But Mrs. Geary would not be silenced. Her meekness seemed to have disappeared, and she faced the negro, as bold as any Amazon. "I shall not hold my tongue, Adonis," she said, drawing a deep breath, "the time has gone by when you could bully me. I have suffered enough at your hands, and a fool I was to marry a black savage such as you are. You----"
How long she would have gone on in that manner it is impossible to say, for the pent-up anger of years appeared to break forth. However, Gerald saw that people were coming out of their houses, and sauntering in the direction of the inn. Unwilling that too much should be made public--for obvious reasons--he pushed his way past Mrs. Geary and into the house, commanding the two to follow him. They did so--the woman willingly enough. But the negro hung back with a snarl and evidently tried his old tricks on his wife. There was a scream as Haskins entered the old sitting-room, which he had occupied with Tod, and then the sounds of slapping and scuffling and swearing. Gerald flung himself into an armchair, and looked towards the open door. It was filled the next moment by Geary being thrust forward by his wife, who had cuffed and thrashed him into a dazed silence. She literally flung him into the room, and following herself closed and locked the door. Standing before this, wrathful and gigantic, she pointed a menacing finger at the black man.
"I was a fool to marry such a black savage as you are," she went on from where she had left off. "You have been a beast and a tyrant and have driven me to drink. The drink is in me now, and that is what makes me so bold."
"Wait till the drink is out of you," breathed Geary, trying to assert himself, and flashed an angry look in her direction. Formerly that look had cowed the woman, but now she simply snapped her fingers in his astonished face.
"It won't do, Adonis, it won't do. The worm has turned at last: you have made me desperate. I'll have no more of these murders and beatings and swearings. I am a Baptist myself, and you have nearly ruined my soul. But now, you black dog, it is my turn. To-morrow I go back to my mother at Barnstaple with my children. I can get work to do, and earn money to keep them and myself. As for you, stay here with your ill-gotten money for doing Major Rebb's dirty work. I could ruin you; but I shall not do that. Still, the truth must be told to this gentleman."
"What is that?" asked Gerald, sitting up, and expectant of what was coming. He saw the truth in Mrs. Geary's fiery eyes.
"The truth is that Major Rebb murdered Bellaria."
"It isn't de troofth," muttered Geary, clenching his huge fists.
His wife taunted him. "Ah, you'd like to strike me, you animal," she said, in a loud voice. "But do--do. I dare you. Never again: oh, never again! I can die but once, and if you use your knife, I'll use my teeth and my hands and my feet to fight you. Better death than more of this dog life with you."
Her breast rose and fell stormily, and Gerald looked at her as amazed as was her husband. Never before had the meek ogress behaved in this fashion, although on several occasions she had tried to assert herself. But having turned, she left no room for doubt as to what she meant. Looking at the transformed woman, who had been goaded into revolt, Haskins thought of Balzac's remark, which was now excellently illustrated: "There is nothing more horrible than the rebellion of a sheep."
"Wait; only wait."
It was Geary who spoke, but he spoke without conviction, since he felt rather than saw that his rule was at an end. It is ever thus with tyrants. They browbeat those who are willing to serve them, for many years, and the milder the servant the greater burden does the master impose. Mrs. Geary had labored like a horse, doing more than was required of her. Still, the negro had not been pleased, and therefore had beaten and kicked his beast of burden, never dreaming of any revolt. But the measure was filled to the brim: the last straw had stiffened the camel's back rather than broken it; and Mrs. Geary had risen to assert the right of a human being. Adonis blustered and threatened, but he knew that never again would his wife submit to his domination.
"With your domestic affairs I have no need to meddle," said Gerald, raising his hand to stop Mrs. Geary's speech and her husband's growling. "I think you are right to leave that brute, and if you need money I shall supply you with all you wish."
"Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Geary, dropping a curtsey; and glared at her husband. The drink was dying out of her, but she still fought, as she was supported by Haskins' presence. "You hear that, Adonis?"
"I'll go to law, sah," growled Geary, "you make my wife fight."
"You shall have more law than you bargain for," said Gerald coldly. "I can promise you that. Go on, Mrs. Geary, tell your story."
She placed her big arms akimbo, and spoke steadily. "When Geary went after you on that night, sir, I knew he was up to some deviltry, since he almost stripped himself and used all the oil in the cruet stand to rub over himself. I spoke to the Major--that is, I went in to speak to him here, and ask what Geary was up to. But the Major was gone."
"Gone?" echoed Gerald. "Then he went immediately after I left?"
"Not exactly, sir. It was quite an hour after Adonis followed you that I came in here. Then Adonis came back wounded, and I bound up his arm. He asked if his old master was in, and when he heard that the Major had gone out he followed."
"Followed where?"
"I followed to the Pixy's House," said Adonis hoarsely, "you may as well know dat what I know, sah. I hab noting to do wid de murder. I went ober de hills for de Major, and I found him coming back----"
"At what time was that?"
"After midnight," cried Mrs. Geary, "it was two o'clock before the Major and Adonis returned."
"And Bellaria was murdered--according to the medical evidence--about midnight," murmured Haskins. "So you went to the Pixy's House?"
"No, sah, I no go dere. I meet de Major coming back. He say dat he had gone to see if you, sah, had been visitin' de house, after you went from here. Den I tole him dat I tried to kill you, for I hear that you wished to make trouble for de Major. De Major berry angry wid me, and we come home. Den, in the morning, we hear ob de murder."
"Didn't the Major tell you that he had found Bellaria stabbed?"
"No, sah. Him say noting: I ask noting. Dat's all."
"If Major Rebb was in the Pixy's House at midnight, he either stabbed Bellaria himself, or he knows who stabbed her," said Gerald deliberately, and rose. "Is this all you have to tell me?"
