Santiago entered the room quite unsuspiciously. His step was light, his eyes were bright, and he had evidently been successfully plotting some new and lucrative villainy. In a moment his astonished eyes lighted upon Herrick, standing tall and smiling on the hearth-rug. A Spanish oath of the coarsest slipped from his mouth, and he looked about as evil as a man can look who knows that the game is up. However he was plucky enough to show fight. He even attempted bluff.
"What are you doing in my rooms Señor?" he demanded in Spanish. "If you----"
"Don't you think we had better keep to English?" said Herrick blandly. "I know you speak it so well, and of course we have our mutual friend Joyce to consider. You are surprised to see me. Natural, very natural."
Joyce sat in his chair silent and white. He was too frightened to open his mouth for he knew something of Don Manuel's rages, and dreaded the tornado which would ensue when the Mexican learned how Herrick had been told everything by his weak-kneed coadjutor. For a moment Santiago (still in ignorance as to the true state of affairs), ground his teeth. Then by an effort of will he recovered his smile, and to all appearances his usual temper. "You will excuse me if I spoke rudely Señor," he said with a polite how, "it is not my custom. But I am rather taken aback at meeting you here. I do not remember having asked you to come."
"That's all right," replied Jim cheerfully. He did not sit down, for Santiago was still on his feet. And one can use a revolver better when standing. "I heard that you had been suddenly called to Town yesterday. I therefore made it my business to follow."
"Very kind of you," said Santiago slipping his hand into his breast pocket, an action which was imitated by Herrick, "but how did you find out my address? I never gave it to you."
"An oversight on your part my dear Don Manuel," replied Jim politely but watchful of the man's slightest action, "but the fact is my friend Joyce left Beorminster yesterday as you know--that was after his talk with you I believe. I thought that it was possible you might ask him to stop with you for a day or so in place of returning to his own home. Therefore I telegraphed to town asking certain friends of mine to keep a watch on him and--you."
"What am I to understood from all this Señor?"
"This much. That your game is up. Joyce has told me much; I have waited to see if you will tell me more."
Don Manuel cast a black look at Robin who began to 'whimper. "I could not help it," he said, "it's all over. I had to tell him."
"You told him what?" demanded the Mexican livid with rage.
"All about the conspiracy--Frisco, and a few other--ah, would you"--for Don Manuel had whipped out his revolver. Herrick was just as quick and the two men faced one another. Robin gave a shriek like a frightened woman. The sight was an unpleasant one.
"For God's sake!" cried Joyce wringing his hands.
"One moment before you fire Señor," said Herrick coolly, "I would have you know that the firing of a single shot will bring up the police." Santiago dropped his revolver with a start. "The police," he muttered; then after a pause he returned his weapon to his pocket. "You can do the same Señor," he said calmly.
"I don't think we shall have much use for them," said Herrick putting away his weapon and sitting down. "I think we may talk now that these preliminaries are ended. Will you not be seated Señor Manuel."
"In my own house!" exclaimed the Spaniard between his teeth but sat nevertheless.
"Quite so; I have to ask you pardon for that. But you see my friend, I must stand if you do, and I am tired. You might use that pretty little weapon in your pocket."
"I may do so yet," said Santiago with an ugly look.
"Possibly. All the same I would point out that your intention has its disadvantages. In the first place I am a good and a quick shot. In the second as my shot or yours would summon the police, you might get into trouble."
"The police can do nothing to me."
"If you attempt to kill me I think they can do a lot. We are not in Mexico now, Señor Santiago. Come, let us talk sensibly. I am sure you must see that I am in a position to dictate my own terms. You will not find them hard I assure you always provided--"
"Provided what?"
"That you did not murder Colonel Carr. If you did, I fear--I fear I shall be obliged to hand you over to the police. We have a prejudice against people being killed in this country, Don Manuel."
"Oh, curse your fine speeches!" growled the Don. "I did not kill Carr if that is what you are driving at." He paused and cast a look at Joyce. "I see that you have got the better of me. If that white-livered cur had held his tongue--however I must make the best of a bad job. Come, if I answer your questions freely and frankly will you promise not to inform the police of what I tell you?"
"No, I can't promise that. If you know where Frisco is you must tell me. I want to have that man hanged." Joyce started up with a cry. "I am sorry Robin, if he is your father, but as he is a murderer also he must--"
"One moment," interposed Santiago coolly, "Frisco is no murderer."
"Indeed? Then, as you were in possession of the pistol with which Colonel Carr was shot, perhaps you can tell me who used it. That is," said Herrick significantly, "if you did not use it yourself."
"I don't use weapons of that sort," said Santiago scornfully, "besides it was my game to frighten Carr, not to kill him."
"I see. It was you who sent those warnings in cipher."
"You know that do you. Yes, it was I, and to make Carr afraid. He had few good nights after he got those warnings I know."
