Mrs. Jennings' news was so startling that Gerald could only fall back on his pillow and stare at her excited face. Pleased with the effect which she produced, like all gossips, she continued rapidly to explain, breathlessly.
"The milkman's master--Evans is his name--went at seven this morning with the milk to the Pixy's House. Miss Bellaria always came to the gate and opened it to take the milk in. He found the gate wide open, and Miss Bellaria lying on the path within the grounds, stabbed to the heart, and as dead as a stone. Evans gave the alarm in the village, and many people went into the grounds and up to examine the house. They found no one there: that poor lunatic was gone. Evans sent on his man to tell the police here, and he came in for a drink. I had the whole story out of him. Isn't it dreadful, sir? To think that we should have been talking of that crazy Meg only yesterday, and that she should commit so dreadful a crime."
"Stop," said Gerald sharply, and somewhat recovering himself, "you cannot say if Miss Durham is guilty."
Mrs. Jennings gaped. "Not say she is guilty! Why, sir, if she isn't, who can be? It's well known that Miss Durham, as you call her, sir, always wanted to kill people, and that was why she was shut up. Not being able to get at another person, she has murdered poor Miss Bellaria, who watched her, and then ran away--to murder again, I suppose. Oh, how very dreadful it all is! When I said yesterday that we might be murdered in our beds, I little thought that we should be."
"Nonsense, nonsense!"
"Begging your pardon, sir, but it's gospel truth that I am speaking," said the landlady, bristling, "with a lunatic at large one never knows what may happen. The police inspector--and a very nice man he is--has already sent to Denleigh asking Major Rebb to go to Leegarth. Everyone is talking about things with blood and slaughter in them. And I ask your pardon, sir, for having come into your bedroom, but I thought you would like to know. Oh, dear me! dear me!" Mrs. Jennings wrung her plump hands and retreated towards the door, in a flurried condition. "I'll bolt and bar every window and door at sunset: no murders for me."
Having babbled herself out of the room, she banged the door, and Haskins, sitting up in bed, placed his hands on either side of his head, to think matters over. He found it difficult to believe the news, and yet he might have expected to hear something of this sort. Of course he was absolutely certain that Mavis was innocent: but he could not understand why she had run away, nor could he guess who had slain the unfortunate Italian. Quite unable to eat his breakfast because of the intelligence, he jumped out of bed, and into the hip-bath which was in the centre of the room. The sooner he went downstairs and learned all that could be learned the better able would he be to see his way. If Mavis had been in danger from Major Rebb before, she was now in greater danger than ever, as he assuredly would use her assumed guilt to prevent her inheriting the money.
"Nothing will make anyone believe that Mavis is other than guilty," was the young man's soliloquy: "her crazy reputation is enough. If she is caught, they will shut her up in an asylum, notwithstanding the denial she is sure to make. Then Rebb will be able to keep the money, according to the strict letter of the will. And yet--and yet----" He clenched his fist. "I believe that Rebb himself is guilty of the crime."
He had really no reason to make such an accusation: but the happening of the crime was so opportune for the Major that it did not seem entirely impossible for him to have had a hand in it. Assuredly he might not have struck the blow himself, but the unscrupulous Geary could easily have been employed to remove Bellaria. Not that Rebb, on the face of it, would wish to lose so useful a servant, but if it was necessary that Mavis should be accused of murder, to ensure her being placed in an asylum, Bellaria was the nearest and most natural victim.
But these arguments were futile, as Gerald reflected while dressing, for he did not know exactly what had taken place. It was necessary to learn when the crime had been committed; where the body had been found--the precise spot, that is--and, if possible, to discover the weapon which had been used. If the yellow-handled knife was picked up anywhere near the corpse the presumption would be that Geary had killed the woman, although Mrs. Jennings had made no report of this. But the thought recalled to Haskins' mind the attack made upon him by the negro on the previous night. A knife had been used then, and he had it in the pocket of the suit he had worn. On looking at it again he saw what had struck him before, that the handle of this particular weapon was black, and not yellow. What then had become of the famous sacrificial knife, of which Mavis had spoken? Why should Geary not have used this when striving to murder Gerald? That question could only be answered when the yellow-handled knife was found.
Haskins could not wear the flannels in which he had been attacked, as they were smeared all over with oil from Geary's body, He therefore flung this suit into his portmanteau, and, as the day promised to be extremely hot, dressed himself in white drill. Thus clothed, although far from being in his right mind, by reason of inward perturbation, he descended, to find the hotel seething with excitement.
Everyone was talking of the Leegarth tragedy, as such an event had never before startled the somnolent town. The bar was crowded with idlers, and Mr. Evans' messenger was being supplied with as much drink as he could swallow. However, he was yet sober enough to answer the few questions which Haskins put to him. No weapon had been found; the police had gone to Leegarth; the guilt of Miss Durham was certain; she had vanished, and search was being made; wires had been sent far and wide ordering her arrest; policemen were scouring the countryside on bicycles; sooner or later the murderess would be captured and everyone would be relieved. So the man babbled on, and, having learned all that was possible, Gerald went to hire a bicycle in order to proceed to Leegarth.
He did not feel the least hungry, for obvious reasons, but as he had a long and exhausting day before him he was wise enough to force himself to eat and drink. Thus fortified he rode up the steep Silbury High Street, and into the surrounding country. So rapid was his pace, and so eager was he to learn the best or the worst at once, that in a marvelously short time he found himself before the high wall which girdled the Pixy's House and its park. In this wall double gates of rough iron were set, but the grounds could not be seen from the lane as boards had been placed across the bars to prevent anyone looking in. This had been done--as Gerald learned from a chatty villager--many years before, when the crazy girl and her dead watcher had come to live there.
Policemen guarded the gates, and preserved order amongst the rapidly increasing crowd, which augmented every minute. The terrible news had traveled with lightning speed, and from far and wide came all who were possessed of morbid curiosity. The police were expected from Exeter, and in the meanwhile Inspector Morgan of Silbury was within the grounds, searching round. Major Rebb had not yet arrived.