"Dat all," growled the man sullenly. "But de Major did not kill. Bellaria asked for my big knife, 'cause she was feared."
"Did you know what she feared?"
"No, sah. De Major, he know, but he no tell me."
There was nothing to be done but to wait and see Rebb, so as to question him on this unexpected information, which Mrs. Geary had forced her cowed husband to give. Haskins slipped a sovereign into the woman's hand, and walked to the door. "If you follow me again to knife me, Adonis," he remarked, "remember I have a revolver."
The negro pointed to his useless right arm. "I can do noting," he said, and his eyes flashed as he added: "I should like to."
Mrs. Geary pushed past her husband. "No, you can do nothing with that arm. It has beaten me often enough. Geary," she pointed a finger at him, "now I leave your house with my children; this very moment I leave. I shall never see you again."
"You have nowhere to go, you fool gal."
"I can tramp with the children to Leegarth and there a friend of mine can put me up for the night. I have this sovereign the young gentleman has given me, and to-morrow I take the train back to my mother."
"I think you are wise, Mrs. Geary," called back Gerald, and began his return journey to Silbury, leaving the negro and his wife to settle their private affairs as they best could. But he felt certain that Mrs. Geary meant what she said, and would leave the Devon Maid at once. She feared, now that she was more sober, and Gerald was gone, lest she should again succumb to the tyranny of the negro.
The next morning Gerald received a letter from Tod, saying that he was going with Arnold to Belldown, a village on the hither side of Leegarth, and some ten miles distant. Haskins wondered why his friend and the tutor should go to such a secluded place. Probably Tod had found some evidence which took him there, for examination of the same. But his letter was most unsatisfactory, as he gave no hint of what Arnold had explained. Gerald felt somewhat in the dark. However, it was useless to conjecture. When Macandrew had done what he wanted to do at Belldown--whatever that might be--he would come to Silbury with Mr. Arnold and explain himself. Meanwhile Gerald possessed his soul in patience, and wished that Rebb would come down to the Pixy's House.
When he descended to breakfast, and Mrs. Jennings entered with her budget of gossip, he learned that Major Rebb had driven through Silbury early that morning on his way to Leegarth. "He came down by the night train I hear, sir," said Mrs. Jennings.
Haskins was very well satisfied, as this arrival provided him with work for the day. Apparently Rebb had seen Mrs. Crosbie on the previous day, and had learned what took place from the widow, or her mother. And it was possible that he had come to the Frederick Street chambers to ask Haskins what he meant by meddling with the case. There he would learn that the marplot--as he regarded Haskins--had gone on to Devonshire, and so had come down post-haste by the next train he could catch. All this argued a guilty conscience, and Gerald took his way to Leegarth later in the morning to have it out with his enemy. It occurred to him that Rebb was guilty after all.
The day was not so hot as the previous one had been, so Haskins walked to Leegarth. He could have obtained a horse, or a bicycle, as on the two former occasions, but preferred to use his legs. The country was very beautiful, and the air most exhilarating, so he enjoyed the journey, and arrived at Leegarth without unduly hurrying himself. When he came in sight of the Pixy's House he felt in his hip pocket to make sure that his revolver was safe. Rebb was a desperate man, and might make an attack after the fashion of Geary; therefore it was as well to be on the safe side. Thus ready for any emergency, he rang the bell at the big gates, which were again closed and bolted. In less time than he expected the gates were thrown open by the mild-faced valet of Rebb whom Haskins had last seen in London.
"My master is expecting you, sir," said the valet, stepping back to permit the visitor to enter, "in fact, sir, he came down here immediately after you for an interview. I have been watching at the gates all the morning."
"How did Major Rebb know that I was in Devonshire?" asked Gerald, and received the expected reply--that Rebb had inquired at his Frederick Street rooms. While following the valet up the narrow path, which wound between saplings and jungly grasses, Gerald looked hard at him, wondering if this man, like Geary, knew of Rebb's affairs. But the mild face of the valet betrayed nothing. He looked like a sheep, and probably was one. Major Rebb did not care for over-clever servants. Probably he had learned a lesson when pensioning off Geary, who knew far too much.
The old place looked very beautiful in the warm golden light, and Gerald caught a glimpse of the lawn whereon Mavis had danced. He sighed to think of what had happened since that wonderful night. A gulf had opened between the girl and the world which could only be bridged by an open confession by Rebb as to the truth of the murder.
But Haskins had very little time to cogitate, for the valet led him swiftly through the archway, and into the house. He preceded the visitor up a shallow staircase, and along a spacious passage on the first floor. On knocking at a door, and being bidden to enter, he introduced Gerald into a large room, with no less than five windows looking out on to the tangled avenue and rough lawns and riotous shrubberies. This was Mavis' apartment--as Gerald had been told, when he came to see Inspector Morgan--and it was luxuriously furnished, so as to be a pleasant prison for the unfortunate girl. Bad as Rebb was, he had done his best to make Mavis' voluntary captivity endurable--that is, it could be called voluntary, since the Major had told her that all English girls were brought up in seclusion, and she had acquiesced.
"How are you, Haskins?" said the Major, when his man had shut the door and they were alone together in the splendid room. "I have been expecting you."
"So I have been given to understand by your valet," replied Gerald coolly, and sat down to take out his pipe. "You don't object to my smoking, I presume?"
Rebb smiled grimly. "No," he rejoined deliberately, "you may need soothing before our conversation ends."
"Dear me, that sounds threatening. Are you going to murder me, or drop me into an oubliette. If so, I advise you to think twice about it. The police at Silbury know that I am here. I told a young constable in the High Street where I was going."