"They were all bluff?"
"So far as I was concerned," replied Santiago easily, "but had I chosen they could have been sent in deadly earnest."
"I do not understand."
"I do not think you will until I explain. But first I must be assured of my own safety before I speak."
"Well," said Dr. Jim pulling out his pipe, "its this way you see. I want to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. Also to learn who killed Carr. I could have you arrested on a charge of trying to kill Marsh," here the Mexican muttered a curse on Robin's head and the little man winced. "But if you will prove to me that you did not kill Carr and tell me the whole truth, why I will let you go back to Mexico unharmed."
"And if I refuse?" demanded Don Manuel. "In that case I'll call up the police and give you and Joyce in charge for conspiracy and assault with intent to kill."
"I did not wish to kill him," protested Manuel, "I only wanted to prevent him going to the vault."
"And so allow the money to pass to Frisco," put in Herrick, "very clever. I know all about that. Tell me something new."
"If I had only been here before you intimidated this--"
"You would have done as he has done," said Herrick; then changing his tone, he spoke sharply. "We are wasting time. Tell me all I want to know; answer my questions, and you shall go free, save that I shall have you watched until the true murderer of Colonel Carr has been found. If you refuse you shall be arrested forthwith."
"And if I were to shoot you?" cried Santiago savagely half rising. "You would be hanged, or else you would have to end your own life. Don't I tell you the sound of the shot will bring up the men I have had posted?"
Santiago reflected for a moment, then he took out his revolver and tossed it carelessly on to the table. "You are the stronger Señor. I give in. Allow me to roll a cigarette, and I will answer all your questions. I am not afraid, for I can swear by the Holy Mother that I did not kill Carr and--" added Santiago with a gay laugh, "I rather regret I did not."
"Come," said Herrick lighting his pipe, "the story. In the first place where did you meet Colonel Carr?"
"In Mexico about twenty years ago. You would not think it to look at me. But I am not young, Señor Herrick."
"Did you meet Frisco at the same time?"
"Joyce's father? I did."
"Wait a moment," said Robin, "I wanted to tell Herrick the precise relationship between myself and Colonel Carr, but I grew confused. Was not my mother his niece? I forget. I am so muddled."
"No. It is this way. The uncle of Colonel Carr, a younger brother of his father was turned out of doors by the grandfather. He went to the States and married. He died leaving a widow and daughter. The widow died and the daughter married an American. Your father was the son, and he married your mother. You are their son. Therefore you were a kind of third or fourth cousin to Carr. Your father Frisco was a second cousin. I think it is this way, but," Santiago shrugged his shoulders "your English relationships are so very confusing."
"Cousins will do," said Herrick. "Did Carr know that Frisco--we will continue to call him so as it is rather confusing--did Carr I say, know that Frisco was his second cousin?"
"Yes! For that reason he allowed Mrs. Joyce an annuity of five hundred a year."
"Why was it not continued to our friend here?"
Don Manuel laughed. "I think the Colonel and Frisco had quarrelled by then, and Carr had told him to look after his own brat."
"How dare you?" cried Robin jumping up.
"My friend, I repeat what the Colonel said. That is all."
Herrick interposed. "Did Mrs. Joyce know that Frisco was with Carr?"
"Oh, dear me no. She thought she was a widow."
"That is true," said Robin gloomily, "my mother always said that my father had died in America. I could not believe that Frisco was my father until he convinced me."
"I think we both convinced you," said the Mexican with a laugh, "but it strikes me Dr. Herrick that we are beginning the story at the wrong end. Let me tell it in my own way. It will be much clearer."
"I hope it will be true."
"Oh, as to that I have no reason to conceal anything now," said Don Manuel with a shrug, "you may as well know all. The money is lost and I shall return to Mexico as poor as I set out. Well?"
"Tell the story in your own way," growled Herrick disliking the coolness of the man yet half admiring his nerve. "Well then," said Santiago placing a cigarette in his mouth and crossing his legs, "it is this way. Twenty years ago I met Colonel Carr. He was in the war between Chili and Peru, and a brave soldier he was. A brute also. There was nothing he would not do to get money. He had left his home a pauper, and he swore he would go back a millionaire. But when the war was at an end, he had not got the fortune he wanted. It was about that time that Frisco fell in with Carr."
"And Frisco introduced himself as a cousin?"
"Just that," said Santiago briskly. "They soon found out the relationship. Joyce--I am speaking of your father my friend," this in an aside to Robin, "Joyce came from San Francisco, so the Colonel one day being drunk, called him Frisco--the name stuck to him. After that they were what you English call pals, and hung round Lima trying to make money. I was in the army then and saw much of them. Frisco was as anxious as Carr to be rich. He said he had left a wife and son in California."
"That was you Robin," put in Herrick much interested.
