucas bending over her. Then I put the pistol in my pocket, and crept away as quickly as I could. When I got to the borders of the wood I ran across the common and back to my tent. I thought that I was safe, as the blame would be laid on Squire Herne. Also, that he might think himself that he had killed the girl while in his trance."
"As I did," said Herne with a sigh.
"Shortly afterwards Lucas came to my tent, and I promised to save him by swearing to a lie at the inquest. I did so; but I did not tell him that I had killed the girl. Afterwards, when I heard that he was likely to be accused, I told Mr. Mexton that the Vicar had killed Miss Lester. When I saw Mr. Chaskin it was before the murder was committed, and he was going away from the Winding Lane. I accused him only to save Lucas, and because his name was on the pistol."
"I have had a fortunate escape," said Chaskin, thankfully. "What a wicked old woman."
Drek finished the manuscript. "I would not have confessed the truth now," were Mrs. Jimboy's final words, "but I am dying. It will do me no good to hurt Mr. Chaskin, and I can save Lucas as well by confessing myself the criminal. I killed Miss Lester, and everybody else accused of the crime is innocent. I am dying, and I ask everybody's pardon. I am a wicked woman, and I did a wicked deed, but it was to benefit my grandson. Let Lucas marry Miss Clyde, so that I shall not have sinned for nothing. I ask no more."
This document was signed in a shaky manner by the old gipsy, and was witnessed by Paul Mexton and another man. It exonerated all persons from the chance of being accused, and revealed plainly the name of the assassin--Mother Jimboy--and the reason for the assassination--her love for Lucas Lovel.
"Well," said Paul, when Drek had finished reading the confession, and had put it in his pocket to carry it to the proper quarter, "the mystery is solved at last; Milly's murderer is known, and has escaped the reward of her evil deed."
"She has gone before the court of God," said Chaskin solemnly.
"May He have mercy on her sin," sighed Herne; after which there was nothing more to be said, and the four men parted--the Squire and Chaskin to Barnstead, and Paul, with Drek, to lay the confession of Mother Jimboy, deceased, before the magistrates.
* * * * * *
And here, with the discovery of Milly's assassin, the main interest of the tale, such as it is, comes to an end. But those who have been interested in this drama of a provincial town may desire to know how the other characters fared when the culminating point of the tragedy with which they were concerned was reached. The play is played out, the actors leave the stage; and now remains the question: What became of them?
Well, Paul Mexton ended in marrying Iris Link, and in becoming the sub-editor of the "Tory Times." He still lives at Marborough, and has not yet realised his desire to dwell in London; but that ambition may be accomplished when he writes his great book. Iris, who is devoted to her husband, and is happier than ever she was in her life, believes in the book; also that Paul will become a celebrated author. At present, however, Paul's ambition is bounded by the hope that he may become the editor of his paper. And as these two are content and happy in their own small way, we may leave them.
Miss Clyde, as may be guessed, married Lucas, for she pursued him with such vigor that she absolutely forced him to become her husband. He is happier than he deserves to be, for both Mrs. Lovel and Mrs. Drass adore him, and he leads a fairly contented life; all the same, he often grows tired of such sober bliss, and wishes to break away. As yet he has not succeeded, as his wife keeps too close a watch on him. Lucas has not escaped punishment for his follies, for his life of tranquility bores him to distraction.
Dr. Lester never touched drink again--that is, strong drink--for the lesson taught to him by Miss Clyde was severe, but efficacious. He is getting together a good practice, and on the whole, is quite a reformed character. Francis Chaskin is still the Vicar of Barnstead, and is still adored by his parishioners--particularly the female portion. So much for doctor and clergyman.
As to Herne, he laid flowers on Milly's grave for two months, then ceased to visit the cemetery at all, and went up to London. There he met again with Catinka, and, unmindful of her treachery, he suffered himself to be beguiled. She now uses his money to further her plots against the Czar and to free Poland. Chaskin cannot persuade Herne to leave her; so, what with funds, and ambitions, and reckless members, there may be trouble expected from the Society of the Rainbow Feather.