Mrs. Pelham Odin might well exclaim. Gerald and Tod were silent from sheer amazement, even though the first might have expected to see one girl the double of the other. In that box of an office, and in the somewhat dim light that filtered through the dingy window, Mavis and Charity appeared to be exactly alike. Miss Bird was also plainly dressed in a dark frock, so as not to attract attention from Tod's clerks, and this, along with the thrown-back veils, completed the resemblance. The two girls had similar eyes and hair, and complexion and cast of face, and even Mrs. Pelham Odin found it difficult to distinguish one from the other, long as she had known her adopted daughter.
"It is like a dream," she declared--"Girofla-Girofle in real life. Oh, that I were in management again: what a chance for a play, a serious play, which has to do with twins."
"What we are engaged in is serious enough," said Gerald, sitting down. "My dear Mavis, this is Mrs. Pelham Odin, who is going to take charge of you until we can prove your innocence."
Mavis shook hands with the old actress. "And you don't believe that I am guilty?" she asked, in a whisper.
For answer Mrs. Pelham Odin embraced and kissed her. "My dear," she said amiably, "truth looks out of your eyes."
"Out ofmyeyes, I think," said Charity. "Mr. Haskins, this is really amazing. I never thought to find my double. It seems uncanny. Tod, you will be marrying Mavis instead of me."
"No," said Tod slowly, and looking from one girl to the other, "there is a difference."
"Meaning that Mavis is more charming than I am. Thank you."
"Oh no," broke in Miss Durham, "I am only an ignorant country girl, but you are clever and polished and----"
"And quite perfect," ended Charity, kissing Mavis as Mrs. Pelham Odin had done, and with the same kindness, "let us hope that I am, in Tod's eyes. This is Tod, Mavis; he is to be my husband."
"At last," gasped Macandrew sentimentally.
Gerald displayed impatience. "Had we not better get to business?" he observed. "These girls are so alike that I don't want them to be seen together, lest trouble comes of it."
"And trouble will come," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, who had not yet got over her amazement. "As Charity says, this line-for-line resemblance is uncanny. I hope your veils are thick enough, my dears. If anyone saw you two together, the wonderful resemblance would certainly be commented upon, and might get to Major Rebb's ears."
Charity looked long and earnestly at Mavis. "Wemustbe sisters. Can you remember ever having a sister, Mavis?"
"No. Nor did Major Rebb ever say that I had one. He brought me, as he said, from Bombay, some time after my mother died, and ever since I have been shut up in the Pixy's House."
"I was born at Simla," said Charity thoughtfully, "at least the ayah who sold me to the juggler's wife declared that I was. I don't remember anything about it, of course. Mother----"
"Oh, don't ask me, my dear. I can explain nothing. You know what I know, and it is strange that both you and Mavis should have been born in India. That fact, and the resemblance, certainly points to some relationship between you."
"They are sisters," declared Haskins firmly, "in no other way can the likeness be accounted for."
"And yet there is a difference," said Tod, for the second time. "It is in the tone of the voice, and in the look of the eyes."
"Quite so," said Charity swiftly. "My voice has been trained for the stage and Mavis' has not. I have been brought up in the world and Mavis out of it, which fully accounts for the innocence looking out from her eyes and the worldly wickedness in mine."
"My dear," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, displeased, "how you rattle on. But I rather agree with you, I must say. If Mavis had been brought up as you, and you as Mavis, you would simply have changed places. I hope that I make myself clear."
"As clear as the murky darkness of this twin mystery can be made clear until Major Rebb confesses. Meanwhile, and until we can force that man's hand, we had better arrange what has to be done." It was Gerald who spoke.
Mrs. Pelham Odin patted Mavis' hand, which she was holding in her own very fondly. "I lose one daughter to find another," she said cheerily. "Mavis can come back with me to my flat, and can wear some dresses which Charity has left behind. Then I'll teach her to dance, and in a couple of days she will be able to replace Charity at the Belver."
"You are quite willing?" Gerald asked Miss Bird anxiously.
"Of course I am," she answered quickly. "I am quite on your side."
"Remember that Mavis is accused of being a lunatic and a murderess."
"I know. My mother told me. But I don't believe it for one moment. I would as soon think myself capable of committing a crime."
"I say the same," said Mrs. Pelham Odin. "I told you, Mr. Haskins, that I would wait until I saw Mavis before deciding. Now that I have seen her, I disbelieve all that Major Rebb says. And moreover, since the likeness is even stronger than you said between these two girls, I can promise you that the plot will be carried out safely."
Gerald hesitated. "Will Mavis dare to face the footlights?"
Mavis herself replied, and the brave blood of her soldier father flamed in her cheeks as his courage shone in her eyes. "I shall dare anything for your sake, Gerald," she declared, without faltering. "And Bellaria has taught me to dance--poor Bellaria!" she ended sadly.
"It will be all right," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, who had been watching the girl critically. "It is a risk, of course, but as there is only one dance, and the child has courage, I do not think she will experience stage fright. I can teach her the dance."
"No," interposed Charity quickly. "Let me do that. Mavis can come veiled to my lodgings, which are now at Kensington, and I can show her all the steps and tricks and manner necessary. I swear that when she is dressed as I was inThe Moon-Fay, and dances as I shall teach her, no one will be a bit the wiser. And my engagement ends in a week or so; and it will not be necessary for her to continue to appear."
Mrs. Pelham Odin nodded. "You must keep yourself quiet, Charity. No one must see you at Kensington. I can trust my old dresser, with whom I placed you there. To-night and to-morrow night you can go to the theatre, as usual. On the third night Mavis can appear."
"And I shall see after Charity meanwhile," said Tod eagerly; "in five days we can get married, and I have bought a special license, so that no banns need be put up. Then we can go abroad."
"But, Tod," said Gerald, somewhat dismayed, although he might have expected this course of conduct, "I want you to help me."