"Yes. That was Robin," said Don Manuel with a sour glance at the little man whom he had not yet forgiven for his cowardly confession. "Well Señor, the two tried to make money and could not. Then they heard of the treasures buried by the Indians when Pizarro conquered Peru. They went off to Cuzco; afterwards up into the mountains. For some months they were gone. One day they came back to Lima to see me, ragged and poor. They had caught an Indian who knew of a large treasure in gold and jewels. He told them where it was hidden, and gave them a plan."
"But I thought the Indians would not tell," said Herrick, who knew something of the country of which Santiago was speaking.
"This one did," said the Mexican with a smile, "they tortured him with a red-hot gun barrel. Don't look so astonished Señor. Indians are not much above the beasts, and I told you Carr was a devil. They tortured him till he gave them the plan. Carr was afraid of losing it, so he made Frisco tattoo it on his breast, and then burnt the original plan."
"Ah!" Herrick started to his feet, "I see now why Carr wanted his body watched for a year! At the end of that time the plan--'
"Would not be recognisable," finished Santiago quietly. "Exactly so, Señor. Carr knew from the ciphers I sent him that I was in the country and would in some way try to get a sight of that plan. For that, he shut himself up in the tower, and"----
"Wait a bit," said Herrick, "he built that tower when he came home ten years ago. Your coming did not make him build it."
"He knew that someone would come and try to kill him," said Don Manuel coolly, "but I am telling the end before the beginning. Let me go on. Well, Dr. Herrick, as I said, Colonel Carr had that plan tattooed on his breast. He would not show it to me, but wanted me to join in an expedition to get the treasure. I got the money and fitted out the expedition. We started off to Cuzco, then up the Apurimac and on the mountains. I told you something of this before Señor. On the way they betrayed me into the hands of some Indians, and went on themselves. I cursed my fate when I learned their treachery. I was held captive for two, three years. To revenge myself on Carr I told the Indians how he had found the treasure. They were furious, and sent out men to protect it. But Carr fought them and got away to the coast with a quantity of jewels, and gold. He went to the States, and afterwards came on to England where he settled down at 'The Pines.' But at Lima he was twice nearly assassinated, and knew that the Indians had appointed some of their more civilised countrymen to follow and kill him and to cut the plan of the hiding-place out of his flesh. He knew also that these appointed would follow him across the water to the ends of the earth. But he managed to give them the slip, and never thought that in an obscure country village he would be in danger. All the same he built the tower that he might keep himself safe while asleep."
"And are you one of these emissaries?" asked Herrick. Santiago shook his head. "I might have been had I so chosen," said he, "but I wanted a share of the money myself, or at all events a plan of the hiding-place, that I might search for it."
"How did you hear all this, when you were a captive?"
"I did not--then. It was when I got back to Lima that I heard. I could not learn where Carr had gone. I did not know even if Carr was his real name. I hunted for him both in North and South America, but he had so cleverly concealed his trail that I could not trace him. Then I was ill for a long time after the privations I had suffered amongst the Indians. It was only within the last year that I discovered the whereabouts of Carr. I then came to England to frighten him. So I sent those cipher warnings. I wanted a share of the money' or the plan. Carr refused to give me either."
"Ah! you saw him then?"
"No! he wrote me a letter defying me to do my worst. Of course he thought that I was one of those appointed to kill him. That was why he lived in the Tower, and arranged that his body should be watched after his death. Dead or alive you see he was determined that I should get nothing."
"You came down to Saxham to break into the vault?" suggested Herrick. "No, I should have done so, had I not hit upon this other plan--what you call the conspiracy. But I thought that through this little fool I might get the money. I deserve it more than Stephen Marsh."
There was silence for a few minutes. Santiago was regretting the downfall of his hopes. Robin was wondering about his own future, and Dr. Jim reflected on the strange story which had been told to him. "Did you never go down to Saxham?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Señor," replied the Mexican airily "on the night when Colonel Carr was murdered, I was at the rectory."
"With Pentland Corn," said Herrick, "then you knew him before?"
"I know him better than anyone in his parish knows him," said Santiago, "he is a gambler. Often he leaves his Church to come to the Pimlico Club and gamble. It was there that I met him. He was the friend I spoke of when I first saw you, Señor Herrick--the friend who told me about Colonel Carr. As I had the secret of this padre I used him as an intermediator between myself and Carr."
Herrick was surprised to hear this about Corn, and could easily see how the unfortunate man had been kept under the thumb of this adventurer. "You are certainly skilful in finding tools," said he dryly and with a glance at the silent Joyce. "So you were at the rectory on that night? How can I be sure that you were not at 'The Pines?'"
"Oh! You want to accuse me of the murder!" said Don Manuel rather amused. "I assure you I did not kill Carr. It was not my aim to do so. I wished to get the money without danger from your laws. To be plain Señor, I went to Pentland Corn, to see if he could bribe or force Frisco into betraying Carr into my hands. I came to Beorminster by a late train, and went to Saxham by the public coach. About nine I came to the rectory. The Reverend Corn was out, but I waited for him."