On learning this latter fact, Haskins at once demanded admission, so that he might interview Morgan. When Rebb came, he knew well that it would not be possible to meddle with the case, as the Major would insist that he had nothing to do with it. But, in order to discover any evidence that might be suppressed by Rebb--should he or Geary be guilty--Haskins made up his mind to examine as much into the matter on the spot as would be permitted to him. After sending in his request he received a reply in a few minutes, and this led to his being conducted by a young constable through the jealously guarded gates, and into the presence of the inspector. Morgan was standing on the lawn, drawing a plan of the grounds, and several policemen were beating about the long grass, searching for something.
"Have they found the knife?" asked Gerald, coming up swiftly.
Morgan looked at him keenly. He was a tall and burly man, with a red face and white hair, apparently easygoing and tolerant, who would not be difficult to manage if treated diplomatically. Nevertheless he resented Haskins' abrupt question with stiff official dignity. "May I ask who you are, sir?" he demanded.
Gerald pointed to the card which the inspector held. "My name is there, Mr. Inspector. I came here because I am interested in the case."
"On what grounds? For what reason?" questioned Morgan, still stiffly.
Haskins did not hesitate. On the way hither he had resolved to be absolutely frank, if frankness were necessary. To deliver Mavis from her dangerous position he would have to give some reason for championing her, and--having regard to the searching examinations of the law--he deemed it best to tell the absolute truth. If he did not, Rebb might possibly make some use of his knowledge of the secret visits to get him into trouble. He therefore cast his bombshell boldly. "I am engaged to marry Miss Durham," he stated slowly.
Morgan, in spite of official phlegm, dropped his pocketbook in sheer amazement, and two constables, who overheard, looked round with expressions of blank astonishment. "What do you mean, sir?" stuttered the inspector, growing redder than ever. "Are you making a fool of me? Miss Durham was mad: she could not be engaged to anyone."
"Miss Durham was perfectly sane, as I am prepared to swear, and to prove my belief in her sanity I am willing to make her my wife."
"A murderess?"
"She is not a murderess. Whomsoever killed that unfortunate Bellaria Dondi, the poor girl who was shut up here is at least innocent."
"Dear! dear! dear!" Morgan scratched his head, and looked bewildered. "I never came across anything so extraordinary in my life. If Miss Durham was shut up here--and everyone knows that she was strictly guarded on account of her mania--how came you to see her?"
"In a rather peculiar way, Mr. Inspector, but what I tell you can be substantiated by my friend and legal adviser, Mr. Ian Roy Macandrew." And after thus guarding himself from the tale being received with disbelief Gerald detailed the finding of the cylinder, and his subsequent dealings with the matter.
Morgan gaped and stared, not knowing what to make of so extraordinary a story. "Then this young lady was not crazy?"
"No," said Gerald positively. "I am certain she was in complete possession of her senses."
"Then why was she shut up?"
"You had better ask Major Rebb that," said Haskins dryly, "he will be here soon. In proof of the truth of my story, you can look for the canoe, which is hidden in the undergrowth on the other side of the pool below the river wall."
Morgan nodded, with his pale blue eyes fixed on the speaker. "Do you know anything of this murder?" he asked pointedly.
Gerald laughed shortly. "Are you going to accuse me?" he demanded.
"Certainly not, Mr. Haskins; certainly not. But, seeing that your canoe is near the house, and you confess to having paid secret visits."
"I understand." Gerald cut him short. "People will talk. Let them. I can prove an alibi with the help of Mrs. Jennings and three or four of her servants. I slept last night at the Prince's Head, Silbury, and was in bed a few minutes after ten. By the way, can you tell me when this crime was committed?"
"The doctor who examined the poor woman's body states that she was stabbed--so far as he can ascertain from the condition of the corpse--somewhere about twelve o'clock: say at midnight."
"Where?"
Morgan indicated a spot, stained with blood--it had soaked into the graveled path--some little distance away. "Yonder, Mr. Haskins. I judge from this that Miss Bellaria, as she is called hereabouts, came to open the gate to someone--the assassin, no doubt--and then she was stabbed to the heart before she could make an outcry. The doctor declares that death must have taken place almost instantaneously."
"Humph," said Gerald swiftly. "I see then that you exonerate Miss Durham, seeing that you say Bellaria was summoned to the gate by the assassin."
"Yes and no, Mr. Haskins," said the inspector stolidly, "according to what you say, this young lady was sane: that has yet to be proved. It is quite likely that for once she may have gone out."
"No, no; she had no wish to go out."
"You seem to know a great deal about the young lady's intentions," said Inspector Morgan, a trifle dryly. "Well then, she may have followed Miss Bellaria into the garden, and, after stabbing her, may have opened the gates and got away."
"Miss Bellaria never came into the garden at night," said Gerald quickly; "she told me herself that she was afraid of something."
"What was she afraid of?" asked Morgan sharply.
"I can't exactly tell you," replied the young man, who did not wish to say too much about the Tána Society, lest Mrs. Crosbie, who owned the coral pin, might be implicated, "but Bellaria hinted that she was afraid, and Miss Durham told me that her nurse would never venture out after dark. Why, then, should she have come to the gate?"
Morgan reflected, and pulled his white moustache. "Probably Miss Durham was seized with a mania for killing and chased her nurse through the house. Miss Bellaria would then run into the garden to escape, and so was struck down on the very threshold of yonder gate. I daresay she was trying to get out and summon assistance from the village."
"You make out a very pretty case against Miss Durham, Mr. Inspector."
Morgan would have replied, but at this moment one of the constables who had been hunting in the long grass on the left hand of the gate cried out triumphantly, and held up a knife. "Here it is, sir," he said.
In another moment Morgan was holding in his hand a yellow-handled knife, of a very deadly description, which had bloodstains on the blade.
"I see," said the officer gravely, "this is undoubtedly the weapon used. It seems to me that the woman was stabbed, and then the assassin--Miss Durham, for a thousand--flung the knife aside into that long grass, before running away. Very natural, very natural; she would not care to carry with her such evidence of her guilt."
"Guilt which has yet to be proved," said Gerald hotly.
An argument ensued, in which Haskins decidedly got the worst. The inspector, and indeed everyone else, scouted the idea of Mavis' innocence. She had pursued Bellaria to the gates and, having killed her, had got rid of the knife by flinging it into the long grass. Then she had fled, not daring to face the consequences of her crime. "In which case," cried Gerald furiously, "she must be sane. A madwoman would not be afraid to remain, being ignorant of the heinousness of the offence."