"I shall do so when I return, in a month," said Tod quickly. "It is as well, since Mavis is to play the part of Charity, that my wife should be out of the kingdom. I shall leave her abroad when I return, and then we can try and put things straight. They are crooked enough now."
"Do you agree to this?" Gerald asked Charity once more.
"Of course," she answered promptly, "and I shall send Tod back from Switzerland before the end of our honeymoon. The sooner these affairs are settled the better. I wish you and Mavis to be happy, and also I want to know about my parentage. I am tired of being Charity Bird."
"You will soon be Charity Macandrew," whispered Tod tenderly.
"Oh yes--but I wish to know if I am Charity Durham."
"I am sure you are, and my sister," said Mavis, taking the other girl's hand, "and Gerald and I have been talking. If I get this six thousand a year, you shall have half."
"Oh no," cried Charity, half delighted and half doubtful.
"Oh yes--even though you may not prove to be my sister."
Gerald shrugged his shoulders. "There's no more to be said," he remarked, "save that I am certain my surmise is correct. Well, Mrs. Pelham Odin, will you take Mavis to your flat?"
"Yes." The old lady rose, and with her own hands drew down Mavis' veil. "We had better go at once, seeing that we all now understand what is to be done. Charity?"
That young lady had already arranged her veil. "Tod is taking me back to Kensington," she said, "and will call for me to-night at the theatre. I shall say that you are indisposed, mother."
"Quite so," rejoined the actress, "but pray tell as few lies as possible, anddobehave yourself with Mr. Macandrew."
"We'll be as good as gold," said Tod piously. "By the way, Gerald, one moment. My clerk went to watch Mrs. Crosbie and her mother at Bognor."
"Well, and what happened?"
"Neither Mrs. Berch nor Mrs. Crosbie are there. They have not been near the place."
"Now, what does that mean. She certainly said that she was going."
"I suppose she changed her mind in a feminine way," rejoined Tod, and the symposium broke up, having arranged all necessary plans for the immediate future.
For the next day or two Gerald was extremely anxious, as may be guessed. The daily papers were filled with accounts of the Leegarth murder, and with details respecting the search which was being made for Mavis Durham. The inquest had taken place, and the jury--as was natural, considering what Major Rebb declared--brought in a verdict of wilful murder against the girl. No one entertained a shadow of doubt as regarded her guilt, and Haskins was glad, for once, that Mavis had not been taught to read, since she could not worry herself over what the newspapers said. Rebb, at the inquest, had been severely reprehended for not having shut up his ward in a public asylum: but nothing came out about the income belonging to her which he enjoyed. It was the prevailing impression that Rebb had taken charge of his brother officer's little girl out of sheer kindness of heart, and many of the journals praised his philanthropy. Gerald could imagine Rebb's grim smile on reading about the undeserved honors thrust upon him.
And the young man was also anxious about Mavis' appearance at the Belver Theatre, since she had been shut up all her life, and might be terrified out of her wits when facing an audience. If she did fail, Mrs. Pelham Odin intended to announce that her daughter was ill, and so gloss the matter over. But neither the actress or the lover need have been afraid. Mavis knew what was expected of her: knew what was at stake, and heartened by her love for Gerald, as well as by her desire for safety, she behaved like a heroine. In a wonderfully short space of time she picked up the dance, having been already taught how to use her hands and feet by the unfortunate Bellaria. Moreover the girl was a born dancer, and likewise suggested improvements which delighted both Charity and her adopted mother. Indeed the latter lamented loudly that Mavis was to marry Gerald, instead of appearing on the stage, as out of such promising material she said that a wonderful actress could be made. Dancing was only one way in which Mavis could express herself: but with instruction and experience--as Mrs. Pelham Odin averred--she could attain to a high position on the English stage. "And we need new talent," wailed Mrs. Pelham Odin, "half the actresses who are on the boards should be off them."
One result of Mavis' improvements in the Moon-Fay dance was that Mrs. Pelham Odin, being an old friend of the Belver manager, induced him to give Mavis a rehearsal. Of course he thought that the demure young lady who appeared was the Charity Bird he knew, and that she merely wanted to alter the dance a trifle. As the ballet was nearly at an end he scarcely deemed it necessary to grant Mrs. Pelham Odin's request, but in the end she got her own way, and Mavis was fortunate enough to have a trial trip. This assisted her greatly, as it enabled her to face a small audience before beholding the greater one. The manager was delighted with the improvements, and hinted to Mrs. Pelham Odin, as he had hinted before, that he was anxious to re-engage Miss Charity Bird for the new ballet.
"No," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, privately lamenting the necessity of declining exceptionally good terms, "in a couple of weeks or so, when the run ofThe Moon-Fayis over, my daughter and myself are going to Southend for a rest."
"Miss Bird is not going to marry that Macandrew fellow, I hope?" remarked the manager, who had heard rumors. "She will be a loss to the stage."
"Nothing has been arranged as yet," replied the actress evasively, and the matter dropped.
When the night came for Mavis' appearance, Charity did a rash thing, in which she induced Tod to support her, although both Mrs. Pelham Odin and Gerald would have been seriously annoyed had they known. This was nothing less than to make Tod take her--closely veiled--to the gallery of the Belver Theatre to see her double, dance. Tod remonstrated, but, being very much in love, yielded in the long run, and, just before the curtain rose onThe Moon-Fay, Charity and the lawyer found themselves very comfortably seated among the gods. The theatre was crowded as usual, as the ballet was a successful one, and Charity pointed out Gerald and Mrs. Pelham Odin in a small box near the stage.
"I do hope Mavis is not afraid," whispered Charity, who was a trifle nervous herself.
"No," answered Tod, in the same low tones. "I am quite certain that she will pull through all right. That girl has the heart of a lion."