"He could not have been out," said Herrick. "Mrs. Marsh was with him, and her son had come to fetch her."
"You are right except as to the time, Señor. Mrs. Marsh had gone by nine, and her son also. Corn came back and said that he had taken them to the public conveyance. He was pale, and looked haggard. I told him he lied. He lost his nerve and threw on the table a pistol--"
"Ha! The pistol you gave to Joyce?"
"The same," replied Santiago coolly, "the weapon with which Carr was murdered."
"Do you mean to say that Corn killed the Colonel?" cried Herrick starting to his feet. "It is a lie. I do not believe it."
"Then why ask me to tell you the truth. It was Corn who killed Carr. He was a gambler, and deeply in the Colonel's debt. Those visits he paid to 'The Pines' were not to convert Carr as he alleged, but to gamble with him. He lost much money to Carr. The Colonel threatened if he did not pay, to denounce him. Corn knew that he would lose his position, if this was done. He knew also that Carr was a threatened man; I had told him. It then occurred to him to kill Carr, and he thought that the suspicion might be shifted on to those who had lost the treasure. Thus his secret and himself would be safe."
"It is incredible!" said Herrick, and even Joyce looked amazed. "It is true," replied the Mexican. "Of course if you will not believe me I really cannot help it. I know that Corn is guilty. He told me so himself, and I took from him the pistol by way of proof. Being thus in my power, I forced him to do my bidding. You can see now, how he declared that I had not left him on the night Señor Marsh was assaulted. It was I who struck him, and Corn by my directions proved the alibi. That is the whole story Señor. Is there anything else you want to know?"
"The whereabouts of Frisco?"
"Ah I can't tell you that. Frisco trusts no one, not even me. When Joyce or myself want to see him, we have to put a cipher into the 'Telegraph.'"
"Then you must do so now; I want to see the man."
"Why? He is innocent."
"So you say. But I have yet to be convinced of Pentland Corn's guilt."
Joyce jumped to his feet. "I am sure my father is innocent," he cried, "but I will get him to see you if you like."
"I think it would be better," said Herrick dryly and took up his hat.
"One moment, Señor," said Santiago quietly, "how do we stand?"
"I shall do nothing until I see Corn, and learn if he really killed Carr as you say. In the meantime Joyce can go back to his flat, and you can remain here Don Manuel. You are perfectly safe from the police."
"But you will have us watched?"
"Certainly," said Herrick with a nod, "you see I cannot trust you. Besides I want you to write down all you have told me, and sign it. I have Joyce's confession. I want yours."
"I will do so with pleasure," replied the Mexican after a pause, "I have done nothing against your law."
"Nothing, except try to kill Marsh."
"Oh! you have promised to hold me guiltless of that."
"True enough. You are safe so far as that is concerned. There is honour amongst thieves, Señor Manuel. I have come lately so much into contact with people like you and Joyce, that I feel rather a bad lot myself."
The Mexican drew himself up and his eyes glittered. "Señor, you shall answer me for those words. I am a gentleman, and I challenge you to a duel. You dare not refuse."
"We'll see about that, when this matter of Carr's death is settled, Don Manuel. Meantime, remember that every move you make, I shall know of and baffle."
Santiago shrugged his shoulders. "The fine scheme is ended," he said, "this little fool has spoilt all. I will do what you wish Señor, since you are too strong for me."
"Very good. And Joyce, you must get your father to see me."
"If I can," muttered Robin with a glance of hatred.
"You must," answered Herrick going to the door. "Good-bye gentlemen, I shall leave you to settle your own affairs now." And he went out laughing.
Herrick did not take all that Santiago had said for gospel truth. The Mexican was too clever and too bold a man to give in so tamely, seeing what was at stake. For the moment he had recognised that he was powerless, and had surrendered until such time as he could recover his position. Dr. Jim could have stopped all his machinations, by having him arrested for the assault on Stephen. But he did not wish to bring the police into the matter at present. In the first place so many lies had been told about the Case, there were so many things to be explained, that he was not sure of his ground. And for the sake of Stephen he did not wish to create a scandal. Colonel Carr's reputation was quite bad enough without making it worse.
Therefore the only thing that Jim could do was to have the two scamps watched. Certainly they might warn Frisco to clear out; but whatever Santiago did, Herrick felt sure that Joyce would not counsel such a course. The little man knew well enough that his safety depended upon Herrick, and would do nothing which might jeopardise his safety. The Mexican might plot and plan; but Joyce would certainly obey orders. Also, they could do little if closely watched. Herrick then gave his orders to Kidd and Belcher, and returned the next day to Saxham.
"If anything important occurs," he said to the ferret, "you can wire me."
