On hearing from Tolomeo that Beryl was the guilty person, Durham was not so surprised as he might have been. He had always suspected that Julius was in some way connected with the crime, although he had not thought him personally guilty. But the story of Guiseppe, and the production of the handkerchief marked with Beryl's name seemed to put the matter beyond doubt. Durham remembered how Conniston had always said that when the lost handkerchief was found the assassin would be identified. Apparently his prophecy had come true. Here was the handkerchief, so fortunately picked up by Tolomeo, and it belonged to Julius. Also Julius, according to the Italian, had entered the house in Crimea Square about the time the murder was supposed to have been committed.
"And there's no doubt that Beryl sent Jerry for Bernard, so that he might be brought to the spot for accusation," thought the lawyer when Tolomeo had gone. "The whole thing was a plant. I expect he arranged to go to the Curtain Theatre so as to have analibi. But the theatre is near Crimea Square and it would be easy for Beryl to slip round between the acts. Humph! Evidently he did kill the old man—this handkerchief is proof enough, to say nothing of Tolomeo's evidence. What's to be done next?"
The question was answered next day while Durhamwas still puzzling over the matter. Julius himself made his appearance, as meek-looking and mild as ever. The lawyer received him coldly and was on his guard. It was difficult to know why Beryl should pay a visit to an avowed enemy. But Julius soon explained the reason for his call.
"I have something extremely private to say to you, Mr. Durham," he remarked in a confidential way, and after assuring himself ostentatiously that the door was closed.
"I am not your legal adviser," said Durham, quickly.
"You are Bernard's."
"IwasBernard's, you mean."
"Does that intimate that you have quarrelled with Bernard?"
"You forget," said the solicitor, looking at him sharply. "Bernard is supposed to be dead."
"I don't think you ever believed that," said Beryl, smiling.
"That has nothing to do with you."
"Oh yes, it has. See here, Durham, I wrote to Miss Malleson some time ago, stating that I had seen Bernard in London."
"So I understand," said Durham, calmly. "Why did you not stop him?"
"I was not quick enough. He walked on the other side of the street, and before I could cross over, which was difficult on account of the traffic, Bernard disappeared. Then I was not quite sure if he really was alive. Now I am."
"Indeed?" said Durham, with a qualm, for he fancied Julius might have learned of Gore's whereabouts.
"Yes! That young Moon wrote a letter to me saying that Bernard had come to the Bower, starving and in rags."
It was on the tip of Durham's tongue to say that no doubt Jerry had been placed as a spy at the Bower, but he suppressed this remark. He firmly believed that Julius was a murderer, but as yet he saw some difficulty in bringing the crime home to him. He thought it would be best to give the man rope enough to hang himself. In other words, to listen quietly to what he had to say and act accordingly. Durham did not like having anything to do with such a scoundrel, but in the interests of Gore he had to smother all feelings save strictly professional ones. He therefore confined himself to silence, and to looking inquiringly at Beryl.
"You don't seem surprised," said Julius, annoyed.
"Because I can hardy believe your statement. Jerry may be making a mistake."
"Oh no. I went down on the receipt of his letter, and insisted on seeing my cousin. Miss Plantagenet—as I knew she would,—denied that he was there; but afterwards, when I threatened to bring the police on to the scene, she gave way and let me see Bernard."
"You are sure, then, that Bernard committed the crime?"
"Wait one moment, Mr. Durham," said Beryl, wagging his finger in a most irritating way. "Let us understand one another clearly. You know, and you have known for some time, that Bernard was at the Bower?"
"I am not bound to answer that question," said the lawyer, stiffly.
"Bernard answered it for you. He told me you had been to see him, and that in spite of the change in his looks you knew who he was."
Durham drew figures on his blotting-paper. He wondered if Julius really believed the man at the Bower to be Bernard Gore, or if he was trying to learn what he—Durham—thought himself. After some reflection the lawyer resolved to accept Michael as the man in question. Julius could not possibly know that the real Bernard was alive, and therefore it would be as wise to keep the knowledge from him until such time as light would come to show Durham how to move. "Yes," he said at length, throwing down his pen and taking up a position on the hearth-rug. "I was informed by Miss Plantagenet that Bernard had sought refuge with her, and I went down to see him."
"Why did you not tell me?" asked Julius, sharply.
Durham shrugged his shoulders. "By your own showing, seeing you wished to call in the police, you are not a friend to Bernard," he said. "Why should I have summoned you? To assist you to arrest him?"
"I do not wish him to be arrested," said Julius, mildly. "On the contrary, I wish the poor fellow to die in peace."
"To die—what do you mean?"
"What I say, Mr. Durham. Payne tells me that Bernard has been so exhausted by his wandering when in hiding, that he cannot recover. His death is only a question of days. Mind you"—Julius wagged his finger again—"I really believe he killed Sir Simon, but as he is dying, why, I shall do nothing. I am not a vindictive man. Besides," added Julius, looking sideways at the lawyer, "Bernard and I are friends now. I am also friendly with Miss Malleson."
"Indeed! And how did you bring that about?"
"By acting straightforward and honorably, as Ialways do," said the meek Julius. "Miss Malleson acknowledged to me that Bernard was sadly changed by the hardships he had undergone. All the same she recognized him. Unfortunately, the poor fellow is too feeble to tell her of the perils he underwent, so she has not had an opportunity of talking much to him."
It struck Durham from this speech that Julius was doubtful of the identity of Bernard with the man at the Bower. Else why should he make this remark about Alice not having had time to question the sick man, seeing that Alice alone could prove if he were Bernard or not? Durham was perplexed, and wondered what Julius was driving at, and how much he knew. A clue came with the next words.
"And being friends with Bernard," went on Beryl, "he is sorry that we quarrelled. Feeling that he is not long for this world he wants to make his will in my favor."
Durham nearly uttered an exclamation, for all of a sudden the whole rascally business became clear. Julius knew that the man at the Bower was Michael, and he was prepared to extract from him a forged will, in the hope that the real Bernard was dead. Having made use of Michael to bring about the accusation of Gore, he now used him to the very last to get the money. However, Durham kept his temper under, and pretended to believe that Julius was speaking in all good faith. He simply bowed his head. Every word that Julius said was weaving a rope for his own neck.
"Are you surprised then at my calling?" said Julius, anxiously.
"No," said Durham, returning to his seat. "If Gore wishes to make a will, I suppose I am the man to draw it up. I must go down and receive his instructions."
