The surprising discovery that the bullet was of silver, elevated the crime from the common-place to the romantic. That an old-fashioned weapon should have been used in these days when firearms have reached such a pitch of perfection, was remarkable enough, but that the assassin should have reverted to the superstitions of the Middle Ages for his missile, was almost beyond belief. In spite of her quick brain, Bess could not come to any decision. Failing a discussion with Dr. Jim she resolved to leave the vexed question at rest.
All the same she did not pause in her detective work. Having followed up one clue, until it ended--for the time being--in nothing, she hunted about for another. So far she had made two discoveries. The pistol which Joyce declared he had received from Don Manuel was certainly the weapon with which the murder had been committed; and the bullet was of silver. But this knowledge resulted in nothing. Certainly it cast a strong suspicion on the Mexican; but that part of the puzzle Bess felt she could safely leave to Herrick. So far as her particular business was concerned she could do no more, until she heard her colleague's report. Pending this, she began to work in a different direction. It occurred to her that she had never questioned Sidney about his doings in the Pine wood on the night of the murder. Possibly he might be able to supply some clue to the mystery.
"He was in the habit of watching the tower," said Bess to herself, "he said as much on that day when we had the picnic. I wonder if he saw anything suspicious on that night; then he might have seen that horrid little Joyce, or perhaps Frisco. I'll see what he knows."
Sidney was not an easy person to question. His fantasies of thought, had been laughed at so frequently, the truth of his statements so often denied, that he had grown reticent. What he saw, what he heard, he kept to himself, and not even his own family could get him to explain himself on occasions when they really desired information. The boy mooned about in a dreamy state of mind, saying little beyond the merest common places and for the most part lived in that world of fantasy which was anathema-maranatha to the people around him. He was like a wild animal, shy, timid, and intensely suspicious.
Bess thought that he might be more open with her, when he was--so to speak--in his native wilds. She therefore watched her opportunity, and followed him to one of his favourite haunts in the pine wood, where it fringed the moor. Here one afternoon, she found him seated in a secluded glade beside one of those remarkable circles, which the country people call fairy rings. So steadily was he gazing at this in the half-light which filtered through the overhead boughs, that he did not notice her approach. To be sure she trod softly and used the same precaution as she would have done when approaching the haunt of some timid animal.
Sidney had always been a puzzle to everyone, but Bess understood him better than most people. Besides she had discussed him frequently with Santiago, and was inclined to take the Mexican's view of the boy's peculiarities. Remembering the oft-quoted saying of Hamlet. Bess was less sceptical than those around her. She could' not see why Sidney should not possess the power of seeing,--what in the generally accepted sense is called the unseen. Considering what the lad had foretold with regard to the death of Mrs. Marsh and the accident to her step-son, it was impossible to say that Sidney was either a fool or a madman. There was some reason for his fantasies--so-called: and Bess regarded him with a certain amount of awe. She could not understand him; but she granted that he was a rare spirit, far removed from the common-place mortal.
"Well Thomas the Rhymer," said Bess gaily, when her shadow fell on the fairy-ring, "are you looking for the Queen of Elf-land?"
It was characteristic of Sidney that he was never taken by surprise. At the sound of her voice he neither started nor expressed any anger. All he did was to raise his serious eyes to her face, and observe quietly, "I knew you were coming, Bess dear."
She threw herself down beside him and nodded towards the fairy-ring. "Did they tell you?" she asked in low tone, and in all good faith.
"No, Bess. This is not the time for the little people to be abroad. I was only looking at their dancing-ground."
"Have you seen them here?"
"Often," replied Sidney with conviction, "small naked folk who dance and sing and play on queer instruments. They know that I see them; but they are not angry."
"I believe you are a fairy yourself Sidney."
"No. I have a soul--what you call a soul--and the fairies have none. They are only the creatures who attend to the works of Nature; her servants. I can see them because--" here Sidney broke off, "it is no use my telling you Bess, you would not understand."
Bess quite admitted this. She could not understand. All the same she did not tell her brother that he was a fool as many people would have done. She simply nodded, and passed the subject by. Her errand was to find out what Sidney had seen in the actual world. After the manner of her sex she approached the matter by a side-issue. "Sidney dear," said she, "do you know that Mr. Joyce has gone away to London?"
"No! I did not," replied Sidney gravely, "but I am very glad he has gone. A bad man Bess, and he would have done you harm."
"How? What do you mean." Sidney passed his hand across his face. "I cannot explain," he said in a troubled voice, "you see Bess, bad people carry about with them a bad atmosphere. That Mexican was very wicked; Joyce not so bad. Both of them made me feel quite ill. Did you never see how I refused to sit beside them? Well, that was because they gave me such pain. Not physical pain but a kind of uncomfortable feeling, which I can't put into words."