"But we are in the dark," protested Belcher, "if you would only---"
"No, Belcher," interrupted Jim sharply, "we settled all that before. All you have to do, is to see if either of these men tries to leave the country, or if they meet a man who looks like a sailor. Then you can wire me. I shall come up to town at once and deal with the matter myself."
"What might be the sailor's name?"
"It might be anything," replied Herrick dryly. "It won't do Belcher. You are not to know my aims until I choose to let you know. If you will not work for me on these terms, just say so and I'll get some one else."
"I'll do whatever you like Dr. Herrick," said the ferret submissively, and went away to fulfil his duties devoured with curiosity. In spite of his regard for Dr. Jim, the man wanted to make money out of him. He therefore determined to learn all he could about Joyce and the Mexican, and treat with them on his own account if he gained any knowledge likely to be useful from a blackmailing point of view. The ferret and his partner were rogues in grain. They did not even keep faithful to their employer, or to each other for the matter of that. "Honour amongst thieves" was not a proverb practised in the Strand office.
Herrick had another talk with Joyce before he returned to Saxham. The little man had gone back to his flat. Having him all to himself, and the yoke of Don Manuel being to some extent broken, Dr. Jim was able to deal more easily with him. He promised the poor fool, that if he remained faithful and did not intrigue any more with his father or the Mexican, that he should be given a new chance of leading a clean existence. Indeed Herrick spoke so seriously that he reduced Joyce to tears, and to many protestations that henceforward he would be all that was good. It was not improbable that he would mend. He had had a severe lesson, and had narrowly escaped getting into the clutches of the law. With a less kindly man than Herrick, his position would indeed would have been a serious one. He therefore appreciated the kindness accorded to him--or said he did--and Jim departed satisfied that so far as Robin was concerned, he had nullified the schemes of Santiago. In this way he hoped to take the heart out of the conspiracy against Stephen and Stephen's money.
"The next person to deal with is Corn," he said to himself as he got into the train, "he is another fool if not worse, as Manuel told me. I seem to have dealt with nothing but fools and scoundrels ever since I started out on that unhappy walking tour. Colonel Carr was evil in his life, and he has left an evil influence behind him."
Later on Dr. Jim reproached himself for blaming the walking-tour. If it had brought him into trouble it had also given him a promise of future happiness. But for that walk he would never have met Bess. After all his anxiety in London Herrick wanted to have a quiet hour with the girl who was the light of his eyes. Jim did not call her this, for he was not a romantic person; but he felt he would like to be with her. And he was anxious to know what she had discovered about the pistol. Bess had not sent him a report as she had promised, and Herrick concluded that she had discovered nothing worth the sending. All the same he wished to see her at once. But he put off the happy hour. There was business to be done before pleasure could be taken.
It was after nine o'clock before Herrick arrived at the Beorminster Station. He had not sent for the cart, as he did not wish Stephen to know of his arrival at present. Dr. Jim had made up his mind to call in and get the truth out of the clergyman before returning to "The Pines." Therefore, determined to get his plans into thorough order, Jim left his portmanteau at Beorminster to be sent on the next morning and himself walked to Saxham.
In due time he arrived at the rectory, and was shown into the rector's study, where he found the man himself. The Revd. Pentland looked nervous at this untimely visit, and more so as he saw that Dr. Jim was not in evening dress and must therefore have come straight from town. Corn's conscience was uneasy, and every untoward event fluttered his nerves. However he composed himself with a strong effort, and asked Herrick to be seated.
"You have just come from town I see," he observed with a nervous glance.
"Yes! And I want particularly to have a chat with you before going to 'The Pines,' and on a painful subject, Mr. Corn."
The rector shivered, and turned even paler than usual. "Is there anything wrong?" he asked faintly. "Let me know the worst at once."
"Why should you expect any worst Mr. Corn?"
The man shook his head and passed a handkerchief across his dry lips. "I want to know the worst," he said again, without heeding the question. "I can see by your face that there is something wrong which concerns me."
Herrick gave a short laugh. "Upon my word you are a singularly indiscreet man Mr. Corn," he said, "you give yourself away right and left. When I met you first of all, you behaved in a foolish manner. Now you are very little better. You are a clergyman and a gentleman with an assured position. Why don't you assume the defensive and ask what I mean by such speeches as I have made--as I am now making!"
"Because I would have to tell you all about myself sooner or later," said Corn in a low voice. "You are a strong man, and I want to confide in someone like yourself. I am not strong. I was--once--but something happened," he sighed and nodded, "a terrible thing happened."
Herrick wondered if he was about to confess to the murder. However he did not wish to hurry the confession, which he saw Corn was on the point of making. He wondered that such a smart and soldierly-looking man should own himself to be so weak. "I am quite at your service," he said coldly, "and for my own part Mr. Corn I do not think you have used either myself or Mr. Marsh over well."