"I have them with me," said Julius, bringing out a sealed letter.
Durham, inwardly boiling at this rascality, but outwardly calm, opened the letter, while Julius kept a sharp look-out on him. He found a long letter, written in the same style as Bernard Gore usually wrote, setting forth directions for the will. These included an income of five hundred a year to Alice Malleson, and the extra allowance of four hundred to Mrs. Gilroy, making her income five hundred in all. The rest of the estate, real and personal, went to Julius Beryl. Durham smiled inwardly as he read this document. It was exactly the kind of will Julius wanted. Michael was simply his instrument, and Durham shrewdly suspected that from some knowledge of the forged check Beryl had obtained this extraordinary influence.
"Well, it seems clear enough," said the lawyer, laying down the letter, "but I think Miss Malleson, seeing what she loses, should have more."
"I think she has quite enough," said Julius, tartly.
"Then Mrs. Gilroy," said Durham, pretending ignorance. "Why should Bernard leave her this extra money?"
"I can't say. Bernard will probably tell you himself. Will you please draw out the will, Mr. Durham, and bring it down to the Bower for Gore to sign?"
For the sake of appearances Durham went on making objections. All these were met by Julius with infernal cleverness, until the lawyer—on the face of it—had not a leg to stand on, as the saying goes. Finally he consented to draw up the will as instructed by the letter, and agreed to meet Julius next day at Liverpool Street Station to go down with him to the Hall. Julius drewa long breath of relief when the lawyer so agreed, and apparently had no idea that he was being tricked all the time.
"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Durham," said he, holding out his hand, "and when I come into possession of the estate you will find me a good client."
Durham, for the sake of keeping up the deception, had to shake hands, although he loathed himself for doing so. When the door closed on the arch plotter the solicitor went at once to wash his hands.
"What a complete scoundrel!" said Durham to himself. "And how confoundedly clever. Of course, if the real Bernard were dead this will might stand. At all events, even if Miss Malleson could prove that Michael is not her lover, the new will might lead to litigation. However, as Bernard is alive and well we can produce him at the eleventh hour to frighten Beryl. I am afraid that young man will be hanged after all, though I am unwilling, for the sake of the family, that things should come to that pass."
However, Durham, true to his appointment, arrived at the station the next day and had the will in his pocket. Julius read it in the train going down and expressed his approval of it. It was now Durham's cue to behave politely to Julius, and as though he truly believed in him and in the false Bernard Gore. But on the previous night he had written a long letter to Miss Berengaria, which was to be read to Alice. In it Durham told the whole of Beryl's scheme to get possession of the property. But for obvious reasons he said nothing of Tolomeo's story or Beryl's real guilt. He thought, very truly, that even Miss Berengaria's nerves could not stand being brought into such close relationshipwith a proven murderer, let alone that Alice might reveal the truth out of sheer disgust. But the letter prepared the minds of both ladies for the execution of the will.
On arriving at the Bower the two men were met by Jerry, looking more innocent and child-like than ever. "Please, missus says will you go into the drawing-room?" said the infant, casting down his eyes.
Durham looked hard at the young scoundrel who was such a worthy instrument of Beryl's. He would have liked to examine him then and there touching his luring of Bernard to Crimea Square, but the present moment was not propitious, so he passed on. Julius, however, in a most benevolent way spoke to the boy—"I hope you are giving your good mistress satisfaction?"
"Oh yes, sir. But she was angry at me writing and telling you about the poor sick gentleman."
"By the way, Jerry, how did you find out about him?" asked Durham.
"I saw him arrive," said Jerry, ingenuously. "I was in the garden when he came. I wouldn't have written, sir, if I had known that my dear missus wanted it kept dark. But Mr. Beryl was so anxious about Sir Bernard that I thought he would be glad to know he was alive."
"How did you know this gentleman was Sir Bernard?"
"I heard James the coachman describe him, and then I knew."
"All the same, Jerry," said Julius, benevolently, "if Miss Berengaria wished the fact of Sir Bernard's being here kept quiet, you should not have disclosed it even to me."
"But I wished to set your mind at rest," murmured Jerry, looking up with dove-like eyes. "I owe you so much, sir."
Julius smiled and patting his head, walked on to the drawing-room. It was a very pretty comedy, but Durham was not to be taken in. He knew well enough that the boy was a mere tool and a dangerous one. As a matter of fact, he did not know until later how dangerous the lad really could be.
Miss Berengaria and Alice were in the drawing-room, and both smiled a welcome when the two men entered. Alice darted a look of terror and repulsion at Beryl, but as he was shaking hands with the old lady he did not see it, else he might have suspected. Durham guessed this and touched her hand. She nodded, and when Julius shook hands with her she welcomed him again with a smile, although her very flesh crept when she touched him. As for Miss Berengaria, that indomitable old lady never turned a hair. She smiled and chatted, and was bland to Julius. He might have been her dearest friend from the amount of attention she bestowed on him.
"So poor Bernard is going to make his will," she said briskly. "I hope he has left Alice something."
"Five hundred a year, and the like amount to Mrs. Gilroy."
"Indeed, Mr. Durham; and why to Mrs. Gilroy?"
"Bernard looks upon her as a second mother," said Julius, hastily; "at least he told me so. Of course, I know nothing about her. I hope, however, she will reappear to claim her legacy."
"There may be no chance for anyone to claim legacies for a long time," said Miss Berengaria, tartly. "I hope Bernard will not die."
"I hope so also," said Alice, fervently; and she really meant it, even though she was thinking of the young scamp upstairs.
Julius shook his head. "Dr. Payne assures me he cannot live. I am glad he has decided to make this will."
"Yes, you would be," said Miss Berengaria ironically, and she might have been rash enough to say more, but that Durham intervened.
"I hope none of the servants know that Bernard is here?"
"They all know by this time," said Miss Berengaria, calmly. "We kept the matter from them as long as possible; and with Alice I waited on Bernard myself. But Jerry told the servants as well as Mr. Beryl."
"Will the knowledge go any further?" said the lawyer, keeping up the comedy. "I don't want Bernard arrested."
"My servants will not speak under pain of dismissal, if that is what you mean," said Miss Plantagenet, sharply. "As to Jerry——"
"He is one of your servants also," said Beryl, softly; "but I have some influence over Jerry, and I will see that he holds his tongue."