"In what an old-fashioned way you talk Sidney," said Bess puzzled, "one would think you were a hundred."
"I know more than I say. Corn did not teach me everything I know!
"Tell me Sidney. Do you like Mr. Corn?"
"I do--in a way. He is not bad, but he is weak. With good people he is good, with bad people he is bad. I am glad that Don Manuel has gone to Town. He was doing Mr. Corn a lot of harm. But if I told you what I know of these things you would only laugh at me."
"No, I would not Sidney," said his sister earnestly, "I am sure that you are so sensitive that you feel these influences you talk about."
"Sensitive," echoed Sidney, "yes! I suppose that is what you would call it. You have come here to ask me a question?" he said abruptly.
"How do you know that?" she demanded, then seeing him shrug his thin shoulders, she admitted the truth of what he said. "I want to ask you who you saw in the Pine wood on the night when Colonel Carr was killed?"
Sidney thought for a moment, then raised his eyes towards the gap in the trees formerly blocked by the tower. "I saw a lot of red mist about the tower," he said, "that was anger. I saw too--" he shook his head impatiently. "It is not these things you wish to know Bess?"
"I want to know who killed Colonel Carr?"
"I can't tell you Bess. If I knew I should tell. But I don't. On that night I came here, looking for things---" said Sidney with a side-glance to see if she were laughing, "and although I felt that there was a bad influence about the house, I never went near it. I kept away and wandered on to the moor. That is why you missed me, when you came to look for me. I did not mind the rain. But I saw your lantern, and thought you would be anxious, so I returned home. Then you came back yourself."
"Yes. That is all true. But tell me Sidney, did you see Mr. Joyce in the wood or on the moor?"
"No. I did not see him. Stephen was the only person I saw."
Bess started violently. "Stephen," she said, "surely you must be mistaken."
"No," replied the boy indifferently, "why should I be mistaken? You know I can see in the dark like a cat. Before I saw your lantern, I had seen Stephen on the lawn looking at the tower. I do not know what time it was, so don't ask me. You are always so particular about time," said Sidney peevishly, "as though it mattered."
Bess reflected. It was strange that Stephen should have been in the vicinity of the house on that night and yet have escaped her notice. But she remembered that being intent upon looking for her brother that she had not even seen Joyce, although he was lurking in the bushes at her elbow. True she had caught a glimpse of Frisco. But that was when she consciously looked at the door. It was possible that Sidney might have come across Stephen. "Did you speak to him?" she asked.
"No. Why should I have spoken to him?"
"Did he go into the house?"
"Not that I saw Bess. He was looking up at the tower, standing on the lawn by the trees. I went away to the other side of the wood, and out on to the moor. That is all I know."
"But Sidney, did you see Frisco crossing the moor?"
"I did not. When I saw your lantern I went home. I wish you would stop asking me questions," he cried irritably, "you make my head ache."
After this speech, he relapsed into one of his silent fits, and Bess could not get him to speak. Knowing from experience that Sidney was hopeless when in this mood, she left him still by the fairy ring, and took her way back to Biffstead. The house was empty, as Ida had gone to Beorminster to see Flo, and Frank was attending to the farm.
Bess sat down and wondered what could be the meaning of Stephen's presence at "The Pines" on that night. She knew that he had come over from Beorminster to escort his mother home. But then Mrs. Marsh had been with Mr. Corn the whole evening, and there was no reason why Stephen should have gone out of his way to visit "The Pines." It was in the afternoon that Mrs. Marsh had seen the Colonel, and Stephen must have known that she would not be at the great house after nine o'clock. This, Bess, calculating by her own movements, was the hour at which Sidney had seen him. He was looking up at the tower too, so Sidney said. "But he can't have had anything to do with it," she thought restlessly, "he disliked the Colonel, but he didn't--no, I won't even think of it! Such a thing if true, would kill Ida. Yet I must find out from Stephen himself why he was in the wood on that night."
She reflected. At this hour Stephen would be alone. Why should she not go over and see him. In one way or another she could tell him about the pistol and the silver bullet and see from the expression of his face if he knew anything about either. It was incredible that Stephen should have fired the shot. He was the Colonel's heir; but even to gain the money he certainly was too good a man to commit a crime. Yet if what Sidney said was true, Stephen had been on the lawn about the time Colonel Carr was shot. He must know something about the matter.
"I'll see him," said Bess putting on her hat again. "I shall not be able to sleep a wink until I know what he has to say."
In another half hour she was in the library where Stephen was established on the sofa. He looked thin, and rather worried, but his face brightened when he saw her. "This is good of you Bess," he said stretching out his hand, "I am all alone; Herrick is in Town; Ida at Beorminster. Not a soul to speak to. Draw that chair close to the fire. Shall I ring for tea?"