"In what way?" This time Corn really did look amazed.
"You told a lie to shield Don Manuel. It was the Mexican who struck that blow at my friend, and you knew it. How could you a gentleman, and a clergyman stoop to shield a would-be murderer."
Corn rose to his feet and braced himself to a great effort. "You are right," he said frankly, "but I was compelled to such a course."
Herrick nodded. "I know. I have heard all from Santiago."
Corn recoiled. "He told you," he grasped sitting down.
"Yes. He told me how he had you in his power; how he forced you to lie for him. I made him tell me the truth; now I wished to hear the confirmation of this story from you."
"It is true; it is true!" cried Corn desperately. "If he told you that I was a gambler, that I owed money--it is true----"
"I don t mean that so much," said Herrick sharply, "as to the accusation he makes against you of having murdered Colonel Carr."
The clergyman, who had been leaning his head on his arms in an agony of grief, looked up suddenly with a bewildered stare. "Santiago said that about me?" he demanded.
"It is not true?"
"It is the foulest lie he ever spoke!" cried Corn with indignation. "I am bad in many ways Dr. Herrick--yet I have my excuses, as you shall hear. But as to murdering Carr, I did nothing of the sort."
"How was it then that Don Manuel obtained from you the pistol with which the crime was committed?"
Corn looked round the room, and went to the door. Opening this he looked out for a moment to see that the coast was clear. Then he shut it locked it and came back to the fire-place looking more like a ghost than ever. "I picked it up," he said in a whisper, "yes, on the lawn of 'The Pines.' I knew that Colonel Carr had been shot with it. But I dare not tell."
"Why not? Were you afraid of being inculpated?"
"No." Corn hesitated and wiped his face. "I must tell you," he said with a gasp, "there is no help for it! This secret has weighed on my soul until I can bear it no longer. It was a woman who shot Carr."
Herrick rose slowly hardly believing his ears. "A woman?" he echoed.
Corn nodded and whispered again, "Mrs. Marsh," he said.
"That," said Herrick, "is a lie."
"It is the truth; I swear it is the truth. She shot Carr because he was about to disinherit her son. If you will sit down I will tell you all I know. I am glad that it has come to this," panted Corn wiping his forehead, "I am glad that I can tell you. The secret has nearly killed me."
"Did you tell Santiago?" asked Dr. Jim seated again and much bewildered.
"No, I told no one. Santiago on the evidence of that pistol really believed that I was guilty. But it is a lie--a lie, and he used it to force me to hide his wickedness. I protested my innocence; but he would never believe me. And that because I refused to say who was guilty."
Herrick placed his hands on the shoulders of the agitated man and forced him into the chair. "Come," said he in a more friendly tone, "you are not so weak or so bad as I thought Corn. You took the blame on yourself. Oh, I know you protested your innocence to Santiago; still he would always think you guilty. He is not the man to believe that any human being would shield another. Why did you shield Mrs. Marsh?"
"For her son's sake," said Corn, "and for the sake of Ida Endicotte."
Herrick stared. "What has she got to do with it?"
"I love her," said Corn in a low voice shading his eyes with the palm of his hand, "but she told me that her whole life was wrapped up in Stephen's. If he knew that his mother had killed Carr, he is quixotic enough to throw up the whole fortune out of shame. Then he would not be able to marry Ida and her heart would be broken. It is for this reason that I held my peace."
"Yet you let Stephen be assaulted," said Herrick, "his death would have ruined the life of Ida just the same."
"I did not know about the assault until after it was committed," said Corn quickly, "then Santiago--but I cannot tell you the story in scraps like this. Better let me tell you all about myself, and what led to my present weakness. Then you will appreciate what I have gone through."
Herrick nodded, "it is best so. Go on. You can safely confide in me, Corn. I only retain the right to use such information as may clear up the mystery of this murder."
Corn seized his arm. "You will not tell about Mrs. Marsh?" he panted.
"Not without consulting you. Be certain Corn that I am too true a friend to Stephen, to do anything harmful to him. But there is much at stake and I must be allowed to use my own judgment. You can rely on me."
"I am sure of that," said the clergyman in admiration, "you are a strong-willed man. I was strong myself once--in a way. But my crime----"
"Crime! I thought you had not killed Carr."
"No," said Corn in a low voice, "But I have the blood of a fellow creature on my hands for all that," and he buried his face in his hands.
"I judge no man," said Herrick after a pause, "but do not tell me anything that may render it difficult for me to keep sacred your confidence."
"Oh, there is nothing you need fear from that," replied Corn drearily. "It was an accident. Wait till I recover myself."
The man took a turn up and down the room. After five minutes he resumed his seat and spoke composedly. "My name is not Corn," he began, "Langham is my name--Francis Langham. I was in the army."
"So Bess Endicotte said," nodded Herrick.