"I don't see why you should do that?" said Rebb sharply.
"I do," rejoined the young man calmly. "You are a dangerous man, Rebb, and you are being driven into a corner. However, if you think to silence me by violence, you will only get yourself into difficulties."
"You are afraid," taunted the Major sneeringly.
"Oh, not at all," retorted Haskins, although his fair face flushed a trifle; "there is no question of that. The mere fact that I come here alone is enough to prove that I do not fear you." He lighted his pipe carefully and looked along the stem at his host. "Fire away."
Rebb sat down in a comfortable chair with his back to the window, probably so that Haskins should not read his face too easily. He was neatly dressed in a maroon-colored smoking-suit, and looked as spic and span as though he had just stepped out of a band-box; but then Rebb, being something of a lady-killer, had always been attentive to his personal appearance. He suited the room very well, as he looked high-bred and bland, and dangerously amiable.
"What do you wish me to say?" he asked quietly.
"That is for you to judge," answered Haskins lazily, but very attentive to Rebb's slightest movement. "You say that you expected me. Well, I presume that means you have something to say."
"You have called to see me without an invitation," retorted Rebb, "so that shows you have a few questions to ask me."
"You are right--I have. But you are not hospitable, Rebb. I am dry after that long walk from Silbury. What about beer?"
"Are you not afraid of my poisoning you?" asked the Major, rising and going to a sideboard.
"Not at all; you would like to, so as to silence me for ever. Had I come here without anyone knowing my whereabouts you would doubtless try to get rid of me in some way or another. But the game in this case is not worth the candle. The Pixy's House has a bad reputation for one murder, Major, and I don't think you would care to have another committed either by yourself or your tool, Geary."
"I did not set Geary on to you," snapped Rebb, discomposed by this cool chatter, and returning to the central table with a tray.
"So I understand. Geary told me so last night."
"You have seen him?"
"Oh yes; and his wife also. She rather gave you away, Major, and I may tell you that she has left her husband, having had enough of his brutality. The children, I believe, are with her."
"I don't know what you mean about that woman having given me away," said the Major, trying to control himself, "there is nothing in my life but what will bear inspection."
"Even by the law?"
"Even by the law. Will you have hock or claret?"
"Hock, please, and some seltzer. I congratulate you on your courageous conscience, Major. Few people, even the best of us, can stand having their secret lives looked into."
Rebb passed along a glass foaming with the drink, and shrugged his shoulders as he took up the claret jug. "Did you come here to preach platitudes?" he asked cynically.
Gerald took a long drink, and set down his glass with a laugh. "No. I came to ask you where Mavis Durham is hiding."
"How should I know? She may be dead for all I can tell. And, indeed," added Rebb to himself, "I believe she is dead, else she would have been discovered long ago. Have you any idea of her whereabouts?"
"If I had would I ask you?" fenced Gerald coolly. "I stopped on the night of that poor girl's flight at the Prince's Head, as you will find if you ask Mrs. Jennings.
"I have asked her already, and I know that."
"Ah! Then youdidsuspect me of having a hand in the murder."
"I fancied that you might, since you loved Mavis, and wanted to get her away from here. I hope you are satisfied with your work."
"Withmywork. What do you mean?" Haskins sat up.
"Simply this, that nothing has gone right since you found that infernal cylinder, and pryed into my private affairs." Rebb glared. "If it was the old days of dueling, Haskins. I should call you out."
"I quite believe it. But as dueling days are past you will have to silence me in another way."
"Why should I silence you?"
"Because, Rebb, I know too much. After I left you on that night at the Devon Maid you came here, and----"
"I did not," interrupted Rebb fiercely.
"You came here. Mrs. Geary says so. And I believe from my soul that you killed Bellaria, and put the blame on Mavis to secure her money."
Rebb started to his feet. "You infernal liar!" And he flung his glass at the young man.
The glass skimmed past Haskins' head, and smashed against the wainscoting. By this time both men were on their feet; Rebb glaring and furious, but Gerald perfectly calm. A few drops of the claret had sprinkled his face, and he wiped these off quietly. "There is nothing to be gained by your losing your temper, Rebb," he remarked.
"Don't tell me what to do or what not to do," raged the Major, striding towards the door, which he locked. "You are in my power here."
Haskins sat down again with a contemptuous laugh. "So much so that, if you opened that door to let me out, I should refuse to go. Don't be a fool, Rebb. One would think you were a melodramatic actor. Do you think that I am afraid of you or of a dozen like you? Sit down and let us talk quietly over the matter."
Rebb walked forward, and flung himself into a chair, gnawing his moustache, somewhat taken aback by Haskins' aplomb. Usually, when he asserted his undeniably strong will, his opponents sat down and obeyed. But the Major recognized readily enough that he had a determined man to deal with, and, moreover, knew that he could not get the better of him by treachery, since the Silbury police were aware of Haskins' whereabouts. The Pixy's House already had an unpleasant reputation, and Rebb did not wish an inexplicable disappearance to take place there. He would willingly have got rid of this man, who so persistently crossed his path, but the risk was too great. And as man to man, Gerald was more than able to hold his own. Rebb was no fool, and, for the moment, he mentally confessed himself beaten.
"I ask your pardon for losing my temper," he said, wiping his forehead, "but no man can sit quietly and hear himself accused of woman murder."
"Defend yourself then," said Gerald, relighting his pipe, which had gone out during the episode.
"There is no need for me to make a defence," snarled the other.
"I think there is. Geary may hold his tongue, since he appears to be devoted to you, but his wife, having left her husband, will certainly speak out."
"What can she say?" asked Rebb, taking another glass of claret.