"You can take him away altogether," snapped Miss Berengaria. "I don't approve of having boys with long tongues in my house. Jerry had no right to be hanging round the garden when Bernard arrived, much less to write and tell you that he was here."
"He thought I was anxious."
"I daresay you are," said the old dame, "to see Bernard hanged."
"Indeed, no," replied Julius, earnestly. "I wish him to die in peace."
"Having got all you can out of him," muttered Miss Berengaria, rubbing her nose. "Well," she added sharply, "are we to go upstairs and witness this will?"
"Yes! Mr. Beryl can't witness as he is the residuary legatee. Nor can Miss Alice, since she is mentioned in the will. But you, Miss Plantagenet, and——"
"And yourself?"
"No. I am the executor."
"Then Maria can witness the will. She is my own maid and can be depended upon. Are you coming, Julius?"
"Thank you, no," said Beryl, with a gentle smile. "I think as I have such a large interest in the will that it is better I should remain away. I shall stay here. And you, Miss Malleson?"
"I shall stop also," said Alice in reply to a look from Durham. "You go up with Mr. Durham, aunt."
"Come along then," said Miss Berengaria, hastening out of the room; "the sooner this is over the better. Ugh! I hate wills. They put me in mind of the family vault, and I can't last long now."
The lawyer followed, and Miss Berengaria led him up a narrow stair which conducted to the turret-room in which the false Bernard was lying. At the foot of this stair she stopped. "Durham," she said abruptly, "do you mean to let this man execute this false will?"
"Yes. I wish Julius Beryl to commit himself beyond recall."
"What will you do then?"
"I can't say. One thing at a time. When the will is executed we will watch Beryl's attitude. Something will happen," added Durham, thinking of the incriminating handkerchief in his possession.
"Yes," said Miss Berengaria, climbing the stairs with a briskness surprising in a woman of her years, "something will happen. This poor foresworn wretch upstairs will die."
"But I thought you said——"
"I know I did. I could help him back to life with careful nursing, and I wish to do so, since I think there is good in the rascal. But Beryl, having had the will made, will—kill him. Yes," added she, nodding, "there will be a repetition of the crime. I believe Beryl himself killed Simon—the old—no, he is dead. Let us be just."
"What makes you think Julius Beryl killed Sir Simon?"
"Nothing," snapped Miss Berengaria; "he looks like a murderer." Durham smiled to himself as he went up the stairs and wondered at her acuteness in thus hitting the nail on the head. When the will was executed Julius certainly might attempt to get rid of the instrument he had used, as he had rid himself of Sir Simon, but in the house of Miss Berengaria this would be a more difficult matter. "And if he tries anything of that sort on," thought Durham, "I'll have him arrested at once for the first murder. Meantime, let us see how far he will proceed with the plot."
The young man lying in bed was very weak. His face was thin and pale and his scrubby beard was now longer. He looked haggard and anxious, and started up when the door opened. "It is only Mr. Durham and I, Bernard," said Miss Berengaria in a soft voice. "We have come about the will."
Michael raised himself on his elbow. "Have you got it?" he asked.
"Yes," said Durham, producing the document. "Miss Plantagenet, will you please call up your maid to witness it?"
While the old lady rang the bell and Michael read the will, the lawyer looked closely at the invalid. He was wonderfully like Bernard, and but that Durham knew that the real Gore was in another place he might have been deceived. Michael was clever enough to feign illness as an excuse for talking little, as he evidently dreaded to say much lest Alice or Durham should question his identity. The whole deception was cleverly carried out. Michael even attempted to account for any difference in his signature.
"I feel so weak I can't write as firmly as I used to," he said, when the maid entered the room. "So you must not be surprised if my signature is unlike my usual one."
"If it is as good as the writing in your letter, I shan't complain," said Durham, wheeling a small table near to the bed.
Michael looked at him sharply, and seemed relieved by this remark. He evidently thought that all was well and safe, and heard Durham read the will with closed eyes. Then, raising himself on his elbow, he signed his name with apparent difficulty. It was wonderfully like the signature of Bernard. Miss Plantagenet and Maria appended their signatures as witnesses. Then Durham put the will into an envelope and prepared to go down. Michael stopped him.
"Mark," he said, using the name Bernard usually called the lawyer by, "don't you think I am looking better?"
"I think you are very ill," said Durham, gently.
"But you don't think I'll die?"
"I hope not. With nursing you may get better."
Michael's face assumed an expression of terror. "I won't die," he moaned, sinking back. "I want to get well and enjoy myself."
"Hush! hush!" said Miss Berengaria, folding the clothes round him, "no more of this unhealthy talk. You will get well."
With Durham they left the room while Maria remained to attend on the patient. "Well," said Durham, in a low voice, "you see he expects to get well, now that he has signed the will. I daresay he will disappear. The body of Bernard will be found, and Michael will share the estate with Beryl."
"I don't think so," said Miss Plantagenet, grimly. "Beryl will now murder this poor reptile, and take all the money to himself."
"I fear his expectations will be disappointed," said the lawyer, dryly.
At the request of Miss Berengaria, Durham stopped to dinner; but not even the necessity of keeping Julius in a fool's paradise could make the old lady extend the invitation to him. Beryl did not mind. He knew perfectly well that he was no favorite with Miss Plantagenet, and often wondered why she was so polite to him. A scoundrel himself, Julius was always suspicious of others, and constantly strove to learn why Miss Berengaria, whose honest character he knew, displayed such courtesy towards him. Then he thought it was because Bernard being in her house she was afraid lest he should be arrested through the instrumentality of his cousin should not tact be shown. Julius departed quite satisfied in his own mind that he had solved the problem of Miss Plantagenet's behavior. Had he known the real reason he would not have gone away so complacently.
Before departing, Julius saw Jerry and told him—amongst other things—that he would have to leave Miss Plantagenet because of his having meddled with matters which did not concern him. During the interview Miss Berengaria came along and the matter was explained to her. She refused to allow Beryl to interfere.
"Mind your own precious business, young man," she said. "I am quite able to look after the boy myself."
"But he has behaved badly," urged Julius, meekly.
"So he has, and I'd give him a good whipping. However, I am not going to dismiss him for this. Jerry, go to the kitchen and mind your P's and Q's, or I'll know the reason why. And now, Mr. Beryl"—the old lady dropped a grim curtsey—"good-bye."