And indeed Macandrew's prophecy proved to be a correct one. When the curtain drew up on the forest scene, in which Charity had figured for so many nights as a Moon-Fay, everything went excellently. The wandering lover, who was searching for his peasant love, chased the moonbeams as usual--these were electric lights--and when they gathered into one radiance of white, and he fell on his knees, invoking the Fairy of the Moon to assist him in his search, Mavis, arrayed in filmy, vaporous robes of snow, stepped calmly on to the stage. She had altered the dress a little as she thought Charity's robes were a trifle scanty. The wardrobe mistress and the manager had remonstrated on the change, and could not understand why Miss Charity Bird had altered her mind about the dress when the ballet was nearing its end. But they never suspected the truth, as Mavis, a born actress, had mimicked Charity's speech and gesture in private life. So she appeared in a kind of Greek dress worn long, and sparkling with silver. Her hair was crowned with a diadem of crystals, and with her pure face uplifted in the glory of the light she looked indeed like a spirit. The audience, as did the stage hands and the manager, thought still that they saw Charity Bird; but all the same they felt, in a puzzled way, that there was something different in the girl. What would they have said had they known that the Moon-Fay was being sought for far and wide, as a lunatic and a murderess. But no one dreamed of such a thing, and Gerald would not have winced even had Rebb himself been present. But the Major was not there, as he had more important matters to attend to; and moreover there was no need that he should come, seeing that he was ignorant of the dancer's identity.
In the dark scenic forest, and amidst the soft radiance of the electric lights, Mavis danced as she had been instructed by Charity, so as to swing in time to the music, but also she introduced something of the mystic element she had displayed when Gerald had beheld her swaying in the grounds of the Pixy's House. She floated across the wide stage like a veritable moonbeam, beckoned to the lover, bent over him like a fair white angel, and finally melted into a mist. This was contrived by gauze screens, a clever device, which had been much commented upon by the Press. When the Moon-Fay vanished there was a burst of applause. Charity always had been applauded for her dance, but never had the audience been so hearty in showing their appreciation as on this night. But Charity was not at all jealous for the attention bestowed upon her double.
"I must have looked splendid, if I was like that," she whispered to Tod.
"Of course you were like that," replied Macandrew, "isn't she your double, dear. Only," he added loyally, and what is more, he really believed what he said, "you were ever so much better."
Mrs. Pelham Odin hurried behind the scenes as soon as Mavis' dance was at an end, and hurried the girl away the moment she completed her change of dress. As this was the old actress' usual way of behaving with Charity her action caused no comment. Beyond the fact that several people behind the scenes remarked that Miss Bird had been in unusually good form on this particular night no one troubled about the matter. And indeed why should they, seeing how they had beheld the ballet for more than a hundred nights, and also the dance of Charity Bird?
Gerald was delighted, and there was a very merry little supper at Mrs. Pelham Odin's flat that night. Mavis again and again asked her lover if she had done well, and if he was pleased with her. Gerald could only reply with kisses, until Mrs. Pelham Odin merrily declared that she could not remain in the room if they were so affectionate. "And then, child," she added, "we must turn this young man out, for to-morrow I have to be at Mr. Macandrew's wedding."
"Cannot I come?" asked Mavis eagerly.
"Bless me, child, no! Your presence would bring about the very complication we are desirous of avoiding. Things are going right so far, so do not put them wrong."
So the next day Mavis remained in the flat, quite accepted by the servants of the house as Miss Charity Bird, while the real lady who bore that name went with Macandrew and Gerald and Mrs. Pelham Odin to a quiet country church in Essex, where Tod had elected to get married. Gerald was the best man, and Mrs. Pelham Odin gave the bride away in her best theatrical style. None of Tod's relatives were present, for obvious reasons, but as he led his bride down the aisle after the ceremony he grinned to think of Lady Euphemia's wrath did she know what had taken place.
"I hope that I have done right," sighed Mrs. Pelham Odin, when looking after the train that bore Tod and his bride away. "I think I have."
Gerald did nothing until the conclusion of the presumed Charity Bird's engagement at the Belver Theatre. There was no need to do so for the moment, as the scheme to hide her had proved entirely successful, and no one guessed where to look for the much-wanted Mavis. Mrs. Pelham Odin took her to the theatre, waited for her there, and escorted her back again, so that Mavis spoke very little to the people behind the scenes. Gerald often came to supper, and spent much of his time at the Bloomsbury flat. He was supposed to be writing a new book, but in reality he indulged himself with a holiday, to make love to the girl he had so strangely rescued.
But when the Belver Theatre closed for a time, Mrs. Pelham Odin, feeling the want of a change, took Mavis to Southend, and there occupied pleasant apartments looking out on to the sea. Mavis did not like to be parted from her lover, as he could not see her so frequently; but Mrs. Pelham Odin pointed out that Haskins would have to begin his search for the true murderer of Bellaria, so that things could be put right. Also, as Mavis was being taught to read and write by the old actress, it was just as well that Gerald should not come too often, to distract the scholar's attention from her lessons. So Mrs. Pelham Odin stopped with Mavis at the lively seaside town, happy in the company of the girl, and happy also to receive glowing letters from Mrs. Tod Macandrew, in which she expatiated on her heavenly honeymoon.
Haskins found his time hang rather heavily on his hands when Mavis and her new guardian left London. He wished to wait for Tod before beginning operations, but it would be quite a fortnight until Macandrew returned, and until then there was nothing to do. Gerald tried to write a few chapters of his new book, in vain. The thought of Mavis and of her perilous position filled his head, so he was obliged to throw aside his literary work, until matters were made straight for the girl. Having come to this conclusion, he resolved not to wait for Tod's arrival, but to work at the case himself. The difficulty was how to begin.