"That you went to this place on the night, and about the time, of the murder. You went away some time after I left, and did not return until two in the morning."
Major Rebb sat moodily looking at the tips of his slippers. He saw well that Gerald was right, and if the young man--as he probably would--supported Mrs. Geary in making trouble, very unpleasant questions might be asked. "Why the devil do you interfere in my business?" he asked, between his teeth.
"Because I love Mavis Durham."
"She is dead."
"You can't be sure of that."
"Then you know!" cried the Major, starting to his feet.
"Now how should I know anything when you have exonerated me from complicity in her flight?" argued Gerald, dexterously skirting the subject. "If I had run away with Mavis she would be my wife by this time."
"And would have passed her honeymoon in prison?" growled Rebb, quite convinced by Gerald's quiet tone.
"I think not. I should have fought for my wife. And I intend to search for her and fight for her still."
"You'll never find her. If she were alive she would have been captured long ago."
"Ah, it would please you, no doubt, to see her hanged."
"No! on my soul, no!" cried the Major, beginning to walk to and fro, "I only want to see her happy. She was happy here," he added, as Gerald laughed unpleasantly. "She was happy until you came and disturbed her poor brain."
"Her very clever brain!" contradicted the young man acidly. "Pshaw! Major, am I a fool that you should talk to me in this way? Whatever you may state to the outside world, for the sake of your illegal income, you know perfectly well that Mavis is perfectly sane."
"She is not! Would she have killed Bellaria if sane?"
"Oh, you are trying to keep up that fiction also?"
"It is not fiction," insisted Rebb, obviously in earnest. "I will admit that the girl's brain was stronger than I chose to tell anyone outside this room. All the same, I believe that, weary of being shut up, she tried to escape on that night. Bellaria came to stop her, and Mavis then must have stabbed her. Remember, Bellaria had Geary's knife."
"Do you really believe this?" asked Gerald, quite puzzled.
"I swear that I do! Come, Haskins, let us talk plainly, since there is no one to hear us. Don't you believe it yourself?"
"No, I do not! You, if anyone, killed Bellaria."
"Why should I?"
"Because you knew that I would take the girl away and marry her. To put her presumed insanity beyond all doubt you murdered Bellaria, and placed the crime on the poor girl's shoulders. In this way, should she be found, you secure her income for life, since she cannot marry."
"That would have been a clever thing for me to do," said Rebb, in a quiet way, "but I had not the brains to conceive such a plot, much less the cleverness to carry it out. I might, in a fit of rage, kill a man capable of defending himself. I certainly should never raise my hand to stab a defenceless woman, whatever provocation I might have."
"You were here about the time of the murder?" said Haskins, and he wrinkled his brow in perplexity. Rebb spoke very earnestly.
"I was--since Mrs. Geary has let the cat out the bag I may as well confess, and you will see how groundless your suspicions are. It was long after ten o'clock when I left the Devon Maid, and I took a lantern with me."
"Why did you go at all?"
"To search for your confounded canoe. Geary told me about it, and so did Bellaria, who learned where it was hidden from Mavis."
"Yes. I told Mavis. Well?"
"Well, I wanted to find it and break it up, so that you should no longer get across the pool and climb the wall. I walked over the hills, and lost my way for a time. It was close upon twelve o'clock when I got to the pool. I searched for the canoe and could not find it. I heard a shriek inside the grounds of this house----"
"And you went to see what it was?"
"Not at the moment. I knew that Bellaria, being always terrified, for reasons you need not know----"
"Pardon me, I know all about the Tána Society."
Rebb looked astonished, but made no comment, being too occupied in exonerating himself. "Then you know that she suffered greatly from nerves, and was afraid of being discovered and killed. Often she shrieked at night, as Mavis told me, and at times, when here late, I heard her myself. I therefore merely thought that Bellaria was in one of her mad fits and went on searching. About one o'clock I climbed the bank and, crossing the stream by the bridge to Leegarth, I went to the gate of the Pixy's House, wondering if you had dared to come there, after seeing me. I found the gates opened and Bellaria dead. As I was stooping over the body, Geary came running from the house. He said that he had followed me to tell about your shooting him in the arm, and on finding Bellaria's body he had gone to look for Mavis. She had vanished. I searched the house also, and could not find her. I therefore came back to Denleigh with Geary, making him promise to say nothing of our midnight visit."
"Why?" asked Gerald straightly.
"Why?" echoed the Major, looking surprised, "when you were meddling with my affairs? Had you known of that visit at the time, you would have denounced me to the police, and I should have had great difficulty in clearing myself. I held my peace. And I tell you that I really believed, as I believe now, that Mavis had stabbed Bellaria, so as to get her liberty."
"Why did you not believe that some emissary of the Tána Society had found out Bellaria's hiding place and had killed her?"
"You mean Venosta?" said Rebb hurriedly; "well I own that, after the first shock of surprise, I did suspect Venosta, as Mrs. Crosbie had shown me the coral hand, and had told me the use she put it to."
"Did she know about the society?" asked Gerald. "She declared that she was ignorant of its existence."
"So she was. But I knew about the society at Naples fifteen or sixteen years ago, when I rescued Bellaria from its clutches. No; I don't believe Venosta killed Bellaria, although he would have done so, I am sure, had he known where she was hiding. But he did not, and who could have told him? Not Mrs. Crosbie--although you mentioned Bellaria's name and whereabouts, confound you!--as Mrs. Crosbie knew nothing of the Tána Society. Well, Haskins, you must see now that I am innocent."
"It looks like it, I admit. But everything fitted in so well with your plans that I naturally thought you guilty."
"Then you see that I am not," snapped Rebb, much ruffled. "If I were, would I confess my midnight journey to you?"