Julius departed smiling and in no wise offended at the grimness of Miss Berengaria. "I'll soon be able to do without the lot of them," he thought, as he walked to the railway station, "once the estate is in my possession, and I'll keep away from this place. Lucy will have to turn out of the Hall, as I won't have her stopping, after the way in which she has treated me. I believe she is in love with that bounder of a Conniston. However," he added enigmatically, "I know my own knowing."
He did not know Durham's, however, and would have been considerably agitated had he learned what that gentleman said to the two ladies after his departure. Not only to them but to Lord Conniston himself. That young gentleman arrived with Lucy shortly before dinner. Lucy had come over to the meal, and Conniston, on his way back to Bernard at the castle, thought he would drop in. Of course, as the astute lover intended, he was asked to dinner.
The meal passed off excellently, as everyone was in good spirits. The lawyer had hinted that Bernard would soon be free, and promised to tell the company all that he had discovered after dinner. When the meal was ended they all went back to the drawing-room and sat round the solicitor, who commenced his recital. Prior to starting, Miss Berengaria went up to see Michael, and returned stating that he was much better. "I believe he will get well," she said.
"Of course," observed the lawyer, ironically, "the comedy is nearly at an end. The will has been signed. Now Michael will disappear to allow Beryl to get the estates."
"He will have to supply a corpse then," said Conniston, coolly.
"Oh, I daresay he will," rejoined Durham, shrugging. "After the disappearance of Michael I know exactly what will happen. A body much decomposed will be found in the Thames, and will be recognized by Julius as that of Bernard's. Any corpse will do, so long as the face cannot be recognized."
"Drat the man!" said Miss Berengaria, emphatically. "You can't get a corpse without murdering someone, and I should think that Beryl creature has had enough of that sort of work."
"Oh, but Julius did not kill Sir Simon," said Lucy, with dismay. "He was at the theatre with me and Mrs. Webber."
"So I believe," said Durham, dryly; "but tell me, Miss Randolph, did he leave you at all during the play?"
"Not till the last act," said Lucy. "Then he went to get something to drink, and returned before the end of the play to take us away."
"How long was he absent?"
"Nearly half an hour. He said he had met a friend and had been talking to him."
"Ah! Very clever of him. Well," said Durham, looking round, "I have something to tell you all. We are friends of Bernard's, are we not?"
"Certainly," said Miss Berengaria, sharply, "and I know what you are going to tell us. This Berylcreature murdered Sir Simon when he was away from the theatre."
"Impossible!" said Lucy and Alice in one breath.
"He could scarcely have done it in half an hour," said Conniston.
"But he did for all that," said Durham. "Remember, the Curtain Theatre is only ten minutes' walk from Crimea Square. Beryl could easily slip round and strangle Sir Simon—as he did."
"I knew it," cried Miss Berengaria, triumphantly. "Tell us all about it, Durham. Aha! we'll see that reptile dancing on nothing."
"Oh, aunt!" said Alice, turning pale.
"Miss Plantagenet," remonstrated Lucy, "don't speak like that. I do not like Julius, and broke my engagement. I think he is tricky, and has no principles, but I don't think he would——"
"Yes, he would," contradicted the old lady, taking a pinch of snuff. "Bah! don't talk to me. Liar and rogue, murderer and thief are written all over him. My dear girls, the man is a danger to society. I want to see him hanged. He would have hanged Bernard."
"That's true enough," said Conniston; "but for the sake of the family, I don't want to see Julius hanged. So long as he tells the truth and lets Bernard take his place in society I don't care."
"He won't let Bernard take his place in society," insisted Miss Berengaria, quietly. "I daresay I am vindictive, but that young reptile—ugh!" She shuddered and took another pinch of snuff.
"Are you sure he is guilty?" asked Lucy, timidly.
"Quite sure," said Durham, gravely. "I have evidence," and he produced a handkerchief.
"Tell us all about it, Durham," said Miss Plantagenet, briskly. "The sooner we learn the truth the better. I am getting very tired of this connection with the Police Court. I have read detective novels," added the old lady, emphatically, "and I never liked them. To have one in real life and under my respectable roof is more than I can bear. Durham, you have an hour before you need catch your train. Tell us all. Then you can clear out, and you, Conniston, can go also. Lucy, I shall send Jerry back to the Hall with you."
"No, please not, Jerry," said Lucy.
"He is a scamp," replied Miss Berengaria, after a pause. "Well—well, we shall see. Meantime, freeze our blood, Durham."
This the lawyer proceeded to amidst a dead silence. No one interrupted him until his recital was ended. To make things clear, he narrated his discoveries from the very beginning, and recounted his interview with Mrs. Gilroy, with Tolomeo and with Beryl. At the end of his story everyone looked at one another. Lucy shuddered and hid her face, overwhelmed by the discovery of the wickedness of the man she had been engaged to. Alice was quite pale, thinking of the nets in which Bernard had been caught, and which were now on the eve of being broken, that he might escape. Conniston said a word under his breath not exactly fitted for the drawing-room, but which was overheard by Miss Berengaria and approved by that lady.
"Thank you, Conniston," she said, taking a pinch of snuff with relish. "Never tell me that I am not a judge of character. I knew that scamp was the murderer ages ago. I said so. Now"—she addressed Durhamwith a suddenness which made him jump—"what's to be done?"
"I intend to have Beryl arrested."
"And then?"
"I shall make Bernard give himself up. The whole case must be tried in court. Also I shall have Michael arrested."
"But why, if he is innocent?"
"My dear Miss Plantagenet," said the lawyer, slowly, "Mrs. Gilroy is an important witness in this case. She is hiding. As soon as she sees that her son is arrested, and in danger of being condemned as an accessory before the fact, she will come out and give evidence to show that he acted merely as the tool of Beryl. In a word, she will save him."
"Which is four or five words. Well, Durham, I don't say but what you are right, and if—Good gracious, what's that?"
This was the sudden entrance of Maria, looking pale. She hurried up to her mistress and caught her arm. "Oh, ma'am, come to see that poor gentleman," she said. "He is very ill—I don't know what's the matter."
Neither Miss Berengaria nor the others were startled; it was to be expected that Michael would have frequent lapses in his illness.
The old lady rose at once to the occasion. "Send Jerry at once for Dr. Payne," she said sharply.
"Please, ma'am, Jerry has left the house."
"Left the house! What do you mean?"