Arnold had stated plainly that he believed Rebb to be the guilty person, but of this Gerald could not be sure. He was convinced that if Bellaria's life had stood between Rebb and the six thousand a year she would have been murdered long ago. Moreover, the story of how Geary's knife came to be used sounded very plausible, and, if Rebb were guilty, Haskins believed that he would not have told the police about the weapon, as he had done, when the inquest was held. Then, again, Arnold did not know the true reason of Bellaria's fear and why she had buried herself in that secluded Devonshire village. It struck Gerald that the Tána Society had traced Bellaria Dondi to Leegarth, and there she had been slain, as she expected. Mrs. Berch knew of Bellaria's dread of the coral hand, as Gerald had told her about it when she called to claim it again. She might have informed Venosta, who had bestowed the amulet on Mrs. Crosbie. He was undoubtedly an emissary of the Tána Society, and probably was the real criminal.
Arguing in this way, Haskins resolved to call on Mrs. Crosbie, and question her mother as to whether she had betrayed Bellaria to the burly Italian. Also, he was anxious to learn why Signor Venosta had given the coral hand to the widow, as it was incredible to think that she belonged to such a cut-throat organization. But there must be some reason why Mrs. Crosbie should hold the trinket which had so sinister a significance, and this Gerald made up his mind to see into. Finally, and as a third reason for his visit, he desired to know when Rebb and Mrs. Crosbie would marry. If Tod were right about the widow's impecuniosity--and Gerald believed that he was--she would not become the Major's wife unless he was certain of his income. And while Mavis remained undiscovered Rebb could by no means be certain.
Gerald would have asked Arnold to come to London, but he thought it best that he should not be seen in the company of Schaibar, as the Major might suspect that something was wrong. It was of course, impossible that Rebb could ever trace Mavis, but it was just as well to be on the safe side. So Arnold remained in Exeter, touring the surrounding country as far as Silbury, Denleigh, and Leegarth, keeping a keen eye on Geary, and communicating to Gerald by registered letters all the gossip dealing with the case which he could gather. It seemed from the little man's epistles that the excitement had died down after Bellaria was buried, and a belief existed that Mavis, while flying from justice, had fallen into some river and had been drowned. Whether the negro or Rebb shared this comfortable belief Haskins could not discover. He thought not, else the Major might have been still more afraid of losing his illegal income. In spite of his denial that Mavis had any relatives either on the father's or mother's side, it was possible that the gallant officer lied. And if relatives existed they would certainly claim the money if Mavis was supposed to be dead.
A few days, therefore, after Mavis had departed with Mrs. Pelham Odin to Southend, Gerald paid a visit to Ladysmith Mansions. Mrs. Crosbie was within, looking much the same as usual, and she received him in quite a friendly manner. He fancied that the disagreeable topic of their last conversation had vanished from her memory. But her first words, after greetings, proved that this was not the case.
"I am glad to see you, my dear Gerald," she said, languidly pointing to a seat, "but I hope you are not going to tell me any more horrors."
"I was not aware that I had ever told you any," he answered, rather annoyed by her tone.
"Oh yes. All that story of the lunatic, whom you wanted me to look after. It was just as well that I did not, seeing how mad she is."
"She is not mad," insisted the young man. "I told you that before, and I tell you again, Madge."
"How often have I said that you are not to call me by my Christian name, you silly boy," said Mrs. Crosbie irritably.
"There is no one here." Gerald looked at the curtains dividing one room from the other. "I suppose Mrs. Berch is not again lying down with a headache."
"No. She is out shopping, and will be in soon. And you needn't look so cross. Neither mother nor I told Major Rebb about your weird love affair. Mother overheard, as she said, but held her tongue."
"Madge----"
"Don't, I tell you. Major Rebb may come in at any moment, and I am also expecting Signor Venosta to afternoon tea. What would either of them say, if they heard you address me so familiarly."
Gerald shrugged his shoulders, and did not argue the point. "As you please, Mrs. Crosbie. I was merely taking the privilege of our age-long acquaintanceship."
"Why not friendship?" she inquired, closing her eyes.
"Friendship, then. When are you to be married?"
"I can't say! Michael--that is Major Rebb, you know--has not settled anything yet. He's very much upset, poor man, over this crazy girl."
"I don't believe that the girl is crazy!" said Gerald decisively.
"So you said before! Major Rebb told me of his interview with you at that Denleigh inn, and how absurd you were. Now I suppose you will admit that you have had a lucky escape?"
"I admit nothing of the sort!" said Haskins bluntly: then added, in a diplomatic manner: "Did I know where that poor girl was I would look her up and marry her to-morrow."
"I don't think that lunatic marriages are legal," yawned Mrs. Crosbie. "In spite of what you say, the girl must be guilty. The jury brought in a verdict of wilful murder, and she should be hanged. As it is, owing to her insanity, I presume she will be shut up in an asylum."
"Then the Major will be pleased, I expect," said Gerald grimly.
"No; he will not. He is very sorry about the affair. It has brought his name before the public in a most unpleasant manner. Luckily, everyone knows how well he behaved in looking after the girl. He got nothing for doing it."
Haskins started, and wondered if it would be wise to reveal the real terms which existed between Mavis and her guardian. If Mrs. Crosbie did not know how Rebb earned his income--if it could be called earning--he was certainly marrying her under false pretenses. For the moment Gerald was inclined to blurt out the truth: but, remembering how Mrs. Crosbie had taken his last confidence, he resolved to hold his tongue about the money question, and to let the widow and her admirer adjust their own private affairs.
Meanwhile the widow had gone to the tea-table, which had just been set, and was talking, while she poured out the tea. "I hope that you have got over your infatuation for that girl, Gerald. You will never see her again. I expect she is dead; fell into a pit, or a river, or something, when she ran away after committing murder. Poor thing! it is a lucky business for her that sheisdead."
"Mrs. Crosbie," said Gerald, ceremoniously taking a cup of tea, "you will insist that Miss Durham killed her nurse. I believe from the bottom of my heart that she is innocent."