"Seeing that Mrs. Geary is about to make it public, I think you would have had to in the long run," retorted Gerald sharply.
"She mustn't do that," muttered Rebb, still walking and becoming much agitated, for he was beginning to realize his danger.
"She will, now that her husband can no longer terrorize her. You are in a very awkward position. My advice to you--if you are really as innocent as you pretend to be--is to search out Mavis and hand over her income. After all, by the will, you need not account for what you have spent up to date, and you have had a long run for your money."
"You say that, because you want the income yourself."
"I could do with it, and when I marry Mavis I shall certainly insist upon justice being done to her. I would take her without a penny, as you well know, but I am not such a fool as to refuse six thousand a year along with a pretty, clever wife."
"Well then, find Mavis, and we shall see," cried Rebb, quite out of temper, and throwing himself into a chair.
"For you to accuse her when she is found? No, thank you. First I want to prove her innocence."
"You will find that difficult."
"Not with your help, Major."
Rebb grew violent. "Damn you. I say that I believe the girl may be innocent, and surely I have exonerated myself."
"I may think so, but the public----"
"The public need never know anything about it. See here, Haskins, you love this girl, and you seem to think that she is still alive. Good. I make a bargain with you. Give me three thousand of this six thousand a year belonging to the Durham estate, and you can marry Mavis quietly, and take her to America, or the Colonies. No one will think to find the notorious Mavis Durham in Mrs. Gerald Haskins. Thus everything will be settled, and I can marry Mrs. Crosbie--as I greatly want to--with a quiet heart. What say you?"
"I refuse your offer," said Gerald calmly. "Mavis shall have her character cleared, and shall have nothing or all of her income."
Rebb rose and snapped his fingers. "Do your worst," he said, trying to suppress his anger. "Find Mavis and marry her. But be prepared for me to have her condemned for Bellaria's murder and shut up in an asylum."
"I hope to prove her innocence," said Haskins quietly.
"Even if you do," snarled Rebb, becoming reckless when he found himself so beset, "you may lose the money."
"That is impossible: it belongs to Mavis."
"To the real Mavis."
Gerald rose, guessing that Rebb referred to the other twin. "What do you mean by that, Rebb?"
"Mavis has a sister. Yes, you may look, but Charity Bird is the real Mavis--or at least I can prove it to be so."
"There is a likeness between the girls, I admit," said Gerald, pretending ignorance, "but it is ridiculous to say that they are sisters."
"They are twin sisters. Sit down and I'll tell you all about it. But that you can make so much mischief I should not say a word; but when you know the truth, for your own sake you may hold your tongue and give me half the income."
Without a word Haskins resumed his seat, marveling at thus having been able to force Rebb's hand, without revealing his suspicions. The Major hastily swallowed another glass of claret, and began to speak in a hurry.
"I was in a Goorkha regiment in India some twenty-five years ago----"
Gerald interrupted: "I thought you were in a West Indian Regiment."
"Later, later!" said Rebb testily. "Don't interrupt. I exchanged to Jamaica a few years later. But in India I had a brother officer, who was my greatest friend. His name was Julian Durham, and he had six thousand a year against my six hundred. He was not very strong, and always said that, as he had no relatives, he would make me his heir. Then he married a silly, flirting girl, with whom he quarreled, and my hopes were thus dashed to the ground."
"Did you aid the quarrel?" asked Gerald delicately.
"Yes," replied Rebb shamelessly. "The wife stood in the way of my getting a fortune from Julian, and I tried to part husband and wife. I succeeded; for more than a year after the marriage, Mrs. Durham went to Bombay, with the intention of living apart from her husband."
"What a scoundrel you are, Rebb," said Haskins, astonished at the cold-blooded way in which the man recounted his villainy.
The Major laughed harshly. "I only tell this to you, and you don't matter," he retorted. "Outside, if you say anything, I shall deny all, and who will believe you, Haskins? However, to continue. We were stationed in the far north of India, and I escorted Mrs. Durham to Bombay, where she intended to embark for England. At Bombay she was taken ill, and died giving birth to twins. I didn't want a couple of girls on my hands, as I knew that Julian could not live long, so I paid the nurse to take one of the children--the eldest, mind you--to Simla, and to get rid of it somehow. She sold it, I believe, to a juggler's wife, and afterwards Mrs. Pelham Odin, then on tour, bought the child in Calcutta, to bring up. That child is Charity Bird."
"Can you prove this?"
"Yes! Be quite certain of that. The ayah and the juggler's wife are still alive. Well, then, that disposed of one twin. I brought the other back to the north of India to her father, and she was christened Mavis. Julian was very ill, so made a will in my favor and in favor of his child. I was to be her guardian, and to enjoy the money until she married. Then I was to hand it over, without accounting for what I had spent. In this way Julian hoped to satisfy me for his old promise to make me his heir, and of course I agreed."
"And you said nothing of the other twin?"
"No. Why should I? One brat on my hands was enough. Afterwards Julian came home to Brighton and died. It was at Brighton that he made his will, as you know. I came back from India with Mavis, and, to cut off all association with those who knew her and Durham, I exchanged into a West India regiment, and took her to Jamaica. I sold out fifteen or sixteen years ago, and brought the child here, after a tour in Italy. It was in Naples that I found Bellaria. She was a singer, and had betrayed some man belonging to the Tána Society. I don't know the exact story, but she was in danger of death, so I took her by stealth to Devonshire and made her nurse to Mavis."
"And Geary?"
"He was my servant in Jamaica. In Devonshire, at Barnstaple, he met with his wife, and, as I wanted someone to watch the Pixy's House, I established him at the Devon Maid, making him a present of the freehold."
Gerald rose. "And you paid for it out of Mavis' money?"