Corn smiled faintly. "Yes! I let that slip one day, when she was talking of my looking like a soldier. But she does not know my real name. No one does save the Bishop who gave me this living. Ah! he was a good man. He is dead now. But I have to thank him for saving my reason and my life."
"How was that?" asked Herrick settling himself.
"I was quartered in the West Indies," said Corn after a pause, "and I there had a friend, who joined about the same time as I did. I need not tell you his name or the number of my regiment. All you need know is the simple story of my misery. My friend and I were always together; they called us David and Jonathan in the regiment. Well," here Corn nerved himself to a tremendous effort, "we were out shooting ducks. We were parted amongst the reeds on the borders of the lake. I thought I saw the brown back of a duck through some reeds. Without thinking I fired, and--I killed my friend! Oh, my God!"
When the man's head went down on the table, Herrick clasped him by the shoulder. He was profoundly moved by the miserable story, and could well understand how a once strong man had been changed by this tragic deed into a weak, tremulous, creature. He did not say a word of comfort. It would have been useless. After a time Corn recovered himself and continued in a dull hard voice.
"There was an inquiry. I was exonerated from all blame. But I knew that I had killed my friend, that I had the blood of a fellow creature on my hands. I left my regiment and sent in my papers. Under another name I returned to England. All my relations were dead save my uncle the Bishop. He tried to calm me. I would not be calm. I would have committed suicide but that I felt that it was my duty to suffer for my crime."
"Not a crime," interposed Herrick gently "an accident."
"Yes! It was. Yet I can't help--but no matter. I took to gambling to drown my remorse and grief. I had never touched cards before. They became a passion with me. Other men take to drink,---I to cards. But all in vain. When the excitement of the game was over--in the morning, then my misery came back. I went to my uncle. He implored me to find peace in the bosom of the church, for he did not look upon me as the guilty wretch I was. I consented. As Pentland Corn I studied for the church. I became a priest,--a curate and worked in the slums of the East End. I left off gambling, and felt more at ease, thinking I was expiating my folly. In an evil hour--after years of hard work--my uncle gave me this living. I took it. Shortly afterwards he died. Then I realised the folly of accepting a charge where I had time to brood. The past came back to me, and--I took to gambling again.
"That was weak Corn," said Herrick decisively.
"I know it was--but I was in a manner driven to it. There was little work to do here. Society had no attractions for me. So then I had long--long hours of agony. I wanted to forget the past, and"----
"You should have gone back to the East End."
Corn nodded. "I should have done many things," said he bitterly, "but that accident had taken all the manhood out of me. I drifted--drifted. Well to make a long story short, I took to going away to London at times to indulge in gambling and forget my sorrow."
"I know. And you went to that club in Pimlico."
"I did. Santiago told you that I suppose. I met him there. In an incautious moment I told him about Colonel Carr. Then I heard of the grudge he bore against him."
"Do you know the story of that expedition?"
"Most of it. I warned Colonel Carr against his enemy. He laughed, feeling safe in his tower. Then learning that I was fond of cards, Carr made me play with him. It was said that I went to 'The Pines' to convert the man. It was to gamble--so low had I sunk."
Herrick shook his head. But he was so sorry for the man that he could not blame him for his folly. Corn resumed.
"Night after night I gambled there. Also I went to London, and met Don Manuel at the Pimlico club. So, the life went on. And now for the story of that night." Here Corn drew his chair closer to that of his listener, and continued his revelation in a whisper.
"I knew Mrs. Marsh very well and saw much of her," he said, "she was a very violent and terrible woman."
"I know that," said Herrick remembering his own experiences.
"Oftentimes I tried to check her wrath. She would call and see Carr, and they always fought when they met. I think Carr enjoyed tormenting her, for he never forbade her visits. He was a wicked man, Herrick."
"One of the worst, judging from his reputation."
"Yet he had his good points. He helped me with money to pay my gambling debts not twice, but thrice."
"Did he know your story?"
"No, I could not tell it to him, he would only have laughed at my remorse. It would have seemed foolish to him. He thought that I was simply a profligate clergyman, and liked me for that very reason, Oh, I do not defend myself Herrick; I sank low, very low, but my excuse must be the sorrow of my life. It took all the courage and self respect out of me. But after this I shall give up this charge and return to the East-End. There I will work hard and forget my folly, my sorrow. The gambling will lose its hold over me then."
"I think you will be wise. Go on."
"Well, on that day of the murder Mrs. March came to me in a rage. She had heard through Frisco--he had spoken in one of his drunken fits--that Carr was going to disinherit her son. She went to see him from this house. I tried to stop her; but she would go. They had a furious quarrel in the afternoon, and Mrs. Marsh swore that she would kill Carr if he disinherited Stephen."
"She did not kill him in the afternoon?"