Maria explained. "I haven't seen Jerry since six o'clock," she declared; "he brought me up the cup of tea you ordered for the poor sick gentleman."
"I ordered no tea," said Miss Berengaria, with uneasiness.
"Jerry said you did, ma'am," persisted the maid; "he brought it to me, and said you wished the gentleman to drink it at once. He waited while the gentleman did so, and then said he would tell you. I forgot to mention it, ma'am, when you came up after dinner."
Durham nodded significantly and rose. "I will go for Dr. Payne," he said, walking to the door. "Is the gentleman ill?"
"Very, sir. He says he has a burning pain in his stomach."
Durham nodded again and glanced at the old lady. "You were right," he said gravely, "there is something wrong," and he disappeared to fetch the doctor.
"Where is Jerry gone?" asked Miss Berengaria.
"I don't know, ma'am. James said he went out at half-past six with his bag, complaining you had sent him away."
"James should have stopped him, or have told me."
"So he says, ma'am, now."
"When it is too late," said the angry Miss Berengaria. "Alice, come with me. Conniston, you can wait here with Miss Randolph," and before the couple could say a word, the old lady hurried out of the room, followed by Alice. Both were oppressed by a sense of anxiety.
Michael was very ill and in great pain. Sitting up in bed, he was pressing both hands to his stomach and moaning. "Oh, give me water—water," he entreated, when the women appeared. "I am dying of thirst."
While Miss Berengaria gave him drink, Alice looked into the tea-cup, which still stood on the table besidethe bed. At the bottom there was a white sediment. "Something has been given to you in your tea," she said, turning pale.
"It was some time after drinking the tea that I felt ill," moaned Michael, rocking to and fro. "Oh, how I suffer."
"Jerry brought the tea," began Miss Plantagenet, when Michael interrupted her with a scream.
"Jerry! Jerry! It's Beryl's work. Jerry did anything he told him. I believe he has poisoned me. Call him up—call him up."
"Jerry has gone away," said Miss Berengaria, very pale.
"Lost! Lost!" moaned Michael. "Ah, this was why he made me sign the will—this was why—oh, heavens! how I suffer—suffer—the pain—the pain. Help me—help me! I am poisoned!"
Both the terrified women looked at one another, for even Miss Berengaria, strong-minded as she was, felt her nerve give way under this unexpected catastrophe. Then Alice advanced to the bedside, and from sheer force of habit addressed Michael by the false name he had assumed. "Bernard——"
"I am not Bernard," he screamed, rocking and rocking. "I will confess all. I am a dead man. Beryl won't give me the money now. He wants it all to himself. He has made Jerry poison me. I am to die as Sir Simon died. I am lost—lost—lost. Oh, what a wicked man I have been."
"Make atonement while you can," said Miss Berengaria, taking swift advantage of the opportunity. "Listen. We have known for some time that you are not Bernard Gore, and——"
Michael paid no attention, but kept on rocking in an agony of pain. "Help me—save me!" he moaned. "Oh, great heavens!"
"Payne will be here directly," said the old lady. "Maria"—the maid was in the room by this time—"go down and bring up some boiling water. We will apply hot flannels to his stomach."
"Meanwhile," said Alice, when the maid ran out, "tell us about yourself, Michael."
"Michael—Michael," he muttered, with the perspiration beading his brow. "You know my name. I thought you took me for Gore."
"Never. Bernard Gore is alive. We pretended to believe you, so that in the end you might be induced to confess."
"And now you have poisoned me."
"Certainly not," cried Miss Plantagenet, quickly. "Jerry gave you the cup of tea."
"He said you told him to bring it up."
"I did not. He brought it up himself, and has now left the house. As soon as he knew you had drunk it, he left the house. And now that I remember," added Miss Berengaria, sharply, "Beryl was talking privately to the boy before he went away."
"Yes! Yes! It is Beryl who has done this. Oh, I will confess all. It was Beryl who killed Sir Simon."
"We know that, and—ah, here is Payne. Doctor, I am glad you have come. Do you know——"
"I know a great deal," said Payne. "Mr. Durham talked to me while we drove along. He met me half-way to Hurseton. Come, we must get to work."
He asked Alice and Durham, who had entered, to leave the room, and began to attend to the wretchedman. Maria came up with hot water and then hurried down for oil and mustard. Payne took up the cup which Miss Berengaria pointed out and examined it. He touched the sediment with the tip of his finger and tasted it. "Arsenic," said he.
"Good Lord!" cried the old lady, sitting down heavily, "and in my own house. Doctor, that boy must be arrested. Are you sure?"
"Certain. Arsenic has been administered. That is why he feels these burning pains. Give me the oil and mustard. We must give him an emetic, so that he may get rid of the poison. We may save him yet."
"You must save him!" cried Miss Berengaria, lending a hand readily, "for his evidence is needed to convict Beryl of murder."
"Mr. Durham told me something of this, but not all," said Payne, going on with the business. "Go down and leave the man to me for a time, Miss Berengaria. I will call you when he is better."
By this time Michael was almost insensible with pain, but Miss Plantagenet left the room at once. Hurrying down to the drawing-room, she found the four young people waiting there with scared faces. Even Durham was startled by the expedition with which Julius had carried out his plan of ridding himself of an undesirable witness.
"Though he's a fool," said the lawyer, emphatically. "He should have made Jerry wait for a few days."
"And to use such an obvious poison," said Miss Berengaria; "it is arsenic that has been administered."
"Michael will confess now, though," said Alice. "I do hope he won't die. Mr. Durham, where are you going?"
"To the Hurseton telegraph office. The doctor's trap is at the door now. I wish to wire to Scotland Yard, so that Jerry may be caught."
"Don't go," implored Alice, "at any time Michael may be able to speak, and I wish you to write down his confession."
"I will go," said Conniston, jumping up. "Write down the wire, Durham. The sooner Jerry is tracked the better. We shall catch Julius yet."
"I only hope we'll save Michael," muttered Durham, going to Miss Plantagenet's desk. "Come here, Conniston."
When the wire was written—and a long one it was—Conniston made free with Payne's trap and drove to Hurseton, where he sent it at once to London. Meantime, those in the drawing-room talked over the matter and waited to hear from the doctor. After an hour he made his appearance. "He is better," he announced; "the mustard and oil made him sick. I think he has got rid of the poison. He wants to see you, Mr. Durham."
"I'll go at once," said the lawyer, while Alice clasped her hands.