Morgan shook his head, still unconvinced. And indeed Gerald saw that things looked very black indeed against the girl he loved. It was on the tip of his tongue to denounce Geary as the owner of the knife: but he could not prove this without the evidence of Mavis, and moreover he thought it wiser to keep silent as to his suspicions until he consulted Macandrew and could get legal advice. The situation was too dangerous to be dealt with hurriedly.
Later in the day Major Rebb arrived, and heard from Inspector Morgan all about the crime. He viewed the body of the poor woman and examined the knife, which he either failed to recognize or, if he did, decided to keep silence as to its ownership. He stated that he had seen his ward about four o'clock on the previous day, and that she was then in an excited condition. But, not thinking she would venture to commit a crime, he had gone back to the Devon Maid at Denleigh, and there had retired to rest at nine o'clock. Geary, the landlord of the inn, had also been with the Major nearly all the evening, and had likewise retired to bed early, as while handling a pistol he had managed to shoot himself in the right arm. The simple-minded inspector heard all this with an air of belief, and did not inquire--as he should have done--why Major Rebb should take such trouble to explain the movements of his landlord, or why that landlord had managed to shoot himself so dexterously in the right arm. And, while speaking, Rebb frequently glanced at Gerald, who was present, expecting contradiction, no doubt.
When Morgan had taken notes of the Major's evidence, that military gentleman beckoned to Haskins, and together they went into the room which the missing girl had used. It was comfortably and even luxuriously furnished, and Gerald, casting swift glances around, never doubted but that the Major--either out of diplomacy, or because he was conscience-stricken--had treated his prisoner with every consideration. When the door was closed, Rebb looked searchingly at his unwelcome visitor.
"Well, Haskins," he inquired, "and what do you mean to do now?"
"I shall let you know that later," retorted Gerald quickly.
"You must be certain now, at all events," pursued the Major calmly, "that Mavis is insane. No one but a madwoman would have stabbed Bellaria."
"How dare you say that when you know perfectly well that Mavis is innocent?"
"Indeed, Haskins, then who is guilty?"
"I should like you to tell me that," said Gerald significantly.
Rebb gave a short laugh. "Are you going to accuse me?" he remarked, much in the same manner as Haskins himself had spoken earlier to Morgan.
"You know best."
"Don't be a fool, Haskins," said Rebb, flushing, and very roughly; "considering the circumstances of the case, and what you--on false premises--are ready to do, would I be such an idiot as to kill Bellaria?"
"Yes," said Gerald dryly, "you knew that I would move heaven and earth to prove Mavis' sanity so that I could marry her. Therefore, in order that her homicidal mania could be proved beyond all doubt, you had Bellaria killed and Mavis taken away. If she cannot prove her innocence--and I can guess how difficult it will be for her to do so--you will then have her put into an asylum, and enjoy her money for the rest of your life. It's a very pretty plot, Major Rebb."
"I agree with you there, Haskins. It does credit to your imagination as a writer of fiction. But I am glad to see that you do not accuse me of murdering Bellaria myself."
"No, I do not: you are too cunning to risk your own neck," said Gerald decidedly, "you remained in the inn to prove an alibi. I believe that, but you sent Geary here to kill Bellaria, for the reasons that I have given you. Don't deny it, Rebb. The yellow-handled knife which belongs to Geary is in Morgan's possession."
"Does he know that it is Geary's?" asked Rebb anxiously.
"No. But I shall tell him so."
"You can spare yourself the trouble. I shall tell him myself. The knife does belong to Geary, as both I and his wife and half-a-dozen other people can prove. He gave it to Bellaria, because she asked for a weapon to defend herself. Probably Mavis wrenched the knife from her at the gate and then----"
"A very ingenious explanation. But I believe Geary to be guilty. He would stick at nothing, as I know from the way in which he tried to kill me last night by your orders."
"Pardon me," said Rebb, not at all taken aback, "Geary attacked you because you were trying to injure me. He overheard our conversation as he returned from this place sooner than he expected. The foolish fellow, who is devoted to me, hoped to silence you by death. When he came back I rebuked him severely, and you can see that, as Geary's right arm is wounded by you, Haskins, he could not have murdered Bellaria."
"I am not so sure of that," said Gerald dryly, but felt all the same that the Major was wriggling like an eel out of a very difficult position, "and your story of the way in which he wounded himself won't hold water. If I tell the truth----"
"I wonder you did not while I was speaking," said Rebb, exasperatingly calm. "Why did you not?"
"Because I---- Well, I have my reasons," said Gerald, nonplussed by the man's boldness. "But if I tell the story----"
"Geary will be convicted of a falsehood," finished Rebb, nodding. "It will not harm my reputation as a truth-teller in any way, if that is what you mean. I suggested the excuse of an accident to Geary, and if he is questioned, on the authority of your wild statement of assault, he will say that he told me the invention, so as to keep dark his wrongful attack on you--which I would never have countenanced," ended Rebb, with great emphasis.
"I shall say nothing at present, as I have my reasons for keeping silent. What do you mean to do about this murder?"
"What can I do? I believe that Mavis is guilty----"
"It's a lie--a lie!" cried Haskins vehemently.
"No," insisted Rebb. "I really believe that she killed Bellaria. When she is captured, as she will be sooner or later, she will be tried for her life. Still, as I can swear to her insanity, she will be placed in a public asylum, with sufficient allowed out of the estate for her keep, and I----"
"You will enjoy the rest of the money?"
Rebb bowed! with a gratified and malicious expression. "As Mavis can never marry now I retain the income for the rest of my life."
"And I," said Haskins, raising his hand solemnly, "swear never to rest until her innocence is proved and she is my wife."
"I defy you to do your worst," snapped Rebb contemptuously, "all the cards are in my hands. Might is on my side."
"And right on mine and on Mavis'. Let God decide, Rebb."
The Major laughed insolently, shrugged his shoulders, and left the room, convinced that Haskins could not harm him. He disbelieved in God.
After that interview Gerald saw that he would have to leave the Major in possession of the field. For the present, as he had observed, Rebb held all the cards, and Haskins could only retire to consult with Macandrew as to some way of winning the game in the teeth of such bad luck. Moreover, Gerald was now in possession of all facts connected with the crime, and by lingering at the Pixy's House he would become possessed of no more important facts. Also Rebb, wishing to get rid of his too observant enemy, so worked on Morgan's feelings that the inspector hinted retirement to the lover. Having learned that the inquest would take place in the inn of Leegarth village, next day, Haskins mounted his machine and returned to Silbury.