"Oh, of course you would, being in love," said Mrs. Crosbie, with a shrug, "but, if she is innocent, who is guilty? Major Rebb?"
"No, I do not accuse him."
"How good of you, my dear Gerald."
"But," added the young man, with emphasis, "youmay have an idea as to who killed Bellaria Dondi."
A piece of bread and butter fell from Mrs. Crosbie's hand, and she turned round with an amazed look. "I? In heaven's name, how should I know?"
"Didn't your mother tell you what I said about Bellaria and that coral hand which I found in your cigarette-case?"
"Yes. The woman was afraid when she saw it."
"Do you know why she was afraid?"
"No; I certainly do not."
"Could Signor Venosta tell you?"
Mrs. Crosbie rose, and came forward with a glittering light in her eyes not pleasant to look at. "What do you mean? Signor Venosta----"
"Gave you the amulet? Mrs. Berch told me as much."
"If he did, what then? Signor Venosta is an old friend of mine. So long as Major Rebb does not object, I fail to see why you----"
"Oh, I have no objections to offer," interrupted Gerald hurriedly. "But Bellaria was afraid of that coral hand, which symbolized--now then, Mrs. Crosbie, what did it symbolize?"
"I don't know," she faltered, and her eyes dropped; after a pause she looked up. "I'll tell you all I know," she added, passing her lace handkerchief across her lips. "But keep what I say to yourself."
"Go on. I shall say nothing to the world without your permission."
Mrs. Crosbie reflected. "I was in difficulties over money when we last met," she said rapidly. "There was an Italian moneylender--a Jew in the city--who held a bill of mine, and treated me badly. I did not know what to do. When I told Signor Venosta, in despair, since he was always a good friend of mine, he asked me the name of the Jew, and all particulars."
"What is the name of the Jew?" asked Gerald quickly.
"That has nothing to do with the story. There is no need for you to know. This moneylender was an Italian Jew, and came from Naples. When Signor Venosta heard my tale he detached that coral hand from his watch chain, on the very day you found us together, and gave it to me, saying, that if I showed it to the Jew everything would go well. I put it for safety in my cigarette-case, which you carried off. So small an object could easily be lost, as you may guess. When I found that my case was missing I sent mother at once to you, thinking--and rightly--that you had taken it. She brought it back."
"Well, go on. Did you show it to the Jew?"
"Yes. He was desperately afraid, and agreed to whatever terms I chose to make; so you may guess, I insisted on having favorable ones. That is all, Gerald."
"Why was the Jew afraid?"
"I know no more than I know why Bellaria was afraid."
"Did this Italian Jew from Naples say anything?"
"No. He turned a dirty yellow, and nearly went on his knees. I told him that if he did not give me my way that he would get into trouble, and that I had brought the sign to show him. He yielded, and after our making terms he seemed glad to get rid of me."
"But you know----"
"I know nothing," she interrupted tartly, and returned to the tea-table, Haskins wondering if she was playing a part. Since she knew so much it seemed to him that she must know more. He tried the effect of a surprise. "Ah, the Jew was probably afraid of the Tána."
This time Mrs. Crosbie dropped the teapot, which clattered on the tray with a great noise. "The Tána Society?" she stammered, very pale.
"The Tána Society?" said a new and foreign-sounding voice at the same time, and Signor Venosta was shown into the room as the teapot fell.
'Mrs. Crosbie recovered herself with an effort. "Oh, signor, how are you to-day? Last time, Mr. Haskins--you know Mr. Haskins--found you with me, now you find him with me. How strange!"
She was talking for the sake of talking, as Gerald noted, for her face was livid and her bosom rose and fell stormily. The burly Italian, who looked perfectly self-controlled and composed, eyed Haskins, who bore his gaze without flinching. Neither man took notice of Mrs. Crosbie's chatter, and she sank again into her seat before the tea-table. "Won't you sit down also, you two?" she tittered nervously.
"You mentioned the Tána Society," said Venosta, turning on the little woman, "and to this young man."
"Pardon me. I mentioned it first to Mrs. Crosbie," said Haskins coolly.
"What do you know of the Tána Society?"
"Very little beyond the fact that it consists of a body of men who emerge on occasions from the Den to dispense that justice which cannot be obtained by law. The headquarters of the society is in Naples, and the symbol is a coral hand grasping a dagger."
Signor Venosta might have been hewn out of marble for all the surprise he showed at this speech. But he was staggered, since Gerald caught the expression of his eyes. "May I ask how you know all this, sir?"
Gerald shrugged. "I see no reason to conceal the fact that by chance I carried away Mrs. Crosbie's cigarette-case during my last visit. The amulet fell out when I opened the case in my rooms for a cigarette."
"Quite so,"' assented Venosta blandly, "but you thought, no doubt, that it was merely a trinket."
"Yes; such as an old friend--you, for instance, Signor Venosta--might give to Mrs. Crosbie."
"Ah!" the Italian turned swiftly on the widow, "youhavetold him."
"No, no!" she said vehemently, "only that you gave me the trinket, and that I made that Jew moneylender do what I wanted by showing it to him. I did not tell anything else, because I know nothing else, save that the coral hand has to do with some society called the Tána."
"How do you know that much even?"
"My mother told me. Mr. Haskins told her."
"And how do you know?" demanded Venosta, turning toward Gerald.
"Because Bellaria Dondi," the Italian started, "came to my rooms just before Mrs. Berch appeared to reclaim the cigarette-case. Bellaria was afraid when she saw the amulet, and staggered out of the room crying out: 'Tána! Tána!' I asked a friend what the word meant, and he told me it meant a den. Told me also, that he had heard of the society by that name in Naples. I guessed then from what Bellaria said, and from her terror, that the Tána Society wished to kill her."