"It is too early yet," she said reassured by this bright talk. It was incredible that a man who spoke so lightly should have a black crime on his soul. "I just want to chatter for a bit; I am so tired of my own company."
"So am I. Well you talk about Jim, and I'll discourse about Ida. We shall be quite happy. By the way, when will Ida be back?"
"About dinner time. She will come over and see you afterwards."
"I wish she would come to dinner here," said Stephen, "you also and Frank and Sidney. I miss Jim horribly, and it is no fun eating a long solemn meal alone. Upon my word Bess, I sometimes long for the days when Petronella's macaroni could be eaten hurriedly, and without this formality. I would rather have a book than a footman about the table."
"What a mixed way of talking," said Bess pensively, "you _have_ a book on the table as a rule, I suppose you are glad all the same that you have the Colonel's money?"
"Of course I am," said Stephen frankly, "it enables me to marry Ida. I was so afraid lest she should marry someone else before I came into my kingdom. But I could not ask her to be my wife when I was a pauper could I Bess? She's a rare jewel that requires a rich setting."
"I don't think Ida values money so much as all that," said Bess gravely. "She would have married you without a sixpence. But I am glad all the same that the money came to you so soon. It is nice to be rich."
"So it is," admitted Stephen gladly. "I can buy whatever books I like."
Bess laughed at this speech. "I am afraid you will grow into a bookworm."
"No. Jim has got me out of bad habits in that respect. At one time I did nothing but read. Now I ride and swim and box and fence and shoot----"
Bess started at the last word. It gave her the opening she desired. "Are you a good shot?" she asked.
"I was always a good shot," said Stephen coolly, "that is, with a pistol. I never handled a gun until I came here."
"I did not know you had ever handled a pistol either?"
"Oh yes, I did. Young Capron gave me permission to shoot rabbits on his estate ages ago. I could not afford to buy a gun, but I did manage to get enough money to screw out a revolver--and a very good one. I believe it was brought here from Beorminster, unless Petronella overlooked it. But I have not used it for over a year. Rabbit shooting with a pistol is not much fun especially when one is alone."
"I should like to see the pistol," said Bess, after a pause.
"Go over then to the box behind that screen," said Stephen, "if it is anywhere it will be in there. There are all sorts of odds and ends, rag tag and bobtail of my former existence."
Bess did as she was told and walked slowly over and behind the large gilded screen which stood in a far corner of the library. Here, pushed to one side, was a moderately sized box, the lid of which was open. She found in it a few books, many manuscripts, pens, an inkstand, and all the paraphernalia of a writing table. These she enumerated aloud.
"I know," said Stephen from the sofa, "those are the the contents of my study. I expect Petronella threw all the things into that trunk. The pistol is bound to be there--in a small mahogany-box. I always kept it on the mantelpiece of my study. Be careful if you find it Bess. All six chambers are loaded."
After some search Bess came across just such a box, and opened it to find a neat little revolver of the most modern pattern. She carried this, box and all, to a table near the sofa. Again Stephen warned her that the weapon was loaded. "I kept it loaded because my mother was always afraid of thieves poor soul," he said, "though heaven knows there was little enough to steal in that dismal house of ours! What is it Bess?"
"There are only three chambers loaded," said Bess thickly. In a flash she remembered the three shots fired into the dead body--and the conical shape of the bullets. Those in the weapon she held were conical in shape.
"Nonsense," said Stephen nervously. "I always kept the whole six loaded. You must be making a mistake," he took the revolver from her and examined it closely. "You are right," he said with a long breath. "Three of them _are_ empty."
As he spoke he looked up apparently with indifference. When his eye caught hers he saw something in her expression which made him start and flush crimson. For a moment they looked at one another. Then Stephen swung himself up to a sitting position and laid the pistol on the side table. "Why do you look at me like that Bess?" he asked in a hurried tone.
For a minute she did not reply. But she felt that she must know the truth, and burst out hurriedly "Stephen! You were on the lawn on the night your uncle was killed!"
The young man started to his feet, and then fell back again on the sofa white, and amazed. "How do know?" he stuttered.
"Sidney saw you. He told me. Oh, Stephen,--three chambers of your revolver empty--three shots at----" she felt suffocated and could not continue.
"Wait! Wait" Stephen put his hand to his head. It felt confused. His face was of a deep purple. Bess thought that he would have a fit and blamed herself for having blurted out her suspicions.
"Wait! Wait" muttered Marsh-Carr again as she moved towards the bell to summon assistance. He sat down on the sofa, his face in his hands, rocking himself to and fro. Then he heaved a deep sigh, and looked up at her white haggard face. "You will not tell Ida," he said.
With her hands twisted in her hair Bess stepped back. She suppressed a shriek. "Stephen!" she cried hoarsely "You did not--you----"
"I did not murder him. No," replied the young man harshly. "He was already dead when I fired those three shots."