But he felt that it was impossible to sit down and do nothing, for he was very anxious regarding the future of Mavis. Probably, on discovering the dead body of Bellaria, she had fled panic-stricken from that bloodstained mansion; but distraught with terror, and not knowing the country, it was probable that she would soon be captured. Gerald would have gone in search of her forthwith, but that he did not know in which direction to look for her, and again, if he did find her, would be unable to smuggle her into safety while the countryside was all on the alert. He half made up his mind to return to London and enlist the services of Tod, but could not quite decide to do so, since his going to the Metropolis meant his leaving the neighborhood in which the girl he loved was wandering. Mavis was a fugitive with, so to speak, a price on her head. He could not go away heartlessly, and leave her, so innocent and unsophisticated, in the lurch.
His hesitation was ended at five o'clock in the afternoon, by a wire from Exeter asking him to come there at once and meet the person who signed the telegram--Simon Arnold by name--in the coffee-room of the Monmouth Hotel. It flashed across Gerald's mind at once that the former tutor of Mavis had sent the telegram, and probably wished to see him about the girl whom they both loved in their several ways. But he wondered how Arnold--whom Mavis playfully called Schaibar--had learned his address, and then, on examining the telegram again, saw that it had been directed to the Devon Maid at Denleigh. Wondering if Geary had opened it, he sent for the boy, and found that Mrs. Geary, on receiving the wire at the door, had told the lad that Mr. Haskins was staying at Silbury. Gerald was relieved at this, as Geary would undoubtedly have read the telegram, in order to learn any possible plans Haskins might have formed. Nevertheless, on the face of it, the wire could convey little information to the conspirators likely to be of use, save that Arnold--whom Rebb apparently dreaded--was enlisting himself on the side of the lovers.
Haskins found that there was a train from Silbury to Exeter at seven o'clock that same evening, so after dinner he packed his portmanteau and went to the station. Guessing that Rebb would probably make inquiries as to his whereabouts, he left a message with Mrs. Jennings, stating that he had gone to London, and hoped that the information would upset the Major, by making him think that steps were being taken to save Mavis from his snares. Strong as was Rebb's hand, he yet had a difficult game to play. The fact of Durham's will would undoubtedly be made public should Mavis be arrested, and Rebb certainly would not like his friends to think that he derived his income in the way he did. But then Rebb had daring enough to face anything, especially when six thousand a year was at stake.
Somewhere about nine o'clock Gerald reached Exeter, and, leaving his portmanteau in the cloak-room, proceeded to the Monmouth Hotel, a small inn on the outskirts of the cathedral city. The place was little known, but Haskins was fortunate enough to pick up a cabman who came from the neighborhood where it is situated. In half-an-hour he found himself in the coffee-room of the hotel, and recognized Arnold at once from the description given by Mavis.
The ex-tutor, and present hawker of books, was reading a Latin author when Gerald entered, but flung it aside when the young man, conducted by a waiter, appeared on the threshold. He was about to greet the newcomer, but on seeing the waiter turned aside to look out of the window. To make an excuse for entering Gerald ordered a glass of whisky and soda, which he truly needed, so wrought up was he, by the strain and stress of the situation. The waiter disappeared and soon came back with the drink. While he was absent Gerald eyed Arnold--who still did not speak--and sat down near the fireless grate. But a glance passed between the two men which showed mutual recognition.
Arnold was a remarkably small man, quite worthy to be called a dwarf, but he was not deformed in any way. His body, his hands and feet and his head, were all perfectly proportioned, and the most noticeable thing about him was his long gray beard, which fell below his waist. He had a noble forehead, crowned with long loose gray hair and two vividly blue eyes, penetrating and unblinking. No one could have called the little man ugly, but, owing to his small stature and noble beard, he looked uncanny. Gerald, ever imaginative, thought at once of the Norwegian gnomes and kobolds, although Arnold was not so grotesquely ugly as those earth fairies of legend.
When the waiter finally left the coffee-room, and the two men had it all to themselves, Arnold moved swiftly forward and gripped Gerald's hand, before the young man was aware of his intention. "You are the lover of my dear girl," he said, in a singularly melodious voice. "I knew you at once, from her description of you."
"I can return the compliment," said Gerald, responding to the warm clasp. "Mavis told me what you were like, and indeed, I also have the description given in 'The Arabian Nights' to go upon."
"Schaibar!" said Arnold, with a smile. "Yes; she always called me that. I am glad that you have obeyed my summons so speedily, Mr. Haskins, as I am sure that you are a true friend to my unhappy pupil."
"I am her lover," replied Gerald quietly, "and, as her lover, I am prepared to go any lengths to save her from that rascal."
"Meaning Major Rebb?"
"Of course! He is trying to ruin Mavis, in order to get her money."
"I wonder how you found that out, Mr. Haskins."
"It's a long story and----"
"And you can tell it to me and Mavis."
"Mavis!" Gerald stared. "What do you mean? Have you any idea where she is, Mr. Arnold?"
"Of course," answered the little man quietly; "it was for that reason that I wired to you. Mavis told me that you were stopping at Denleigh."
"As a matter of fact I am--or rather I was--stopping at the Prince's Head, Silbury," explained Gerald, "but your wire was sent on to me. I heard from Mrs. Jennings, and from Rebb also, that you were in the neighborhood of Leegarth."
"And it was very lucky for Mavis that I was," said Arnold, nodding. "Only by being on the spot was I enabled to save her from arrest."
"You saved her? How? Tell me all."
"Gently, Mr. Haskins. Do not talk so loud. Walls have ears, and keyholes have eyes." Arnold glanced round the room, and then drew near to the eager young man to speak in still lower tones. "Last night I went to see if I could enter the Pixy's House and try Mavis, but, as the gate was shut and locked, I could not get in. I would have climbed the wall, but that my age and rheumatism prevented my doing so. However, I thought that by going to the river wall I might obtain a foothold on the ivy. I made the attempt, and fell. You see that I still limp." Arnold walked a pace or two, and Gerald saw that his leg dragged. "I lay insensible for some hours. Then I managed, when I revived, to drink some brandy which I had brought with me, and so deemed that I could get back to my caravan, which was on the other side of the village. I had got round to the lane wherein the gates are to be found when I heard a scream of alarm."