Venosta nodded and smiled amiably. "You are a clever young gentleman to piece things together so cleverly. Well, I have heard the name of Bellaria Dondi."
"In connection with this murder?" asked Gerald, "or long ago, when she was a singer, and in love with Enrico Salviati?"
Signor Venosta's brow grew dark, and he frowned fiercely. "Bellaria told you much," he said, striving to appear calm.
"Much," assented Gerald easily, and not at all daunted by black looks, "but she did not tell me who had struck the blow, or who had given the information which led to the striking of the blow. She could not; she is dead, poor soul."
Venosta eyed him coldly. "Then, and in spite of the verdict which accuses an English young lady of murder, you believe the Tána Society murdered Bellaria Dondi."
"Did justice on her, let us say," remarked Gerald quietly; "that is the euphonious way in which you Italians put such things."
"And you believe that I obtained the news of Bellaria's whereabouts from----" His eye wandered to Mrs. Crosbie.
She sprang to her feet indignantly. "It is not true. I told you nothing of what my mother said; nothing of what she heard from Gerald. Say that I did not tell you? How could I, when I knew nothing? Had I known of this society, and your connection with it, I should not have made use of that coral hand to terrify the Jew."
"I do not say that I am connected with the Tána Society, madam."
"You gave me the trinket."
"Which was given to me by a member of the society for use in emergencies, madam. I gave it to you to aid you out of friendship. That is all. He waved his large white hand. There is no more to be said."
"Pardon me," said Gerald quickly, "there is this much to be said. How did you come to know of Bellaria's hiding-place, if Mrs. Crosbie----"
"Madam here told me nothing," interrupted the Italian, silencing the little widow with a gesture. "Bellaria Dondi was a traitress, who deserved to be killed. Nevertheless, she hid herself so successfully that the Tána Society never knew where she was until the papers said that she had been found dead in Devonshire."
"Did not an emissary of the Tána Society kill her?" asked Gerald, confounded.
"No," said Venosta gravely. "Heaven punished Bellaria, not the Tána. She is dead--stabbed--but I do not know who struck the blow."
He looked at Mrs. Crosbie, and at Gerald coldly, bowed slightly, and left the room.
Almost as soon as the Italian went out, Mrs. Berch entered. Since Gerald had seen her last she had greatly aged, and looked more worn and thin than ever in her dark gown. Glancing from the young man to her daughter, she went to the latter and took her hand.
"What is the matter, Madge?" she asked, in her stern, cold voice, "why has Signor Venosta left, and why are you shivering? Gerald," she turned to Haskins, "what have you been saying to my daughter?"
"Nothing," he answered calmly, "but Signor Venosta has been saying a great deal to both of us."
"It is about that coral hand, mother," cried Mrs. Crosbie feverishly, and clinging to Mrs. Berch. "Signor Venosta says that it is the symbol of a society which murders, and for that reason the moneylender was afraid. I wish I had refused Venosta's assistance," she ended.
"Why did you talk of these horrors?" asked Mrs. Berch reproachfully, "you know, Gerald, that Madge cannot bear such things."
"I am trying to learn who killed Bellaria, Mrs. Berch, and it struck me--since she was afraid of the coral hand--that you told Madge what I told you, and that this being repeated to Venosta, he might have stabbed the woman by order of the Tána Society."
"I don't know anything about the Tána Society."
"Neither do I; neither do I," muttered Mrs. Crosbie.
"And there is no reason why Signor Venosta, who is our friend, should kill Major Rebb's servant," went on Mrs. Berch steadily. "Everyone knows that she was stabbed by that crazy girl."
"I don't agree with you," replied Gerald coldly, and prepared to leave. "However, it is useless arguing, I can only apologize to Mrs. Crosbie for having brought up so disagreeable a subject. Good-day."
"No," said the widow, rising and recovering her color and nerve, "don't go yet, Gerald. I know that you did not mean any harm, and after all, as Signor Venosta has nothing to do with the death, it matters very little. Had I known when I saw the moneylender what I know now I should never have taken that coral hand. But I have given it back to Signor Venosta, and he will not mention the subject again. Sit down and have another cup of tea."
"Do," urged Mrs. Berch, the light coming into her cold eyes. "I think you owe it to Madge to remove the impression of this horror. The whole thing is too fantastical, with its symbols and secret societies and murders in lonely houses. We live in the twentieth century, and these things belong to fiction."
"The last does not," replied Haskins dryly: "Bellaria was certainly murdered at the Pixy's House."
"And by that crazy girl," insisted Mrs. Berch. "I hope she will be caught and shut up in an asylum. It is not safe to let such a creature go at large."
Haskins defended Mavis no longer, as he was afraid that the two women, both keen-eyed and clever, might guess his secret knowledge of the girl's whereabouts. "Let us change the subject," he said, taking a fresh cup of tea from Mrs. Crosbie's hand. "I hope you enjoyed yourselves at Bognor?"
"Oh, very much indeed," said the widow brightly, "and we were quite sorry to return to London. But we are going abroad soon, to Switzerland."
Gerald winced. Switzerland was a wide place: yet if Mrs. Berch and her daughter went there, it was not impossible but what they might come across the honeymooning path of Mr. and Mrs. Macandrew. In that event Major Rebb would certainly learn that Charity was married, and therefore guess that Mavis was with Mrs. Pelham Odin. However, he showed no signs of his fears, but privately resolved to write to Tod. "When are you going, Mrs. Crosbie?"
"I can't say exactly," she answered carelessly, "it all depends on Major Rebb. He is coming with mother and myself, but has some business to arrange before he can leave London. What have you been doing with yourself lately, Gerald? We, as you know, have been at Bognor."
"Writing as usual." And Haskins plunged into an account of his new book, for the sake of talking on a safe subject. Yet even as he spoke, his brain was wondering why the widow lied about Bognor. According to Tod's clerk the two ladies had not been near that watering-place: but Mrs. Crosbie spoke as having just returned from that very town. Probably, since both were hard up--Mrs. Crosbie in talking of the moneylender had confessed as much--they had been ruralizing in some quiet and cheap part of the country.