"Then it was you who?--"
"It was I," cried Stephen, rising to his feet with a fierce look, "and you are going to denounce me, I suppose!"
"No! No! how can you think I would do such a thing? But Ida, poor Ida!"
"You must not tell her," cried Stephen grasping her wrist until she winced with the pain. "Do what you like, but say nothing to Ida. I would rather break off our engagement on another plea than that she should know."
The pain of the twist he gave her arm brought Bess back to a more normal state of mind. She pulled herself together, and sat down. "Stephen," she said slowly, "no one but you and I will share this secret. Can you swear to me that Colonel Carr was already dead when you fired those shots? I want the truth!"
"He was already dead," said Marsh-Carr sitting down quietly, "did you not hear the medical evidence at the inquest? It was the bullet which killed him. My shots were fired at a carcase."
"Why did you do such a horrible thing?" wailed Bess. "Because I was mad for the time being," said Stephen gloomily, "I will tell you all if you are strong enough to hear it."
"After what I know, I am strong enough to hear anything. Oh! To think that you should have behaved in so barbarous a manner."
Stephen winced. "It was barbarous I confess," said he, "but I was mad for the time being. After all you must not be too hard on me. I did not kill my respected uncle," he sneered.
Bess shivered. She had never before seen this side of Stephen's character, and the new experience was unpleasant. It even stirred her into unconsidered indignation. "Since you went up that tower with a revolver, you must have intended to kill the man," she said.
"Perhaps I did, perhaps I did not," he answered in a most brazen manner, "but the plain truth is that I wanted to frighten him.
"And did you think a revolver would frighten a man who had faced death fifty and a hundred times?" said Bess with scorn. She recalled to her memory several episodes Carr had told her of his American doings; she well knew the dare-devilry latent in the man.
"Carr was old, and had lost his nerve. I counted upon that. I never intended to kill him. When I went up the tower the work had been done for me already."
"And who did it?"
"I do not know," said Stephen earnestly, "upon my soul Bess I do not know--the man was dead when I saw him. It was sheer rage that made me fire those three shots. The brute that is in me, as it is in every man, came to the surface. But of the real murderer I saw no trace. I did not see Frisco whom I take to be the man."
"It was not Frisco," flashed out Bess, "However," she continued sick at heart, "you had better tell me how it came about."
"Partly through my love for Ida, partly through my mother," said Marsh-Carr gloomily. "It came to my mother's ears that the Colonel intended to disinherit me. I suppose Frisco got the upper hand and induced him to alter his will--that is if he did alter it which I doubt."
"Of course he did not Stephen. If he had left the money to anyone else you would not be here."
"I am not so sure about that," replied the young man savagely. "Frisco might have taken the second will from the corpse. At all events I know that Frith and Frith drafted no new will. If it was drawn the Colonel must have drawn it himself. However Frisco let out in one of his drunken fits at Beorminster that Carr intended to cut me off. My mother heard the news and came home in a frenzy of rage. It was for that reason she called on Carr on the afternoon you know of. The twenty-fourth was it not? She intended to argue him into a better frame of mind. He only laughed at her and said he would leave his money as pleased him. She told me the next day. But Carr was dead then."
"What made you decide to frighten him?"
"Am I not telling you!" said Stephen impatiently. "When my mother went to Saxham I knew she would fail. A woman could not deal with a devil like my beloved uncle. I determined to see what I could do with a revolver. I would have fought a duel with him to keep my rights," said the young man fiercely, "but I would not have killed him in cold blood. No, indeed."
"Well go on," said Bess, "I want to know all."
"There is little to tell," said Marsh-Carr. "I was going to Saxham to fetch home my mother who was at the rectory. I thought I would visit 'The Pines' and see the Colonel. I did so, some time before nine."
"Ah! it was about that hour Sidney saw you."
"I daresay. I stood on the lawn looking at the tower, and could not make up my mind to enter the house. It was all ablaze with lights, and quite deserted."
"No," said Bess recalling her own experience. "I heard you fire the shots and saw Frisco at the door. He was drunk and hanging on to the post."
"You heard me fire the shots. I did not know you were about?"
"I was then. I had gone to look for Sidney. But you see Frisco--"
"It was Frisco," said Stephen vehemently. "I tell you Carr was dead when I went up, lying face downward. If Frisco was at the door, he was just clearing out after killing the man. He knew that he would be arrested."
"But he must have heard the shots?"
"Then he knew that someone had discovered the body which would make him run for it all the more quickly. However to make a long story short I fired the three shots you know of, and then returned to my mother at the rectory. I said nothing about the matter, as I had not killed Carr. If Frisco is not the murderer I do not know who is. That is all I can tell you Bess, you see I am not such a guilty wretch as you thought."