But Payne stopped him. "No. I want the man to have a short sleep first," he said, "and I am returning to watch beside him. I will ring the bell when he is better and able to speak."
It was late that night or rather early next morning before the household retired. Miss Berengaria, thinking the servants had better know as little as possible, sent them to bed, retaining only Maria to wait on her personally. Then Conniston returned, and the five sat in the drawing-room talking. About two in the morningthe bell in the turret chamber was heard to ring. Durham, with writing materials, hastened up at once. Alice wanted to go, but Miss Berengaria made her stop. Then she sent Conniston to the Hall to tell any servant who was waiting up that Miss Randolph would remain that night at the Bower. "And when you return, you can sleep also," she said.
Durham found Michael better but weak. He was lying back on his pillows in an almost exhausted condition, and Payne was feeling his pulse. "I wanted him to wait till the dawn," said the doctor, "but he insists on speaking."
"I might die," said Michael, his eyes large and bright and his voice hoarse. "I want my revenge on this man who tried to poison me."
"Are you sure Beryl——"
"I am quite sure. Jerry brought up the tea, and arsenic was in it. I know Beryl wanted to get all the estate to himself. Tell me"—Michael looked anxiously towards Durham—"is Gore alive?"
"Yes. Miss Malleson and Miss Plantagenet knew you were Michael Gilroy as soon as you came."
"And they fooled me."
"They did," admitted Durham, promptly, "and I did also. I allowed you to make that false will, so as to trap Beryl."
"Ah! and he will be trapped and hanged," said the boy, bitterly. "I only hope I'll be alive to see him swing."
"Mr. Durham," said Payne, removing his finger from the patient's pulse, "if you want to hear this confession you had better get to work at once. I cannot allow him to talk long."
"I'll begin," said Michael, in a stronger voice, and without further preamble he began to talk in a slow, monotonous voice, almost without a pause. Durham took down his words swiftly.
"My name is Michael Gilroy," said the lad, quietly. "I am the son of Walter Gore, the father of Bernard, and of Mrs. Gilroy, who was the housekeeper at the Hall. My father deceived her by a false marriage, as at the time, although my mother did not know, he was already married to a Signora Tolomeo."
"You are sure of that?" asked Durham. "Your mother said——"
"I know—-I know, but she is wrong. She wanted to make me out the heir. But I am three years younger than my half-brother. It was a false marriage. When my mother discovered the truth, she went to America with me. My father allowed us an income. When he died, my mother was starving with me in New York. She came to this country and saw my grandfather, Sir Simon, in London. He heard her story and was sorry for her. Then he offered her the post of housekeeper at the Hall, and promised to provide for her after his death. But he would only assist her on condition that I was sent back to the States. I returned, and my mother kept me out of her wages. She has been a good mother to me——"
"Take this," said Payne, holding wine to his lips, for his voice was growing weaker.
Michael drank, and continued at once. "My mother had an idea of making me the heir. But, as I told her, that was impossible. She had told Sir Simon too much at first. I remained in the States till I was over twenty, then I came to England. Sir Simon got me a post inthe city. I did not like the work, and I idled. He often assisted me. I behaved very badly."
"I know that," said Durham, pausing in his writing. "You forged a check made payable to Bernard Gore."
Michael laughed weakly. "I did," he said. "I wanted money and I got a thousand pounds by that."
"How is it that you are so poor?"
"Because Beryl took the money from me. He wanted money also, and he threatened to have me arrested for the murder if I did not give him all. I spent very little of it. He took all, and then left me to starve. I came here, and——"
"Wait a bit; I want to know about your impersonation of Gore?"
"That was Beryl's idea also. He met me in the city, as Sir Simon one day sent him to pay me money. He was struck by my likeness to my half-brother, and even then he resolved to make use of me. But there was no chance until Bernard quarrelled with Sir Simon. Then Beryl found that Gore had enlisted in the Imperial Yeomanry. He told me that Sir Simon was coming to town to live in Crimea Square, and he was afraid lest he should become reconciled to Bernard. Beryl, knowing how proud Sir Simon was, persuaded me to impersonate Bernard by dressing up as an Imperial Yeoman, and arranged that I should make love to a housemaid——"
"So as to get into the house?"
"Yes; and so as to let the fact get to Sir Simon's ears. Beryl thought that if Sir Simon knew that Bernard was making love to a servant, he would cast him off for ever. Well, I did make the acquaintance of the housemaid and visited at the house, keeping well out of sight of my mother."
"She did not know you were there?"
"No. Whenever she was heard coming I got out of the way. She really thought from Jane's description that I was my half-brother."
"When did you forge the check?"
"Just before I met Jane at the beginning of October. Beryl and I both wanted the money. I could imitate Bernard's writing, as Beryl got me some letters of his. I forged the check and got the money. Then Beryl afterwards took it from me."
"And did Sir Simon know of the forgery?" said Durham, thinking of what had been said to him by Tolomeo.
"I am coming to that," went on Michael, after another drink of wine. "I visited at the house as I said, and Sir Simon came to know that—as he thought—Bernard was about the place. He sent down on the evening of the committal of the crime to ask me up. I was afraid, and I ran away."
"Why did you return before ten?"
"Ah, you know that, do you?" said Michael, with a weak smile. "I returned because it struck me that there might be some difficulty about the check, and I thought I would see Sir Simon about it myself. I fancied he might have me arrested. On the other hand, I thought he might truly think it was Bernard, and then that would assist Beryl's plans for keeping him out of the property. I came to the house just after ten. My mother opened the door. When she saw me, she ordered me away. I refused to go."
"Why was that?"
Michael hesitated for a moment. "I have not told you my real reason for coming," he said at length. "Itwas Beryl's plan. He arranged to go to the theatre, and that I should come to the house at that time. I saw him between six and eight. He told me that he would send Jerry to lure Bernard to the Crimea Square house——"
"How did he know where Bernard was?"
"He kept a watch on Bernard through Jerry. It was arranged that I should see Sir Simon and make things safe for myself about the check should there be any trouble. I thought that was Beryl's plan at the time," said Michael, restlessly, "but now I see that he intended murder. I was to go as Bernard, and when I left, the old man was to be killed. Then Bernard, brought by Jerry, would be on the spot and would be arrested."
"And that is exactly what happened."