"Was it Bellaria being killed?" asked Gerald quickly.
"No; I staggered as fast as I was able toward the gates, and found them open. Bellaria, stabbed to the heart, lay within, and over her bent Mavis. When she saw me she was terrified; but I called out, and she recognized my voice. Running forward, she stammered out that Bellaria had gone to meet some one, and had been killed. I, at once, saw the danger to which Mavis was exposed, having read the will of Julian Durham, and so insisted that she should fly. She was surprised that I desired her to do this, as, in her innocence, she never deemed that she would be accused. However, I rapidly convinced her, and she agreed. Leaning on her arm, I led her round the village, as I feared lest her scream should have attracted attention. We reached my caravan in safety, and I then put the horse in the shafts and drove to Exeter through the night. We reached this city this afternoon, and I took her on board a barge, which is owned by a man I can rely upon. Then I sent the wire to you. We must save the poor child, Mr. Haskins. She is safe now, but at any time she may be discovered."
"You will be suspected."
"I don't think so, Mr. Haskins. While she was in my caravan I had qualms that search might be made therein: but now that Mavis is safe on the barge, with Sammy Lee looking after her, there is little danger. I have only to say that I know nothing of her whereabouts, and who can convict me of falsehood? But I want Lee to take his barge down to Exmouth, and then we can place Mavis on board some outward-bound steamer. She will then be safe until we can prove her innocence."
"Why, do you believe that she will be accused?" asked Gerald.
"I am perfectly sure," said Arnold dryly, "that Major Rebb will take advantage of Bellaria's death to fasten the guilt on Mavis, so that he may shut her up in an asylum, and, by thus preventing her marriage, will be enabled to keep her six thousand a year."
Gerald nodded. "That view does credit to your powers of penetration, Mr. Arnold. Rebb is moving precisely on those lines."
"Quite so. I know Major Rebb----"
"But do you know that he----"
"There is no time to be lost," said Arnold, in a peremptory tone, "as Mavis will be in danger of arrest until she is safely bestowed out of England. She refuses to leave this city until she sees you, and that was why I wired. Come down at once to the Exe, and let us board the barge. Then we can decide what is to be done and you can ask what questions you choose."
Haskins consented; and, after finishing his whisky and soda, he went out with the little man, into the darkness. Arnold leaned on Haskins' arm, as his leg was still painful from the fall of the previous night, and guided him through many narrow and dingy streets down to the banks of the river. A lumbering barge was lying near a littered wharf, and as they approached this they were hailed by a rough voice, which Gerald rightly took to be that of Sammy Lee. The two men stepped on board the low-lying barge, to find themselves welcomed by a gigantic Devonian, with a hairy face, who paid the utmost deference to the dwarf. As Arnold led Gerald down into the cabin of the barge--leaving Sammy Lee to keep watch--he whispered to Haskins. "I can absolutely trust this man, so you need have no fear. Last year I saved the life of his only child by means of the herbal medicine, when the doctors had given her up, so he will never betray our poor girl."
"But if he hears that she is accused of murder--it will be all over Exeter to-morrow?" questioned Gerald.
"He will decline to believe it, as he sees what Mavis is, and even if he did believe, he would never betray anyone whom I wished to shield."
This was very satisfactory, and Haskins wondered at the marvelous ways of Providence, which had snatched Mavis from a dangerous position to place her in safety, until such time as her innocence could be made manifest. It seemed as though everything would come right in the end, despite Major Rebb's boast of his might. Haskins recalled his last words to the man, in which he left the matter for God to decide. And God was deciding--against Rebb and his wicked machinations.
A rap at the cabin door brought Mavis to open it. She was still in her favorite white dress, in which she had fled from her prison on the previous night, but over this she wore a long black cloak with a hood--now closely pulled over her head for obvious reasons. When she saw Gerald, and the tender smile in his eyes, she flung back the hood, as though stifling, and fell into his arms, sobbing as if her heart would break. And no wonder. To learn all the cruelty of the outside world, and to be a hunted fugitive, accused of a terrible crime, was an extraordinary change from the seclusion and romance of the Pixy's House.
"Oh, Prince Gerald," was her cry, as she wept on his breast, "how I have longed to see you."
"And I also have wished to hold you thus," he replied, kissing her, "but we were kept apart by wicked men, dearest. Now we are together, please God, we shall never part again."
"Amen to that," murmured Arnold, who had sat down.
"Schaibar has told me everything," said Mavis, still crying. "Oh, what a wicked world it is outside the Pixy's House, Gerald."
"There can be no wickedness where you are, darling. You will not find me like Major Rebb."
"Oh, but, Gerald, surely my guardian is kind?"
"Has he proved himself kind, to accuse you of murdering Bellaria?"
Mavis drew back, with a pale face and startled eyes. "There--must--be--some--mistake," she faltered. "Why should I kill Bellaria?"
"Oh, Rebb knows quite well that you did not: but to suit his own ends he is willing that you should suffer."
"Is it for that horrid money Schaibar told me about?" she asked tearfully.
"Yes; Rebb thinks that six thousand a year is worth losing his own soul for. It is the world he gains, and the price he pays. But he shall not succeed, my sweetheart; you shall have your own way, I swear."
"Gerald! Gerald! I would much rather fly away with you to the end of the world, and leave everything to my guardian."
"I daresay, dear; and in the South Seas, no doubt, we could find an Eden whither that serpent would not come. But your good name has to be considered, Mavis. Rebb has put it about that you are insane, and that such insanity made you kill Bellaria."
Mavis sat down on the locker, looking utterly miserable. "I know! I know!" she cried, rocking with the terror of her thoughts. "Schaibar has told me what my guardian said to people outside to account for my being locked up in the Pixy's House. And to think that he should have said to me that all English girls were brought up as I was! Why did you not tell me before that my guardian was deceiving me?" she asked her former tutor.