"I know that," said Bess impetuously, "If you were I should insist upon your leaving Ida. To fire at the dead was savage, but, as I know the man must have been dead at the time--the medical evidence proves that, I will say nothing. Why did you not tell me of this before?"
"What use would it have been?" said Stephen raising his eyebrows, "I cannot tell you anything likely to lead to the capture of the assassin, and beside it is not a pleasant thing to tell about myself. I should not have told you now, but that you have been one too many for me. I should have re-loaded the three chambers of that revolver. But I forgot and put it away thinking all six were loaded. I should be ashamed to let Jim or Ida know that I had been such a beast."
"I shall say nothing to them," said Bess coldly, "but I am disappointed in you Stephen."
"I know," said the young man humbly, "I should have had more self-control. But you will not turn your back on me for this Bess?"
"No. All the same I can't feel as I did towards you. Let me go away and think Stephen. And--put away that revolver."
Marsh-Carr nodded, and slipped the weapon into his pocket. But he made no attempt to detain Bess. She went away with a sore heart.
While Bess was thus employed, her colleague had his hands full in London. On arriving at Paddington, Herrick drove directly to the West Kensington Flat. It was closed, and the porter explained that Mr. Joyce had been away for some weeks.
"Ah, that is a pity," said Dr. Jim with a grim smile. "I wished to see him most particularly."
"I expect him back shortly sir," said the man.
"Ah! Has he written to fix the date of his return?"
"Not yet sir. But Mr. Joyce never remains away more than a month or two."
"He may change his habits this time."
"I don't think so sir. Shall I tell him you called sir?"
"No. You need not go so far as that. When he comes home just send a wire to that address. And this for yourself."
The porter, a venal creature in uniform, looked at the half sovereign and the address of the Guelph Hotel in Jermyn Street. He promised faithfully to send a wire the moment Mr. Joyce returned, and Dr. Jim went away, very well satisfied that he had done right in having Robin watched. "Damned little scoundrel!" growled Herrick. "What is the use of sparing him? But that he is in the hands of a stronger villain, I would lay him by the heels straight off. But I shall deal with Santiago this time. I expect he and Joyce are plotting together in some hole."
In another hour Herrick was climbing a flight of dingy stairs in the neighbourhood of the Strand. He stopped at the second landing and before a door, which bore the name of Kidd, Belcher & Co, Private Inquiry Office. On entering he was confronted by a dirty undersized boy. Kidd was absent on business, but Belcher was in, and on giving his card, Dr. Jim was shown into the next room. Here at a table near the window sat a man. That is he stood on two legs, he was neatly dressed, and he talked in a prim precise voice. But going by his face he was a ferret. The long face and nose, the broad forehead and small receding chin, and above all the red-rimmed eyes without eyebrows or eyelashes. All this made him look very much like a ferret. And his nature was also of the beast. He was a sly, silent, cunning tracker, relentless when once he had hunted down his prey. A dangerous man, a deadly man, who had elected to place himself on the side of the law, as offering the better price. Had he chosen to be one of the great criminal profession, Mr. Belcher would have been a dangerous opponent to the police. Luckily he found that honesty paid better than roguery, therefore he was at the disposal of Dr. Jim, for the watching of Santiago and Joyce. He talked freely on this point. "It's all right sir," he said in his whispering voice and arranging his neat white tie. "Kidd caught him at the Paddington station, and followed him to Pimlico."
"Oh, he is in Pimlico is he?"
"Watched by three boys, and Kidd himself. Four kids I call them," said Mr. Belcher with a silent laugh. "You see sir that Mexican gent prefers to live at Pimlico because it is near the Gambling Club. We need not mention names sir, as I have an interest in that club and don't want the police to know of it. I hunt with the hounds and run with the fox you see," and Belcher gave another of his silent laughs.
"Humph!" said Jim taking no notice of the joke, "so Joyce is at Santiago's lodgings is he?"
"Drove straight therefrom Paddington, and has not been out of doors since. The Don has been sir. He never thinks you are after _him_."
"I fancy he has rather a contempt for my brains," said Jim. "However we shall see about that. I'll go to those lodgings."
"Would you mind telling me what the Mexican has done sir?"
"I would mind very much Mr. Belcher. When I want to tell you my business you won't have to help me. It is a private matter. But later on there may be something in it likely to pay you. At present all I want you to do is to keep an eye on Joyce and Santiago. I will pay you well for it."
"Yes sir, thank you, sir. Excuse my curiosity. Quite professional."
"No doubt; but you will make more money by asking no questions. If things are as I suspect with these two it will put a lot of cash into your pockets. Meanwhile, hold your tongue."
"Very good Dr. Herrick," said the ferret meekly, "so long as you know your business, I don't need to teach it to you. But you know our firm. We are straight."