"I know. But I swear I did not know it at the time," said Michael, earnestly. "I really believed all was safe. Had I guessed that Beryl intended murder, I should not have gone to see Sir Simon. But I did go. He knew about the check and threatened to have me arrested. There was an Italian hidden in the room. Sir Simon called him, and when I saw him I ran away."
"Why did you do that?"
"I thought he was a detective, and that Sir Simon intended to arrest me at once. I ran away and went home. That is all I know."
Durham was disappointed. "But you surely know who killed——"
"No," interrupted Michael. "I suspected Beryl. I think he killed him, but I am not sure. Next day, when the murder was proclaimed, and it was said Bernard was drowned, Beryl came to me, and told me tolie quiet in case I should be arrested for the crime. He then took all my money by threatening to have me arrested as the murderer."
"But if you had told this story, and used Tolomeo as a witness——"
"Tolomeo? who is he? I know no one of that name."
"He was the man you took for a detective."
"Well, then, not knowing who he really was, how could I have cleared myself? Beryl could have accused me."
"Tolomeo could have cleared you. He was with Sir Simon when you left, and Sir Simon was alive. What happened then?"
"I lay quiet. Then I grew afraid, and hid myself in different places. Beryl found me out, and persuaded me to come here to personate Bernard, and make a will. He promised me that I should get half the money. I intended to vanish when I made the will, and then Beryl arranged to get the money somehow——"
"But how did you expect to deceive Miss Malleson?"
"I didn't. I intended to tell her the truth, as I was weary of Beryl's tricks. But when I saw that she and Miss Plantagenet took me for Bernard, I resolved to carry on the plot. Then Beryl came and the will was signed. You know the rest."
Michael's voice had been growing weaker and weaker. Finally his eyes closed, and he laid his head back on the pillow. "He has fainted again," said Payne. "You must wait till he recovers for the signature."
The next morning Michael was pronounced to be out of danger by Dr. Payne, and appended his signature to the confession. He still held to his indignant attitude against Beryl, and was most anxious that he should be arrested. So far as he knew, Beryl was innocent of the crime; but Durham knew better. Having the evidence of Tolomeo and possession of the fatal handkerchief, he was perfectly content to believe that Julius was guilty. Since he was one of the Gore family, it was a grave question as to whether he should be arrested. But seeing that Bernard's character could not be cleared until the whole truth came out, and the wrongdoer suffered for his wickedness, it was agreed that a warrant should be obtained for the guilty person. This business was entrusted to Durham, and he departed for town by the mid-day train.
"And you can ride over to the castle, Conniston," he said to that young gentleman, who accompanied him to the station, "and tell Bernard to hold himself in readiness to come to London."
"Will he be arrested?"
"I fancy so. But I can't yet be sure. At all events, Beryl will be accused and taken in charge, so Bernard will soon be set free."
"What about Jerry?"
"I will go to Scotland Yard as soon as I arrive, andsee if anything has been heard of the young scamp. However, if we get Beryl, we may be able to do without Jerry."
"Do you intend to have Michael arrested?"
"Yes," said Durham, calmly, "as an accessory before the fact. I can't say if he is innocent or guilty."
"But, Durham, you heard him declare that he was unaware that Beryl intended to kill Sir Simon. Michael only called to see about the check."
"I doubt that part of his confession," replied the lawyer, dryly. "It appears to me that Michael would have kept out of the way had he entertained the slightest idea that Sir Simon—as he did—guessed that the check was forged. Besides, I want to have a mention of Michael Gilroy's arrest put in the papers, so that his mother may be withdrawn from her hiding-place."
"Do you think she will come?"
"I am certain. She alone knows what took place when Beryl entered the house and how he strangled the old man. I am convinced that to save her son she will denounce Julius, no matter what offer he has made to her about holding her tongue. Here's the train. Good-bye, Conniston, and bring Bernard up to town when I send a wire."
The train steamed off, and Conniston was left standing on the platform. "I do hope all this business will soon be at an end," he said to himself. "I am about weary of surprises."
Already it had been arranged that Miss Berengaria should keep an eye on Michael—who never expected to be arrested—so Conniston had no need to return to the Bower. Mounting his horse he took his way along the high-road to the castle, and arrived there somewhereabout two o'clock. As there was no one about the place he put up the horse himself, and then came to the front door. Much to his surprise it was locked, but a vigorous ringing of the bell brought Mrs. Moon to the door. That estimable lady looked worried, and her pallid face was whiter than ever, gleaming like the moon itself from the frilling of her cap. When she saw her master, she lifted up her large hands.
"Goodness be praised your lordship has come," said she, with a moan and groan combined in a most extraordinary way. "Have you seen my wicked Victoria, your lordship?"
"No. Has she gone away?"
"Last night," said Mrs. Moon, drifting into the hall. "Bless your lordship dear, she went away before ten o'clock in her best things, saying she would be back. And not an eye have I set on her since. But then I expect the coming of Jerry upset her."
"Jerry!" shouted Conniston, throwing down his cap. "Did you say that Jerry was here?"
"Yes. He's here, your lordship, and he has sent Mr. Grant mad. As soon as Jerry set eyes on Mr. Grant last night, when he come at nine o'clock, he had his hair standing on end. Mr. Grant, he was amazed-like also, and took Jerry to his room. There he have kept him locked up, and wished to send a messenger to your dear lordship, and——"
Conniston waited to hear no more. He tore up the stairs two at a time, and burst red-faced and excited into Bernard's sitting-room.
His friend had already heard his hasty footsteps, and was on his feet staring at the door. "I'm glad you've come, Conniston," he said breathlessly. "That boyJerry is here, and I've locked him up in case he should get away and tell Beryl."
"Beryl has his hands full at present," said Conniston, grimly. "As to Judas, he's wanted by the police."
"The dickens! What for?"
"For trying to poison Michael Gilroy!"
Bernard stared. "Michael Gilroy? Where is he?"
"At Miss Plantagenet's. It's a long story. I'll tell it to you as soon as I can get my breath. Where's Jerry?"
"Shut up in an empty room," said Bernard. "He came last night at nine or thereabouts. I was outside the castle door and saw him coming. I did not know it was him until I stepped into the hall. When Jerry saw me, his hair rose on end, and he appeared to be frightened out of his life."
"As he well may be," muttered Conniston.