"My dear," he said gently, "it is only lately that I have learned the truth about your father's will. Bellaria let drop a word or so, and I began to ask questions. Rebb came to know of my curiosity, and so gave me a sum of money, and insisted that I should go to Australia, and hold no communication with you. I took the money, to save you, and I had no compunction in doing so, as the money belonged to you, my dear. To deceive Rebb I pretended to go to Australia; but, in reality, I remained in England, to search out your past. Bellaria had hinted that Rebb enjoyed a large income for keeping you shut up in the Pixy's House, and that your father had been wealthy. I searched for the copy of the will at Somerset House, and there learned how Rebb was to enjoy the six thousand a year to which you were entitled until your marriage. I then saw why he made out that you were insane, and resolved to effect your escape. I therefore bought a caravan to sell books, thinking--and my design was successful--that I could get you out of the house, and smuggle you away in my caravan. I have done so, as no one ever thought of searching for you in my company. Now you will go down to Exmouth with Sammy Lee, and I shall again go round the country. If my caravan is searched by Rebb and the officers of the law nothing will be found, and you will be safe."
"For how long--for how long?" cried Mavis, clasping her hands.
"Until God sees fit to enable us to punish Rebb, and save you," was the tutor's reply, "and everything will come right in the end, I am sure."
The eyes of the girl wandered to Gerald. He sat down beside her, and gathered her in his arms. "I am sure, also," he whispered. "See how wonderfully things have worked for your benefit as it is. I was brought into your life by means of the cylinder to marry and cherish you, in spite of Rebb's cruel device of keeping you ignorant, so that you should not be able to communicate with the outside world. Then Arnold, by God's mercy, has been enabled to snatch you from the very jaws of your enemies. These things point to joy coming out of sorrow. Go down, my dear, to Exmouth with Sammy Lee. I dare not come with you, nor can Schaibar, as we will both be suspected by Rebb, and must prove--as we can--that we have nothing to do with your flight. Lee will arrange for you to be taken round by water to London, and there I shall meet you to arrange for your safety."
"Would it not be better that she should go abroad?" asked Arnold.
"No. I can arrange for Mavis to be concealed in a way which Rebb will not suspect. If she goes abroad she may be extradited, should Rebb--as he might--discover her whereabouts. But he will never look for my darling where I will place her."
"So long as I am with you, Gerald, I care nothing," said Mavis, shivering and drawing closer to him, "but, oh, how can I go round to London by myself--I who have never been beyond my prison walls?"
"Sammy Lee will see to that, darling. You must be brave. And remember that I meet you at the end of your journey. Promise to be brave."
"Yes, yes; I promise," said Mavis, flushing, "but it is all very terrible to think that this is the world."
"This is Rebb's world," said Haskins tenderly, "but not the world of joy and peace and love in which you will dwell when we are married."
"Married? Oh, Gerald!"
"Yes." He kissed her now flushed cheek. "But tell me, Mavis, who killed that poor Bellaria?"
Mavis shivered again, although the cabin was warm. "I do not know," she said faintly. "Bellaria came back from London very terrified."
"I can guess why," murmured Gerald, thinking of the coral hand.
"She said that she might be killed, and made Geary give her that yellow-handled knife so that she might protect herself."
"Ah! So Rebb's story so far is true. Go on, dear."
"Bellaria never went out at night, as you know, but a day or two ago she received a letter, and said it would save her."
"Did you see the letter?"
"No. She did not show it to me. But last night I thought I heard a cry about midnight. I went to Bellaria's room and found her gone. I was afraid and ran downstairs, to find the door open, and also the big gates. Then I saw her dead, and cried out. Schaibar came and----"
"You know the rest," interposed Arnold, addressing Gerald. "I lighted a match and saw that Bellaria was dead; then took Mavis away. Don't question her further. She cannot bear it."
Gerald nodded, and soothed the girl, who was much terrified. "But we must find that letter," he remarked; "I am sure it has to do with the crime. Did you see anyone about, Mr. Arnold?"
"No; I saw no one."
"Nor did I," sobbed Mavis.
"Hush, dearest, do not weep; you are safe with me. Arnold, who do you think killed Bellaria Dondi?"
"Major Rebb."
"Not Geary?"
"Major Rebb," repeated the tutor quietly, "to secure the income. He has--as you say--sold his soul for six thousand a year."
The next afternoon Gerald was in London. All the way up in the train he had reflected upon the extraordinary events which had transferred Mavis from the keeping of Major Rebb to his own. In spite of surrounding dangers--and these were great--he was not at all downcast. Mavis had been protected so far, and he made sure that she would be protected to the end, which in this case meant marriage with him. The Major would never believe that Haskins had anything to do with the girl's flight, though he certainly might suspect Arnold. But if Arnold were traced to Exeter, where he intended to stay, to avert suspicion, nothing could be learned likely to incriminate him. Mavis had already gone down to Exmouth in Sammy Lee's barge, and that faithful fellow swore that he could procure her a passage to the Thames in a coaster owned by a comrade in whom he could implicitly trust.
Things were therefore right so far, and Gerald's spirits were high. He had every reason to feel happy. Mavis was deeply in love with him, and once Major Rebb was circumvented as it appeared he would be--there would be no one else to interfere with the progress of his suit. Before the end of the year Gerald hoped that he would be able to introduce his beautiful bride to his London friends, and place her in a position warranted by her wealth. It would not have been human if Haskins had not remembered that Mavis was an heiress, but, in justice to him, it must be admitted that his love was for the girl, and not for her money--welcome as it was to a young man who liked the pleasant things of this life. Gerald would have been contented to take Mavis without a sixpence; nevertheless, it was not disagreeable to find that she was bringing six thousand a year along with her.
Also Gerald was human enough to desire a certain amount of revenge on Major Rebb for his behavior. Rebb certainly should be punished for the infamous way in which he had treated the girl. Hitherto everything had gone as he desired, but with the finding of the cylinder came the change in Rebb's fortunes. Now he had a determined young man to deal with, who would be less easy to manage than an unsophisticated girl. Haskins chuckled as he thought how angry Rebb would be when Mavis, free from the slur on her sanity, and from the wicked charge which he was striving to fasten on her, came forth boldly to face the world. Then the luxurious Major, as Mrs. Geary prophesied, reduced to his five or six hundred a year, would no longer be able to indulge in motor cars, or in such-like luxuries.
When Haskins next evening went to Bloomsbury to see Mrs. Pelham Odin he felt very satisfied. Mavis was on her way to London, and would arrive at Gravesend in two days; her pursuers had been thrown off the track, and a bombshell with regard to the will was being prepared by Tod Macandrew. Gerald had not seen him yet, but he expected to meet him at the flat of the old actress, and then could arrange for certain steps to be taken in the interests of Mavis. All things considered, everything was going excellently, and Gerald entered into the presence of Mrs. Pelham Odin with a very cheerful air.