"So long as you are paid. Otherwise you prefer to keep gambling saloons unknown to the police. Oh, never fear man, I shall say nothing. By the way, lend me a revolver:"
"Ha!" said the ferret with sudden interest, "is it as bad as that?"
"I think so. One at least of the two will show fight, and it won't be the man you followed from Paddington. You had better come with me Belcher. I want to know if the coast is clear. If the two catch sight of me from the window, they may clear out. While I am talking to them, you and Kidd can remain outside. If you hear a shot, rush up with the nearest policeman. But I won't fire unless I am driven to it."
"Going to shoot one of them Dr. Herrick?" said Belcher producing a very serviceable weapon which Jim slipped into his breast pocket.
"Not unless either one draws on me. It is the Mexican I fear. But it is the more likely I shall only fire the revolver by way of a signal. You know what you have to do?"
"Yes sir," said the ferret with something of admiration in his whisper, "you ought to have been in our profession doctor. You provide against every chance."
"Except sudden death," laughed Jim as they went down the dingy stairs, "I have a tough article to deal with in that Santiago. Do you know anything about him Belcher."
The ferret shook his head and waved a neat umbrella to a passing hansom. "Not much sir," he replied, "he's been in England over six months, and always in the same lodgings. He has money but not too much of it. I got to know him at the club, and he gambled so high and won so much that I made it my business to look after him. But I could find out nothing to get the whip hand of him, sir."
"Mr. Joyce goes to your club also?"
"Yes sir. I told you so when you called to see me first. I knew the name at once. Kidd knows him too, but he doesn't know Kidd. That was why I sent Kidd to Paddington. He's a fool, sir."
"True enough," replied Herrick dryly, "but even a fool can become dangerous in the hands of an unscrupulous scoundrel like Santiago. Oh, I do not know anything against him," added Herrick seeing the ferret's eyes twinkle. "I am only going by the little I do know."
"Not enough to jail him I suppose, sir?"
"Not yet, but there might be soon," replied Jim, glancing sideways at his neat companion. He well knew that Belcher and Kidd liked to know secrets in order to extort blackmail. A dangerous pair; but Jim knew how to deal with them. They were rather afraid of Jim. He knew too much.
Herrick had become acquainted with the ferret through having saved the life of his small daughter, and as this child was the apple of the man's eye, he adored Jim and was in the habit of speaking to him more freely than he otherwise would have done. Therefore Jim got to know more about the Private Inquiry Firm than was altogether wise. However, he could keep his mouth shut, and, as at present, he sometimes found the pair useful. But the connection was not a pleasant one, even so, and Herrick was wont to comfort himself with the reflection that when dirty work has to be done, no man can be nice in the choice of his instruments.
Directed by the ferret, the cab stopped at the corner of a Pimlico street in a quiet neighbourhood. There he left the doctor in the cab, and went along to reconnoitre. In ten minutes he came back.
"The Mexican has gone out," said Belcher, "he has been away an hour. But Joyce is in the sitting-room. Kidd saw his face two or three times at the window. If you creep along the street under the house he won't be able to see you."
"Right you are," said Dr. Jim climbing down, and paying off the cab--lavishly because he did not want a disturbance, "you wait outside both of you and keep an eye on the policeman. When you hear a shot"--
"You needn't tell me twice Dr. Herrick," said Belcher, his professional pride wounded. "Off you go sir, I'll stop hereabouts and whistle if the Mexican comes along. He doesn't know my real business."
"Jim nodded, and walked along to number forty-three, where--as Belcher told him Santiago had rooms on the first floor. On the opposite side of the street he saw Kidd with a green shade and picturesquely attired in rags, playing the part of a pavement artist. At the end of the street three or four boys were playing marbles. No one would suspect that either man or boys were spies. Jim fingered his revolver, and rang the bell.
"I want to see Mr. Joyce," he said to the slattern who opened the door, "my name is Nuttall, and I come from Don Manuel Santiago."
The slattern suspecting nothing from this calm address conducted Jim up the stairs. She opened a door and gave the message to Robin. Herrick heard his voice telling her to show in Mr. Nuttall, and he guessed from the sound of it that Joyce was uneasy. The slattern pushed Jim to the door and then dropped down stairs rapidly. She wanted to get back to her novel, for her mistress was away for the afternoon.
"Well Joyce and how are you?"
Robin gave a kind of squeal like that of a trapped animal, and fell back into the chair from which he had risen to welcome Mr. Nuttall. His face grew white, his jaw dropped, and he collapsed into a limp heap. Fright so paralysed his tongue that he could not speak. Jim smiled politely and closed the door. Then he took a chair opposite to the wretched creature.
"You are a proper little scoundrel," he said in withering tones, "I am sorry to see you brought so low as this, Joyce."