"Of course I did--only you mistake, the money doesn't belong to Mavis until she is married."
"She will be married to me the moment that I can find her," said Gerald grimly, stalking to the door.
"Wait a bit," called out Rebb, "if you marry her without promising me the three thousand a year I shall prove the identity of Charity, and she will get the lot. When she marries Tod Macandrew--he's in love with her, you know--you will get left."
"You cannot take the money from Mavis. Her name is mentioned in the will," said Gerald coolly, and tried the door, which was locked. "I say, open this, confound you!"
Major Rebb flung the key across the room, and Haskins fitted it into the lock. Before he could open the door Rebb continued: "Don't be a fool in your own interests, Haskins. I shall swear that Charity is Mavis, and your beloved will lose all."
"You can scarcely do that, in the face of the story you will have to tell. Mrs. Pelham Odin and the juggler's wife and the ayah can prove that Charity is the missing twin. And I daresay Mavis' baptismal certificate can be found. Her name in the will makes her the heiress."
"Then I'll tell about Charity and prove her identity," cried Rebb, starting furiously to his feet, "and she will at least get half."
"I don't care if she does," retorted Gerald, flinging open the door.
"But you had better give the money to me, and then I'll be silent as to Charity being Durham's daughter."
"No, Major. I don't care for your crooked ways. I'll find Mavis and marry her. Probably she will be quite willing to halve the income with her twin. Three thousand a year will be enough for her and for me. Good-day, Major, find some other man who is willing to become such a blackguard as you are."
Rebb caught the decanter and slung it across the room. It only crashed against the closed door. And when Rebb ran forward to pursue the man who flouted him he found the door locked on the outside.
On returning to the Silbury Hotel. Gerald sat down to think over the important conversation with Rebb. To all appearances the master was as innocent as the man. Nevertheless, according to the Major, Geary had been to the Pixy's House on the fatal night, in spite of his denial. On the face of it, the negro had no reason to kill Bellaria, and Rebb had sworn that the murder was neither committed nor prompted by him. If this were so, it appeared strange that Rebb should have found Geary, not only in the grounds of the Pixy's House, but in the mansion itself, when he arrived. Seeing that Geary was thus first in the field, it was not improbable that he had caught a glimpse of the assassin. Whether he had, and had told his master, it was of course impossible to say. But Haskins determined to have another interview with the landlord of the Devon Maid, and force him to disclose the whole truth, which he assuredly had not told in his wife's presence.
One important thing Gerald had learned from Rebb, and that was the truth of his surmise regarding Charity. She was--as he had always supposed--the twin sister of Mavis, and Haskins congratulated himself on guessing this before Rebb had spoken out. Still, it was just as well that rage had made the Major thus candid, and the matter was put beyond all doubt. Haskins was pleased also by the discovery, as, guided by him, Mavis would be quite willing to divide the income, and then Lady Euphemia would not be angry at Tod's runaway marriage. So far everything was right.
But the mystery of the crime had still to be solved. Until it was, Mavis must continue, not only to be an outcast and a fugitive from justice, but must remain unable to claim her rights as Julian Durham's heiress. Apparently Geary and Rebb and Signor Venosta, as an emissary of the Tána Society, were all innocent. If so, who was the guilty person? Gerald wondered, if the letter to which Mavis had referred could be found, as he firmly believed that it would afford a clue to the identity of the criminal. In his own mind he constructed the manner in which the crime had been committed. Bellaria had received this mysterious letter, which for some reason overcame her fears sufficiently to make her venture out at night. To meet the writer of the letter she had opened the gates, and then had been stabbed by her own knife--Geary's weapon--which had been wrested from her in a hand-to-hand struggle. The wonder was that the struggle had not attracted attention. As it was, Rebb swore that he had heard only one scream, and that might have been uttered by Mavis when she found the dead body of the nurse. Bellaria therefore was in all probability slain unawares.
However, it was useless to build up theories, which were all moonshine, so Gerald resolved to wait until Tod and Arnold arrived. According to Macandrew's letter, they would come to Silbury early the next day, so Gerald had a good many hours to himself. He had half a mind to see Inspector Morgan, and learn all details concerning the inquest, as some possible evidence might have been obtained, likely to throw light on the darkness. But Haskins refrained from doing so, as he did not wish to arouse Morgan's suspicions and reopen the case. For Mavis' sake the quieter he moved in the matter the better it would be. Gerald wondered, after hearing Rebb's acknowledgment of Charity's birth, if he had any idea of the scheme by which the girls had been made to change places. But, after reflection, he decided that it was impossible, as Mrs. Pelham Odin had managed very cleverly. Also Rebb was unaware that the twin he had got rid of was now Mrs. Macandrew, and, since that young lady was at Amsterdam, there would be no chance of her being met by Mrs. Berch and her daughter, when in Switzerland.
Bearing in mind what Mrs. Crosbie had told him of her projected tour abroad, Gerald was greatly surprised when he met the widow and her mother driving up the Silbury High Street from the railway station.
She saw him at once, as he stood thunderstruck on the pavement, and beckoned for him to come to the side of the landau.
"You are surprised to see us here," she said, with a gay smile. "This is not Switzerland, is it?"
"You said nothing about coming down here yesterday," he answered.
"No, because neither I nor my mother had any intention of coming. It was this way, Gerald. Michael--Major Rebb, you know--came in almost as soon as you had left, and we told him all that had taken place."
"Why did you do that?" asked Haskins imperatively.
"Don't bully, Gerald," said Mrs. Crosbie tartly. "I told Michael because I have no secrets from Michael, and he was very angry that you should have spoken to me as you did."
"I was perfectly polite, permit me to remind you, Madge."