"No. Because he was alive after five o'clock. Someone saw him at the window of the tower. Well, Mrs. Marsh dined with me. After dinner she worked herself into a rage. Carr had laughed at her on that afternoon, and had said that he would do what he liked with his money. In fact from all she told me, he treated her like a brute; he was one you know Herrick," and Jim nodded, remembering the torture of the Indian.
"Stephen was to come for her," said the rector wearily; the telling of this story fatigued him. "Somewhere about nine o'clock she was to meet him at the Carr Arms, and take the bus back to Beorminster. After eight she went out. It was so early that I wanted her to stop. She refused. At nine Stephen arrived. He could not find his mother. She was not at the Carr Arms. I then guessed that she had gone to see Carr again. In my fear lest she might do something dreadful I blurted out my suspicions. At once Stephen understood what I meant. He went himself to 'The Pines;' I waited for some time. Then I was in such a state that I followed. The house was all ablaze, but I heard nothing. This was about half past nine or a quarter to ten. I went up as far as the door. On the steps I picked up that pistol--which I guessed had been used by Mrs. Marsh. I slipped it into my pocket. Then I returned home. I went also to the Carr Arms and learned that Stephen and his mother had caught the bus some time after nine o'clock, I tried to think that Mrs. Marsh had not shot the man. I returned here to think it out. Santiago was waiting for me. He had come by the last bus from Beorminster, and had been waiting since nine. In fact he came just after I went after Stephen. It was really a quarter past nine when he came."
"Do you think he had been to 'The Pines?' asked Herrick keenly.
"I do not know. But you can learn that from the busman who drove him here. I did not inquire myself. He had come to get me to take him to see Carr. I refused, and without thinking I threw the pistol on the table. I was much agitated, and he saw that. He got out of me that I had been to 'The Pines.' After looking at the pistol he said he would go to 'The Pines' himself. I refused to let him go. After a time I gave him some money and persuaded him to go. I drove him to Heathcroft station in my cart. He took the pistol with him. I did not notice that he had done so. In a day or two when the murder became known he wrote and accused me of being the criminal. I denied it. But he had read the report of the death and how the wound had been inflicted by an old-fashioned weapon. When he came here with Joyce he insisted that I was guilty. I said that I was not but would say nothing about Mrs. Marsh. It was this knowledge that he used to make me hold my tongue about the assault on Stephen. What could I do Herrick?" said Corn piteously. "Appearances were against me. Santiago could prove that I had the pistol. I had been to 'The Pines,' and I owed Colonel Carr money. Also there was my own story. Had I been arrested, all would have come out. No! I had to do what Santiago told me."
"Humph!" said Jim, "I can see your dilemma. And what about Mrs. Marsh? Did Stephen suspect her?"
"No. He told me that he had gone to 'The Pines' and looked at the house. He saw nothing and heard nothing. He therefore returned to the Carr Arms, and found his mother waiting for him. She said that he had missed her, and evidently invented a story which satisfied him. No Herrick, I do not think Stephen suspected his step-mother. But she shot the Colonel I am sure. She left my house in a rage and she several times threatened to kill him. Then she was not at the Carr Arms. After nine the man was shot."
Herrick nodded. "Did you ask Mrs. Marsh to explain?"
"No! She fell ill if you remember, and took to her bed. I could not bring myself to see her. I therefore held my tongue, and I should have continued to do so but that Don Manuel threatened me. Therefore I determined to tell you all when I could. What you heard from him is in the main true. But I did not kill Carr. The blood of one human being on my hands is enough. Do you despise me Herrick?"
Dr. Jim rose and took the hand of the unhappy man. "My friend, I pity you from the bottom of my soul. If you had only found some one to advise you, all this trouble would not have occurred."
"That is true. But my uncle who knew the story of my misery was dead. I shrank from telling anyone. But when I got to know you and saw how strong and self-reliant you were, and recognised also the goodness of your heart I felt that I could safely confide in you, You will not tell anyone what I have told you?"
"Need you ask me that!" said Herrick with a hearty shake of the hand. "Of course your secret is safe with me."
"And about Mrs. Marsh?"
"I shall see into that," said Herrick gravely. "Remember Santiago is a dangerous man. I do not know what trouble he may yet cause. If necessary I must use what you have told me about the crime. But you may be sure that for Stephen's sake and for yours, I shall be circumspect in my dealings with the matter. As for you, my friend, wait here until this mystery is quite solved; then go back to the East End, or to the Wild Lands as a missionary."
"Yes," said Corn with a sigh, "I know. Only in that way shall I find rest."
The two men shook hands and parted very good friends. Corn returned to his study intensely relieved by the sympathy, and by the fact that he had some one to share his secret. Herrick walked home to "The Pines" wondering at the perplexity of the case. He thought less of Corn than of Mrs. Marsh. Suddenly he stopped.
"I see," he said to himself, "this was why Mrs. Marsh poisoned herself with an overdose of chloral. Poor woman!"