That astute lady remarked his beaming face. She was as usual reclining on the sofa in an effective attitude, waiting until ten o'clock, which was the hour at which she usually went to the Belver Theatre to fetch back her adopted daughter. She had been reading the evening paper, but threw it aside with an air of relief when Haskins was announced. "I am so glad to see you," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, "there is positively nothing in the papers. Dear me, Mr. Haskins, you have the air of a bridegroom."
"Nothing in the papers?" echoed Gerald, his bright face growing grave. "Do you mean to say that the murder is not reported!" And he took upThe Globeto skim the columns.
"Murder!" cried Mrs. Pelham Odin, in the low thrilling tone of Lady Macbeth. "To what dastardly deed do you refer?"
"The woman who watched Mavis Durham has been stabbed to the heart, a couple of days ago."
"Alas! for your comedy," cried the actress, "it has changed into a tragedy. What of the girl herself?"
"She is a fugitive, the police are looking for her."
Mrs. Pelham Odin screamed melodramatically. "Is she accused?"
"Yes. And color is lent to the accusation by the scandal of Major Rebb, who, as I told you, spread the report that she was insane."
Mrs. Pelham Odin gave a second scream, and flung up her hand. "Hold!" she cried, in her deep voice. "Do I understand that this unfortunate young woman has given way to her mania and has murdered----"
"No one. I tell you she is not insane," snapped Haskins tartly.
"But the corpse? Account for the corpse."
"I can't, unless Rebb himself murdered the woman, so as to get Mavis placed in an asylum, and so be free to enjoy her money."
Mrs. Pelham Odin rose and walked to and fro with a nervous shudder, less feigned than real, although theatrical instinct made her accentuate it. "I don't love Major Rebb," she said, after a pause. "I think I told you that before. All the same, he would never, never go so far as crime."
"He has gone as far as that already," retorted Haskins, stretching out his long legs and looking gloomily at the carpet, "what do you call keeping that girl's money from her and shutting her up but criminal?"
"Still if he had reasons--good reasons?"
"He had none, either good or bad. Dear Mrs. Pelham Odin," Gerald rose, and laid his hand on the old woman's arm, "hear what I have to say. This is the time when you can show yourself my friend by protecting one who is dear to me."
The actress recoiled, powerfully effected and very genuinely. "I cannot mix myself up in a crime," she faltered.
"You will not be doing so, if you substitute Mavis for Charity, as you suggested when I was last here."
"Oh," Mrs. Pelham Odin clasped her pretty, withered hands, and stepped back a pace to be more dramatic. "Think of the scandal."
"There will be no scandal."
"My name will be brought into disrepute. And let me tell you, Mr. Haskins, that my name both on and off the stage, is above reproach."
"I am quite sure of that, else I certainly should not ask you to take charge of the woman I hope to make my wife."
"You will marry her still?"
"Of course, of course," said Haskins impatiently. "I love her more than ever. And even if I loved her less, I am not the man to desert a woman when she needs help so sorely."
"You are, as I know, very chivalrous."
"And you are, as I know, the kindest-hearted woman in the world."
"A fool, a fool, I fear, like all kind-hearted women."
"No. Were you a fool I should not ask you to carry out this plot. As it is, Mavis is coming to London, and I want you to get Charity married at once, and to place Mavis at the Belver Theatre for the dance."
Mrs. Pelham Odin looked distinctly nervous. Carried away by her theatrical instincts, and by admiration for Gerald's chivalry, to say nothing of the interest she felt in his love affair as a woman much less sentimental would have done, she had proposed the plot without thinking that she would be taken seriously. Yet here was a young man whom she admired actually asking her to lend herself to a fantastical mode of concealment such as had never, to her knowledge, been seen off the stage. Her dramatic instinct impelled her to yield: but her common-sense warned her against mixing herself up in a murder committed by a lunatic.
"Dear boy," she said, genuinely distressed, "it really is impossible."
"You proposed it, Mrs. Pelham Odin," muttered Gerald, sorely disappointed, for if this actress did not help him, how was he to conceal Mavis from the persecutions of Rebb?
"I did not think that you would take me at my word," she faltered, "and after all, Mr. Haskins, Major Rebb might find out."
"I don't think so. I don't see how he could."
"If he comes to the theatre?"
"He will see the girl he believes to be Charity, dancing."
"But is this Mavis Durham really so like my girl?"
"They might be sisters--they might be twins. It would take you all your time to find the difference between them, Mrs. Pelham Odin."
"Oh, that is impossible," she retorted sharply.
"No. When you see Mavis----"
"I am not going to see Mavis."
Gerald rose--he had thrown himself down when she so persistently refused. "In that case I must apologize for taking up your time, and see in what other way I can save this innocent girl."
"You are sure that she is innocent?"
"As sure as I am that you are a kind woman."
Mrs. Pelham Odin smiled. "That is very clever of you," said she: "you appeal to my weakest side, which is vanity. Come sit down again, and tell me all about this dreadful murder."
"Will you assist me, if I do?"
"At least I won't betray you," rejoined the actress evasively, and arranged herself gracefully on the sofa. "Begin; I hang upon your every word." And she cast a glance at an imaginary audience to mark the effect of the speech.
Thinking that she might yield, for he had certainly aroused her curiosity, Gerald related all that had taken place. Mrs. Pelham Odin quite lost her stage airs and graces, so taken up was she with the narrative. "So you see that Arnold believes in Mavis' innocence as much as I do. And you believe also, Mrs. Pelham Odin. I see it in your eyes."
The actress closed them. "My eyes tell what my tongue would hide," she remarked, in measured tones. "Yes, I admit that your story puts the matter in a new light. I really think that I must assist this poor young creature, who is being persecuted by a cruel world."
"Bless you for a good woman," muttered Gerald, kissing her hand.
She pulled it away. "Don't make a mistake. I am playing to the gallery," she said, with an artificial laugh. "If Mavis is proved guiltless and you marry her with her income, it will be a great advertisement for me. And perhaps," added Mrs. Pelham Odin, with emphasis, "it may bring back to the public in a worthy fashion the name of one who was their idol for many, many brilliant and successful years. On the other hand if this girl really is insane, and guilty----"
"You will have acted in a way which no other woman would have done, and your conscience will reward you."