"Don't call me by my Christian name," she said as usual, "well then, Michael went away to have an explanation with you, and later telegraphed to me that you had gone to Devonshire and that he intended to follow at once. He also asked us to come down that we might see the Pixy's House, as we intend to repair it when we marry."
"Do you indeed?" muttered Haskins ironically.
"Of course," said Mrs. Crosbie, with an airy flutter of her laces, "and I may tell you, Gerald, that I came down the more willingly, since I do not want you and Michael to quarrel. That is why we are here."
"To see the house, and to prevent a quarrel," said Gerald coolly. "I am greatly obliged to you for the trouble you have taken, Mrs. Crosbie, but I have already seen the Major."
Mrs. Berch, who had hitherto kept silence, looked up sharply. "Have you had a quarrel?" she demanded eagerly.
"Yes and no. Rebb was slightly difficult to deal with, but we now understand one another."
Mrs. Crosbie asked: "What about?"
"About various things," answered Haskins carelessly. He was determined not to answer her questions, as he had a vague idea that she was not so honestly his friend as she pretended to be.
"And you parted amiably, I hope?" said Mrs. Berch.
Haskins laughed as he remembered the parting, and how he had locked Rebb in the room. "I think that the Major would gladly see me tarred and feathered," he said lightly.
"There!" cried Mrs. Crosbie, with a childish pout. "I knew you had quarreled, and Idid sowish you to be friends. I want you to come to the Pixy's House when I marry Michael and see the improvements. I have already arranged what to do."
"Have you been down here before then?" asked Gerald, astonished.
"Yes--over two years ago. Michael asked me down when we were first engaged. I saw that poor Bellaria, but not Mavis."
"Why did you not see Mavis?"
"Because Michael said her mental state was so sad, that she might be dangerous. She was shut up on the day I went over the house, and, as I was only there for an hour, she knew nothing of my visit. I and mother were stopping in the neighborhood--it was when I was learning to drive a motor, Gerald. I would have taken that poor girl out for drives, as I got to know the country so thoroughly, but it was too dangerous."
"Where did you stop?" asked Gerald, still lingering, although Mrs. Berch seemed inclined to cut short her daughter's chatter.
"At a village miles away, called Belldown. Why do you start?"
"A mosquito stung me," answered Haskins readily: but his real reason for starting was that Belldown happened to be the place where Mr. Arnold and Tod were now stationed. "There are heaps of mosquitoes here, Mrs. Crosbie. You will be stung."
"Ah, well, we are only here for a couple of days--at the Pixy's House, that is. I merely want to look round, and now that the poor mad girl has gone I can explore at my leisure. Good-day. I wish I could ask you to come over, but Michael might object. So stupid of you to quarrel with my future husband, when we are such friends."
She gave the signal to the driver of the landau to move on, and both she and her mother bestowed friendly smiles on the young man, as he took off his hat. Gerald watched the carriage climb up the long street and vanish over the crest of the hill. Then he walked back again to the hotel, wondering why Mrs. Crosbie was so anxious to retain his friendship when she became Mrs. Rebb. He knew that Madge was a flighty woman, although much cleverer than she pretended to be, and was sure that she had some reason for all this friendliness and chatter.
However, he had more important things to think about than Mrs. Crosbie's airs and graces, and spent a wakeful night building up theories and knocking them down again. By dawn he had arrived at the conclusion that Geary was the criminal. "I expect," thought Haskins, while taking his bath, "that Geary found his hold over Rebb was getting lax, so he deliberately killed Bellaria, knowing that the Major had gone to the Pixy's House, in the hope of getting blackmail by threatening to throw the blame of the murder on his master. And by the murder he secured to Rebb an income out of which large sums could be paid. Yes. I really believe that Geary will prove to be the guilty person. But how am I to fix the crime on him?"
This was a hard question to answer, and Gerald waited for the arrival of Tod to put it to him, since two heads are better than one. The solicitor arrived at midday, along with Arnold, having come from Belldown--so they explained--by railway. Tod looked anxious, and not so healthy as he had done in London, but Haskins put this down to the man's unavoidable fretting after his bride. Arnold had not changed in the least, and appeared to be as tiny and gnome-like as ever. First and foremost the two men, being hungry, had dinner, and then Gerald conducted them both to the hotel drawing-room--a gorgeous apartment, which had been placed at his disposal by Mrs. Jennings, for an extra pound on the bill. Having the apartment to themselves, the three men saw that the door was closed, and then sat down to talk. Gerald immediately asked the question which had been trembling on his tongue from the moment he set eyes on his friend.
"In the first place, Tod," he said impatiently, "what took you and Arnold to Belldown?"
"That is a long story," said Tod leisurely.
"Then tell it as shortly as you can."
"One moment, let us do things in order. First let me know your doings here, Jerry."
"But----" began Haskins with irritation.
Tod cut him short. "See here, Jerry," said he firmly. "I am supposed to be your solicitor, and it is my place to conduct the business. I want things done in order. First your story and then mine. Both will be extremely interesting, I have no doubt."
Gerald stared. "Why should you think that I have anything to tell?"
"Well," observed Macandrew jocularly, "a little bird--Mrs. Jennings by name--whispered to me that two London ladies had come down on a visit to Major Rebb, who is camping--so to speak--at the Pixy's House."
"Yes. Mrs. Crosbie and her mother. What of that?"
"I shall tell you when I have heard what you have to say about them."
Arnold uttered a grunt and raked his long beard with lean fingers. Haskins looked from one to the other quite mystified. "Has what you have to say anything to do with those ladies?"
"A great deal to do with them, Jerry."