For the next twenty minutes the conversation was of a light and somewhat frivolous order, and in so congenial an atmosphere the widow expanded like a flower. Even Mrs. Berch grew more human, and less like a stone image. It was quite like old days, when Gerald's mother had sat knitting and listening with a smile on her well-remembered face. Mrs. Crosbie evidently recalled the past, for when Gerald finally took his departure she accompanied him to the door.
"What a pleasant quarter of an hour we have had," she said, pressing his hand. "We always get on well together, Gerald, and mother is so fond of you. I wish you had not quarreled with Michael--with Major Rebb, that is--for when I am married I want you still to be my friend."
"I am only too willing to continue so: but Rebb doesn't like me."
"How can you expect him to," said Mrs. Crosbie petulantly, "when you accuse him of shutting up that girl unjustly? I do hope you have got over your infatuation for her. It would never do for you to marry a madwoman."
"No," said Gerald, shirking a useless argument, "it would never do. Good-day, Madge. I shall see you again soon." And he went down the stairs with backward glances to see Mrs. Crosbie shaking a playful finger at him for calling her as usual by her Christian name.
When in the street Gerald suddenly remembered that it would have been as well to get Signor Venosta's address from the widow, as he wanted to gain further information concerning the Tána Society. But on second thoughts he saw little use in again questioning Venosta. The Italian had plainly denied the murder, and would tell him nothing more about the society, which was a secret one. Haskins quite believed what Venosta said with regard to the crime. If Bellaria, judged a traitress by the Tána, had been deliberately stabbed, it was improbable that Venosta--as the mouthpiece of the cut-throat organization--would deny that such justice had been executed. Such societies were rather proud than otherwise of their vengeance, and did not mind the truth being known, since publicity on this score terrified other members who might wish to break their oaths. The Tána Society therefore was guiltless of Bellaria's death, and the assassin would have to be sought for in another quarter. "But where can I look?" Gerald asked himself, and it was not until he reached Frederick Street that he decided what to do. The decision he came to, was to journey at once to Denleigh and interview the negro. Probably Geary knew the truth and might be bribed or terrified into telling what he knew. To depend upon this semi-civilized creature was grasping at a straw, but to whom else could he go for information? Rebb, fighting with his back to the wall, would not tell, but Geary, knowing his master's secrets, might be persuaded, or kicked, or bought over, into speech.
When Gerald arrived in his rooms he was met with a surprise in the shape of Tod Macandrew, looking sunburnt, healthy, and marvelously happy. "Good heavens, what are you doing here?" asked Haskins, amazed.
"Looking for you," retorted Tod, and shook hands. "Charity is so anxious to see Mavis cleared, and you married to her, that she made me come back."
"And where is Mrs. Macandrew?"
"At Amsterdam."
"What is she doing there?"
"Waiting for me. She would not stop in Switzerland, as it was too far away, so she came to Amsterdam. I can run over and see her there whenever I like, until this infernal business of the murder is cleared up and I can bring her back to England."
"I am glad she is in Holland," remarked Gerald, and told Tod how Mrs. Crosbie and her mother intended to go to Switzerland, and of his dread lest they might meet Charity.
Tod nodded. "It is just as well," he answered. "However, Charity is all right and snug, so I am at your disposal. Mavis and Mrs. Pelham Odin are at Southend?"
"Yes, where Rebb is not likely to look for them. As for myself I am going to Devonshire to-morrow to see Geary and Arnold."
"Arnold? Yes, I should like to interview him, and see if he has picked up any further information. As to Geary?--do you suspect him?"
"Yes and no. According to Rebb, Geary gave the knife to Bellaria, and certainly I shot Geary in the right arm, so on the night of the murder he was in no condition to kill the woman. Geary, I believe, is guiltless; but he knows Rebb's secrets, and I wish to force him into telling them."
"Hum," said Tod, nursing his chin. "Do you believe that Rebb----"
"I don't know what to believe of Rebb," interrupted Gerald quickly. "As I told you, Mr. Arnold thinks that Rebb stabbed Bellaria. He may have done so, or he may not: at all events I am going down to find out."
Then Haskins related what he had learned about the coral hand, and how Venosta had disclaimed the murder. "Which he would not have done, Tod, had the society executed vengeance on Bellaria."
"But by confessing he would run his neck into a noose."
"No. He would simply deny having told me, and his guilt would be difficult to prove, since both Mrs. Crosbie and Mrs. Berch say that they did not tell him about Bellaria's terror of the amulet. Moreover he would clear out of England back to his own country, and could laugh at the English law. No, Tod; I feel certain that Venosta and his accursed society are innocent."
"And you believe that Geary is innocent also? You leave only Rebb to be accused. However, I'll come down with you and scour the country after a conversation with this Arnold. We can then learn what strangers were in the neighborhood of Leegarth on the night of the murder."
"What then? No stranger had any reason to murder Bellaria?"
"Well, I don't know. The crime may be the work of a tramp. I daresay there were rumors of jewels and money and all the rest of it. A tramp might----"
"No," said Gerald very decidedly. "Mavis declares that Bellaria received a letter which excited her. I should not be surprised to learn that the letter asked her to come to the gate at midnight, so that she might meet with her death."
"Ah! Then you think this letter was written by the assassin? If so, Rebb is guiltless. He would not commit himself to making an appointment in writing, when he could have met Bellaria easily without doing so. Where is this letter?"
"I don't know. Mavis says that Bellaria had it on her person: but it could not have been found, else it would have been produced at the inquest. I know, from reading the papers, that it was not."
"Hum," said Tod again. "Well, let us go down to Devonshire and then we can look into things."