"I prefer the loaves and fishes," said the actress, smiling, "moreover, I admit that I am curious to see this girl, who--as you say--is so like Charity. Mavis came from India?"
"Yes--according to Major Rebb, who declares that her mother died in Bombay, when Mavis was born."
"Charity, according to the juggler's wife, who was told by the ayah, was born in Simla." Mrs. Pelham Odin frowned, and then waved her hand. "There can be no relationship between the two girls."
"I think that there will be--when we learn the truth."
"Major Rebb will not tell it."
"Oh yes, he will, when I prove Mavis guiltless and force him to give up the money. Sooner than remain in ignorance I shall ask Mavis to bribe him into confession."
Mrs. Pelham Odin thought for a few moments, being as sharp as a needle to see the pounds, shillings, and pence side of things. "Mr. Haskins," she finally remarked, "this likeness may be a freak of nature--we have heard of such things before."
"Quite so, but so exact a likeness as this is can only come from the two girls being born of the same mother."
"Well, you seem to be so certain that they are, Mr. Haskins, that, for the sake of argument, we will grant it. In that case--and presuming that Major Rebb confesses such is the case--Charity certainly ought to have half the income."
"I quite agree with you," rejoined the young man unhesitatingly, "and I am quite sure that, if we can prove the relationship, Mavis--being guided by me--will be quite ready to hand over three thousand a year to Charity. That would only be fair."
Mrs. Pelham Odin hopped off the sofa, very much excited. "Now you talk common-sense, you show me in which way my duty lies. I am willing to see this girl."
"And to help her against her enemies?"
"Hum!" Mrs. Pelham Odin pressed her fan to her lips, "even three thousand a year for Charity might be earned too dearly. I can say no more than that I'll see her. I am shrewd in reading characters, and I can easily tell if Mavis is insane, or deceitful, or bloodthirsty."
Gerald laughed when he thought of his beautiful love. "Mavis is none of the three. You will be ashamed of your suspicions when you see her angel face."
"I know that angel face," said Mrs. Pelham Odin dryly, "it is a very useful mask in some cases to cloak wicked designs. Well, I am going to the theatre soon. Mr. Macandrew is there, and will come back with me and Charity."
"Can I come to supper?"
"No," said Mrs. Pelham Odin quickly, "you must leave the matter in my hands to explain. I like the centre of the stage, you know, and all the limelight that I can obtain."
"You will speak to Tod and Charity?"
"Yes; and will do my best to obtain their consent. I'll let you know by post what they say; provided," added the actress with emphasis, "that you will not see Mr. Macandrew in the meantime."
"Why not? I want to ask him----"
"One thing at a time. If this plot is to be carried through I must have the sole handling of it, so I do not wish you and Mr. Macandrew to discuss the matter. If they are agreeable to marry and slip away quietly out of the kingdom, leaving Mavis to take Charity's place at the Belver Theatre, I shall let you know. Then, when this girl arrives in London, wire me when you will bring her. She must stop here."
"But the people of the house will see two Charitys," remonstrated Gerald, "and, as an account of the crime will be in the papers, Mavis may be given away by some of your servants."
Mrs. Pelham Odin nodded. "True," she said, with her sharp eyes on the carpet, "well, then, you must take Mavis to your rooms."
"Worse and worse: Rebb would hear of it."
"There is Mr. Macandrew's office, of course. Yes." Mrs. Pelham Odin dropped her fan with an air of decision. "Take Mavis there, closely veiled. I shall bring Charity also veiled. Should we settle to carry through this plot, I can arrange for Charity to board somewhere, and Mavis can come back here as Charity. And then---- Oh, it's all right. I begin to see my way. Good-night."
"Good-night, and thank you. Your kindness will not be unrewarded."
"No," she laughed--"three thousand a year is worth working for."
"I don't believe that you think of that."
"Not solely, of course. I want to help you and to see you happy. Also I am very sorry for this poor girl, and Major Rebb is a man I hate. But the three thousand a year for Charity also forms an element. Mixed motives, you understand--very mixed. So once more, good-night."
Gerald took his departure very much cheered at having brushed away another obstacle from the path which was to lead Mavis to the altar. He knew that Mrs. Pelham Odin was both a clever and an obstinate woman, and although he did not credit her with money-grubbing, yet he felt convinced that she would not surrender Charity's chance of getting three thousand a year, if she could help it, since she would indirectly participate in such good fortune. Also Tod, for the same reason, would be anxious to assist--though Tod was not a miser either. On the whole, Haskins was very satisfied, and having done all that he could do he waited patiently for the arrival of theSeamewat Gravesend with Mavis on board.
The boat was late, as the weather did not prove propitious. Gerald went to Gravesend, and walked about the streets of that dull seaport in a frenzy of impatience. Finally he was undeservedly rewarded, for to the hotel where he was stopping--he had given Sammy Lee the address at Exeter--came a lean, bright-eyed captain with Mavis in charge. The girl was closely veiled, and plainly dressed in some dark material. It would not do for her to attract attention, seeing that England was ringing with the murder of which she was accused and with her strange escape.
Sammy Lee's mate proved to be a very pleasant little man, who confided to Gerald that Sammy had told him all and that he did not believe in the guilt of his passenger for one moment. "She's as pretty as a picture, and as true as steel, and as innocent as a dove," said the poetical captain, "and if that Rebb beast hurts her, well then, I'll have him shanghaied on board theSeamew, and do for him." After which, with a nod, he departed.
The lovers had no time to talk at the hotel, as Gerald had wired at once to Tod, and they were expected in London. But in the train--Haskins secured a first-class carriage to themselves--they had a long conversation, and learned to know one another even better, if that were possible. And in spite of her danger Mavis was happy in the company of her adored Fairy Prince. As to Gerald, he could only worship her, so gentle and innocent and lovely did she seem.
On arriving in London they drove--with Mavis again veiled--to Tod's Chancery Lane office, and were shown into the inner room. Here were Tod and Mrs. Pelham Odin, and Charity--also veiled. The two girls looked at one another and unveiled as by impulse. Then----
"As in a looking-glass!" cried Mrs. Pelham Odin. "Wonderful, marvelous. Here indeed is material for a newComedy of Errors."