"What do you want?" cried Robin flaming into sudden fury. "Have you not humiliated me enough, but that you must come after me----"
"To find you in hiding with Don Manuel. Go easy Joyce, and keep a civil tongue in your head."
"I'd like to kill you," he muttered, his face distorted with fury.
"I have no doubt you would, and I have also small doubt but that your friend Santiago will try."
"Do you want to see him?"
"And you. Yes. You told me such lies at Saxham, coached by Don Manuel I suppose, that I wish to talk to the two of you together."
"If you don't leave this place I will call the police."
"Do so by all means. I shall give you in charge when they appear. Come Joyce, don't be a fool! You have to sit down and do what I tell you."
Joyce resumed his seat and bit his fingers. "Santiago will kill you," he muttered viciously. "I hope he will!"
"Thank you; I see pity is wasted on a reptile like you. But see here," said Jim with sudden fierceness. "I am prepared for you and for the Mexican also. I have only to fire this," he showed the revolver "and the detectives who are waiting will come up."
"Detectives!" cried Joyce white as snow and trembling.
"Yes, you fool. I gave you every chance to clear yourself. You abused my leniency, and plotted with Santiago to cheat me. This time you will not get off so easy. I wonder how you will like being in the dock on a charge of conspiracy."
"It's--it's--it's a lie!"
"It's the truth, and you know it. You and Santiago wish to get the money left by Colonel Carr. You tried to murder Stephen in the churchyard."
"It was not I," gasped Robin shaking with fright, "I was with the Miss Endicottes all the time."
"Oh, I know that your accomplice is the bolder villain. It was he--" here Herrick made a shot in the dark, "--it was Santiago who struck Marsh."
"I know he did," sobbed Joyce falling into the trap, "but I--"
"Never mind about yourself," said Jim exulting in having extorted this piece of information, "tell me what there is between Santiago and Corn that made him force the parson to tell a lie in order to prove his alibi. Corn said that Manuel was with him all the evening. You know that is false. Manuel went out and struck Stephen Marsh."
"I don't know what power Santiago has over Corn," said Robin wiping his eyes, "he never told me; but he has some. He treats me like a dog, and I can't call my soul my own."
"You poor little rat!" said Herrick with a certain pity. "Then the best thing you can do is to come back to me, and tell me all you know about this scoundrel."
"No! No!" whimpered Joyce, "he would kill me."
"Not he! I shall know how to save you, and if you do not tell," said Dr. Jim in a sharp tone, "I'll have you arrested as being concerned in this murder of Colonel Carr."
"I am innocent; you know I am innocent!"
"I know nothing of the sort," replied Herrick unexpectedly. "I have your word for it, and your confession of your doings on that night. But there is quite enough in that confession--signed by yourself, mind--to justify your being arrested on suspicion of having committed the crime. Do you think a jury would believe in your story, especially as I can prove that the pistol with which--as I verily believe--the crime was committed was in your possession?"
"I got it from Santiago."
"So you said, and yet at the time you told me, it was out of my power to question the man. You knew that he had gone up to Town by the Heathcroft line, and you did not tell me."
"I was afraid. He forced me to hold my tongue."
"You had better be a little more afraid of me. I can do you more mischief than Don Manuel is likely to do. He will have sufficient to do to look after himself. But I knew what a slippery little devil you were Joyce, and so I had you watched from the moment you disembarked at the Paddington station. You can't move a step now without my knowledge. So you need not try to give me the slip again."
By this time Joyce was in a state of collapse. He saw that Herrick had been too clever for him. Between his fear of Santiago and his fear of Herrick he was in a pitiable state of mind. Dr. Jim felt sorry for the miserable creature in spite of the contempt which his conduct righteously provoked. "I'll tell you what I can," said Joyce after a pause.
"I think you are wise. You expect Santiago back soon?"
"At five o'clock."
"It is a quarter past four now," said Herrick glancing at his watch. "I will wait for him."
"He is dangerous," said Joyce alarmed, and rising from his chair.
"So am I. It is not a man like me who is afraid of a Mexican Greaser, Mr. Joyce. Don't go near that window. You'll be making signals to your friend. I don't trust you."
"On my honour--" began Joyce returning to his seat.
"You haven't got any. Now then, why did Santiago try to get Marsh killed?"
"He did not want to kill him. He only desired that he should be disabled and prevented from going to the vault."
Herrick whistled. "Ah, he has been looking up the will at Doctor's Commons. Well, and what does he expect to gain by the money going to Frisco? The man is in communication with him I suppose?"
"No," said Joyce sulkily, "he is in communication with me."
"The devil!" Herrick sprang to his feet. "So _you_ put that cipher in the paper, asking Frisco to meet you at Hyde Park Corner."
"Yes I did. I put in the first and the second."
"Who taught you the cipher? It was one that Colonel Carr knew."
"Santiago taught it to me."