A light broke in on Haskins' clouded brain. "Mrs. Crosbie said that she had stopped at Belldown--that is where you have been."
"Hum," said Tod, glancing at Arnold. "I didn't think she would have admitted so much."
"Tod," Gerald caught his friend's arm, "don't worry me with your hints and looks. Has Mrs. Crosbie anything to do with this crime?"
"I can't say," rejoined the solicitor stolidly, "and I shan't speak until you tell me how you got along with Rebb."
Haskins threw himself back in his chair and made the best of a Scotsman's obstinacy. "I have something very important indeed to tell you," he said seriously. "You know the likeness between the girls?"
Macandrew nodded. "I told Mr. Arnold here all about it, and about your idea of the two beings twins."
"My idea has proved to be correct. Theyaretwins."
Tod jumped up, scattering his papers, and with his red hair almost standing on end. "Do you mean to say that Rebb----"
"Yes. Sit down. Toddy, and listen," said Gerald vigorously, and when his legal adviser became quiet he related the whole of the conversation with Rebb.
"Well I'm blessed," muttered Tod, rubbing his head, when the narrative was ended, "what a wonderful thing! There is something in your intuitions after all, Jerry."
"I don't think it needed much intuition to guess at a possible relationship, seeing how marvelously alike Mavis is to Charity. The wonderful part consists in my getting Rebb to give himself away."
"Ah," said Arnold significantly, "the military gentleman is beginning to see that the wheel of fortune is turning the wrong way with him."
"And quite right too," said Tod meditatively. "What a scoundrel the man is, to be sure! Well, Jerry, important as what you have told us is, I am more interested in the movements of Mrs. Crosbie and her mother. When you tell me about them I can explain what Mr. Arnold and myself have discovered at Belldown."
"There is little to tell about them. Rebb came down after me, and they came down after Rebb. He asked his future bride here to have a second look at her future home."
"Oh, so she had been here before?"
"Yes--so she says--some time ago. This is her second visit."
"Her third, more like," muttered Arnold, in his beard.
"We can't be sure of that," said Tod rapidly.
"For Heaven's sake, tell me what you mean," cried Haskins, jumping up in his turn, "my nerves are wearing thin with all this suspense."
"Well then," began Macandrew, shuffling with his papers, "it's this way. Mr. Arnold here was going about the country in his caravan, selling books, and reached Belldown on the same day that Mavis fled."
"Mavis fled at night."
"Well, well," cried Macandrew testily, "you know what I mean. Arnold was at Belldown on the day of the night when Mavis fled and the murder was committed. Is that plain enough?"
"Yes. Go on, Toddy. Don't be a silly ass."
"I am your solicitor just now and not your pal," said Tod, with great dignity; "well then, while wandering about Belldown, Arnold saw two ladies in a motor car. One was driving and one was being driven."
"And they were----"
"Mrs. Berch and her daughter, whom we, Jerry, supposed to be at Bognor. I never knew that Mrs. Crosbie could drive a motor."
"Oh yes. I taught her a trifle myself, and she is quite an expert at the business. She mentioned to-day, when I stood by her carriage, how she had motored over every inch of the country. But what was she doing down hereabouts, when----"
"When she was supposed to be at Bognor? That is what I want to ask her, and I am glad that she is on the spot."
Gerald thought for a few moments. "How did you recognize these ladies, Mr. Arnold?"
"Major Rebb once showed me a colored photograph of the lady to whom he was engaged, and I recognized Mrs. Crosbie when she passed in her motor. A severe-looking old lady in black was with her, and Mr. Macandrew tells me that she is Mrs. Berch, the mother. I may tell you that the two ladies wore motor goggles and veils."
"Then how did you recognize them?" asked Gerald again.
"Mrs. Crosbie's veil was up as they passed, and she pulled it down when she saw that I was looking earnestly at her. The motor was going very slowly at the moment because a hay wain was in front blocking the road."
"I see. Well, what happened?"
"The motor went to the inn at Belldown. It was about six o'clock, and the two ladies had dinner. They were at the inn when I left Belldown in my caravan on the way to Leegarth where I hoped to rescue Mavis."
"Yes! yes! yes!" cried Tod, impatient at the slow way in which Arnold was speaking, "and late that night--about ten o'clock--he passed the motor on the road between Belldown and Leegarth. It had broken down, and Mrs. Crosbie was tinkering with the machine."
"I shouldn't think she could mend a broken motor, Tod."
"Oh, I don't expect anything very serious was the matter. Probably her driving--she drives furiously, as a woman always does--had put the gear out of order. However, Arnold passed them and camped some distance outside Leegarth, so that the villagers, who knew his face, would not recognize him. Then, some time after eleven, he saw the motor coming along, also skirting the village. The two women were in it, and he thought that they had lost their way. And then again he fancied that Mrs. Crosbie was going to the Devon Maid to see Rebb. At all events the motor passed out of sight in the darkness. I may tell you that its lamps were not lighted, so Mrs. Crosbie ran the risk of police interference. Rather foolish, I think, seeing she did not want to be seen."
"Well! well," said Gerald, after a pause, "and what does all this mean?"
"Arnold," went on Tod cautiously, "did not attach much importance to this motor car business, but when he told me I fancied that Mrs. Crosbie had to do with the murder."
"I don't see how----"
"I do. She didn't want to be recognized: she had no lamps, so that she could slip along easily, and--as we learned at Belldown--she did not return through the village. If she did not come down to murder Bellaria, why was she in this neighborhood, and why did she lie to you about Bognor?"
"It's a mare's nest you have found, Tod. Mrs. Crosbie has no motive to murder Bellaria, and she certainly hasn't the nerve."
"I'll ask her myself," said Tod, rising. "Come on over to Leegarth."