"I collared him, and he tried to get away. But I took him to my room and kept him there. He refused to answer my questions unless I let him go. Of course not being able to trust him, I declined, so I am quite in the dark as to what he has been doing. I then shut him up in an empty room, with a barred window, and sent Victoria in to take him some food. And then a queer thing happened, Conniston. Victoria took him in the food, and was with Jerry for about ten minutes. When she came out she went downstairs and dressed herself in her best. Then she left the castle, and has not been heard of since. I am afraid she has gone to tell Beryl where I am," concluded Bernard, gloomily. "And I may be arrested to-day. I should have looked after Victoria, but I never knew that Jerry would act so promptly. He is a perfect imp for cleverness."
"Don't you trouble your head about being arrested," said Dick, drawing a long breath. "It's not about that Victoria has gone."
"But what can the boy have sent her away for?"
"To warn Beryl. It's a pity you didn't keep the two apart," said Conniston, much vexed. "But as you have been so much in the dark, you can't help the mistake you made. As to arrest, you may have to give yourself up. Mark told me to inform you to hold yourself in readiness."
"I shall be delighted," said Gore, emphatically. "I am about tired of this hole-and-corner business. But what about Michael Gilroy?"
"Sit down," said Conniston, lighting a cigarette. "I will tell you the whole story. It was not told you before, as Mark was afraid, with your impatient disposition, you would insist on turning up and spoiling the whole business."
"I daresay I should have done so," admitted Bernard, frankly. "But, tell me, what's up, old chap? I'm on tenterhooks."
"Well, in the first place, we have discovered that Julius killed your grandfather."
Bernard started to his feet. "What!" he shouted, then calmed down. "I almost expected to hear you say that," he added. "How was the villain found out?"
"You may well call him a villain," rejoined Conniston; "he has tried to poison Michael."
"What for?"
"To get rid of an undesirable witness, I suppose. He employed Jerry to give him some arsenic in a cup of tea. Jerry did so, and then cleared out, Mark communicatedwith Scotland Yard about Jerry, but we never expected he would be here. It's a lucky thing you kept the young wretch prisoner, Bernard."
"This is all very well," said Bernard, who looked bewildered. "But you tell me so many facts without detail that I can't understand how to connect them. Tell me the whole story."
"You won't interrupt if I do?"
"No," said Gore, impatiently, "fire ahead, Dick."
Conniston did so at once, and related all that had hitherto been kept from Gore's knowledge. Bernard listened in silence, save for an occasional ejaculation, which showed how difficult he found it to keep his promise not to interrupt. "And I think Mark was about right to keep these things from you, Bernard," said Conniston, when he ended. "For you are in a wax hearing them now."
"And who wouldn't be in a wax?" demanded Gore, furiously. "Look at the way in which I have been treated. Beryl has made me a scape-goat for his own wickedness. I have been compelled to hide my head. I have been accused of an awful crime—my reputation has been ruined. I should think I am furious, and I have a right to be."
"Bernard! Bernard!" said Dick, shaking his smooth head, "your troubles have taught you little. It was your furious temper that led you to fight with Sir Simon. You then said words which made it probable to outsiders that you committed this crime. And now, when all is on the eve of being cleared up, you have as bad a temper as ever."
"But think of that man Michael masquerading as me," went on Bernard, determined to speak out. "Itwas bad enough in London, but that he should dare to come to Alice—oh!" in an access of rage he shook his fist. Then he sat down to recover himself. "You are right, Dick," he remarked, wiping his forehead, "I'm a fool. I'll never learn wisdom. Heaven knows I have had a severe lesson. I will try and control this beastly temper of mine. But, after all, seeing that I love Alice so much, it is not to be wondered at that I should be annoyed at another man taking my place."
"He didn't," replied Conniston, calmly and soothingly. "Miss Malleson guessed the truth about him straight off. She has only used him as an instrument to learn what she could. Don't you fuss, Bernard. What we have to do is to question Judas, and see if he can supplement the revelations of Michael, your half-brother."
"Don't talk about that fellow being my half-brother."
"Well, he is, isn't he?"
"Yes, but—well, I suppose I should rather pity than blame the chap."
"I think so too," said Dick gravely. "Miss Berengaria says there is much good in him. She intends to assist him when she can."
"I shall help him also," said Bernard, after a pause. "The poor fellow can't help his birth, and I owe him something for the way in which my father behaved to his mother."
"This is a change of temper," laughed Conniston.
"Oh, I soon get into a rage and soon get over it," rejoined Gore, impatiently. "But we must examine this boy, Dick. He won't answer me though. I have been asking him plenty of questions."
"He'll answer me," said Conniston, rising. "I know about the poisoning. He won't face that."
"But did he really——"
"Yes, he did. I told you he was an imp of darkness, though, to be sure, I never expected he'd begin to murder people at his tender age. Come along, Bernard, show me the captive."
Gore led the way from the room and along a narrow passage. At the end of this was a door, which he opened. It led into a large empty room, but no sooner was the door opened, than a small boy darted out and endeavored to get away. He ran straight into Conniston's arms.
"Now then, young Judas," said Dick, setting the boy on his legs and giving him a good shake. "Come and be tried."
"My lord," gasped Jerry, who was pale with terror, and who had red eyes and disordered hair.
"Yes! I know all about your poisoning, young man."
Jerry dropped on his knees. "I didn't," he declared, "oh lor, I really didn't. Miss Plantagenet ordered the tea. She gave me the cup I——"
"Here," said Conniston, giving him another shake, "stop that rubbish, you young beast. You dare to say such things of my aunt, who has been so kind to you. Hanging is too good for such a scamp. Come along, and answer our questions."
But Jerry, grovelling on the floor, embraced Conniston's riding-boots in an agony of terror. "Oh, please," he whimpered, "I didn't mean to do any harm. Mr. Beryl gave me some white stuff and told me to give it in tea to the sick gentleman. I thought it would do him good!"
With great disgust Dick picked up the young liar in his arms and carried him kicking to the sitting-room, followed by Bernard. When the door was closed, Bernard locked it, and there was no chance of Jerry getting away, as the window was thirty feet from the ground. Gore took a seat in one arm-chair and Conniston threw himself into the other, after flinging Jerry on the hearth-rug. The boy lay there, kicking and howling, nearly out of his wits with terror.
"Shut up!" said Dick, sharply. "You have to answer questions."
"I sha'n't," said Jerry. "You'll hang me."
"There's no chance of that, worse luck," said Conniston, regretfully.
On hearing this, the boy sat up. "Isn't he dead?" he asked eagerly.