"It is very good of you to cut short your honeymoon to help me," said Gerald, patting Macandrew on the back.
"It is very good of me, indeed," assented Tod readily, "and I wouldn't have done it for another living soul. Come now take me out to dinner at the Troc, and amuse me with the best play in London."
Haskins laughed, and did all that was desired, as it was just as well to keep Tod from fretting after the wife he had left at Amsterdam. But Macandrew did not do things by half: having come over to help his friend, he did not keep reminding him of the sacrifice he had made. Tod ate an excellent dinner, and laughed at a musical comedy, and went to sleep in Gerald's extra bedroom, after a smoke and a glass of whisky slightly diluted with water. Macandrew, as became a native of Scotland, liked his drink strong.
Next morning the two friends went down to the west of England in very good spirits. At Exeter Tod alighted to see Arnold--having obtained the Monmouth Hotel address from Gerald--and the other amateur detective proceeded to Silbury, where as usual he put up at the Prince's Head. Mrs. Jennings was pleased to see him, but could tell him very little about the murder likely to throw any light on its darkness. It seemed to Gerald that she took very little interest in the matter.
"That crazy girl can't be found," she told her guest, "so I expect, poor soul, she has been drowned--that is the general opinion, sir. As that is the case, and Miss Bellaria is buried in Leegarth graveyard, there is no more to be said."
"What of the Pixy's House?"
"Major Rebb has shut it up--in a way, that is. For that mad girl's rooms were beautifully furnished. I saw them myself," added Mrs. Jennings breathlessly, "when I went over after the inquest, to Leegarth. But Major Rebb has been living in those rooms, with his man----"
"Geary?"
"No, sir. Geary is still the landlord of the Devon Maid. He was fiddling with a pistol and hurt himself: but he is all right now. Major Rebb brought his own man from town, who cooks and looks after the place. I expect the Major likes better to live in the Pixy's House than in the hotel at Denleigh. I would not live in that wicked house myself," ended Mrs. Jennings, with a shudder. "I should be afraid of Miss Bellaria's ghost."
"Is Major Rebb there now?" asked Gerald quickly.
"He comes again to-morrow or the next day, I believe," answered the landlady, who knew all the gossip of the neighborhood, "and they say that he intends to repair the house against his marriage with a London lady."
Haskins nodded, and took his way over the hills to Denleigh. It was apparent that Rebb really believed Mavis to be drowned, according to common report, and, since no one was likely to question his right to the income or the house, he intended to reap as a married man the fruit of his villainy. It seemed strange to Gerald that Mavis should not have any relative who would dispute the will, but he knew how often old families dwindle down to a single person. In this case, he believed that there were two twigs still sprouting from the Durham family tree, in the persons of the twin girls.
On crossing the bridge, in Denleigh valley, Haskins saw Geary lounging at his door, looking big and black and sullen and dangerous. However, a white man was not to be intimidated by a barbarous animal like this, so Gerald walked up to him coolly, and wished him good-day. Geary grew green under his black skin, and glared like a wild beast, his hands working convulsively. At his back, in the passage, could be seen the scared face of Mrs. Geary. She evidently dreaded what Haskins' errand might be, since she must have known of her husband's footpad attack.
"What might you be doing here, sah?" asked Geary, rolling his eyes.
"Taking a stroll, Geary--simply taking a stroll. How is your arm?"
The negro glared and took a step forward, his hand slipping round to the back. Haskins moved aside and gripped the revolver which he had taken the precaution to bring with him. Mr. Geary's knife was too dangerous a weapon to be met with mere fists. "I am quite ready," said the white man coolly: "you bring out that knife and I shoot."
"Dat would be murder, sah," whimpered Geary, reading danger in Haskins' steady eye: but he withdrew his hand from his back all the same. "You nearly murdered me afore, sah."
"I winged you as a murderous dog," said Gerald sharply, "and you quite deserve to be shot. Are you not afraid lest I should bring you into court for attacking me? You would get a long term of imprisonment, Adonis. We don't allow these sort of things in England."
"You do what you like, sah. Major Rebb, him look after me."
"I don't think Major Rebb will interfere," said Gerald carelessly.
Geary showed his white teeth significantly. "Dat massa ob mine will see dat all is safe wid me, sah, until he die."
"Ah, that means you can force him to protect you."
"I say noting, sah."
"Strange--for you were always garrulous. Where is your amiable smile, Mr. Geary, and your polite manners? I always knew you to be a murderous hound. But you might have spared poor Bellaria."
Geary flung up his hands, and looked greener than ever. "I did not hab noting to do wid dat woman, sah."
"Oh, I think so--stand where you are and keep your hands in front of you," cried Haskins sharply, "or I'll send a bullet through you."
The negro's eyes rolled, and he looked round for assistance. But the population of Denleigh were indoors partaking of the evening meal, and beyond a few children playing far down the stream no one was in sight. "I no kill dat Bellaria," he repeated doggedly, but did not venture to grip his knife. He had experienced the shooting of his opponent before.
"You liar! You came back here, and, after having had your arm bound up, you went to the Pixy's House."
This chance shot of Haskins' hit the mark. "No, sah; no sah," gasped the big man, but his knees knocked together.
"You did," cried Haskins, following up his advantage, "and Major Rebb went also."
"It's one big lie, sah. No! No, doan' shoot, sah," and with a scream he backed into the house to shut the door, but could not because Mrs. Geary, large and massive, blocked the way.
"See here, Geary," said Haskins, lowering the pistol he had raised. "I intend to have you arrested for that assault unless you tell me the truth about this crime. You are guilty."
"No, sah; no, sah," moaned the man again.
"Mr. Haskins," said the woman, brushing aside her husband and coming out, "my husband has been a bad one to me: but he is innocent. Major Rebb went to the Pixy's House on----"
"Hole dat tongue, you beast," yelled Geary furiously.