"Ah! Now we are getting at the truth," said Herrick, "and where did you meet Santiago may I ask? No lie this time, please?"
"I met him at the gambling club in this district."
"Oh, you did. I never knew that gambling was a vice of yours. It seems one never does know a man. I thought better of you. Well, and for what reason did Santiago tell you about this cipher."
"I knew him before I went on the walking tour with you. When I came back to London I went to the club and saw him there. He talked about the murder of Carr and had seen my name as one of the men who found the body. In one way and another he got everything out of me."
"The story you told me?"
"Yes! He made me tell everything."
"Clever man," said Herrick with a nod, "but of course you are so weak poor soul, that you would tell everything. I now see how this man got you into his power. Well, and why did he teach you the cipher."
"It seems he knew Frisco--"
"Oh! He denied that. I knew that was a lie; but no matter."
"I said that Frisco was in London, and that I should like to find him. I wanted to know if Frisco had really killed Colonel Carr."
"Oh!" Herrick shrugged his shoulders, "and were on simple enough to think that Frisco would tell you?"
"He did tell me--"
"That he was innocent of course?"
"Yes. That he was innocent. But if he had told me that he was guilty I could not have betrayed him."
"Humph!" said Dr. Jim with a sharp glance, "you are getting more mysterious every moment. Well, so you put in that cipher--the first--by the direction of the Mexican?
"Yes. And met Frisco at Hyde Park Corner. I also put in the second when I wanted to see Frisco again. He wouldn't give me his address, but said if I wanted to see him I was to communicate by the cipher. I did not meet him the second time, because I saw you waiting to catch us."
"Ah! That was clever of you."
"Of you too," said Joyce, "how did you learn the cipher?"
"That is my business. Be civil," said Dr. Jim sharply, "go on. You saw this man you say, and he told you he was innocent, which is a lie. I suppose Santiago saw him also?"
"Yes. We were all three in my flat."
"Nice party," said Dr. Jim sarcastically, "and you made up this conspiracy between the lot of you?"
"Yes! We wanted Marsh to lose the money."
"I do not see where the advantage would come in," said Dr. Jim reflectively, "the money would go to Frisco certainly, but he could not benefit, without running the risk of arrest."
"He was not to appear at all in the matter," explained Joyce. "When the money came to him, he was to feign death and make a will leaving the fortune to me; I was to share it with him and Santiago."
Herrick stared. The conspiracy was more complete than he had thought, and very cunning too. "Upon my word that is clever," he said in a tone half of jest and half admiration, "although I do not exactly see how the law would look at the matter. Frisco wanted for murder--to feign death--fortune left to you--money to be shared between the presumed corpse and the two plotters left alive. Why! it's like a melodrama. You would have had some difficulty in proving the death of Frisco though."
"Oh, Santiago was going to manage that," said Joyce with confidence.
"I am sure he would, even to going the length of making a real corpse of the man after the will was signed."
Joyce jumped up and began to walk up and down much agitated. "No," he said, "bad as you think me Herrick, I should never have consented to Frisco being put out of the way. The death would have been proved without that. Frisco would have received his share of the money. He would have gone free. I would rather die myself than that anything should happen to Frisco. Yes, you may look; I would."
Dr. Jim shrugged his shoulders. "Your conscience has grown very tender all of a sudden, that you should desire to shield a scoundrel. Is Frisco a relative of yours that you should be so careful of his skin?"
Joyce dropped into his seat and looked straight at the doctor. "Frisco is my father," he said deliberately.
Dr. Jim jumped up in his turn and stared down at the pinched white face. He could scarcely believe his ears. "Your father?" he gasped, "is this another part of your conspiracy?"
"It is the truth," said Joyce simply, so simply that Herrick was convinced that for once he was telling no lie. "When he met me and came to my flat, he told me he was my father. I did not believe him, but he soon convinced me by showing me my mother's letters.
"Addressed to him where?"
"Colonel Carr's."
"Oh!" Herrick dropped back into his chair, "so this accounts for the annuity! What is your father's real name?"
"Joyce! The same as mine. He was Colonel Carr's Cousin."
Herrick was amazed, and remembered what he had heard about the uncle of the wicked Colonel. "Carr's father turned a son out of doors," he muttered "the son went to America and married. He had one daughter--"
"My mother. She was the Carr's cousin, not my father's. I am getting confused," murmured Joyce feeling his head.
"In that case you are cousin to Stephen Marsh?"
"Yes. And I should have the money, since my grandfather was the brother of Colonel Carr. That was why I conspired, as you call it. That was why my father and Santiago tried to help me to get my rights. What do you think of it now Herrick?"
"I think that you went the wrong way to work," said Jim, "that is if you are telling me the truth,--which I doubt."
"It is the truth," cried Joyce clenching his fist, "if you do not believe me," he added listening for a moment, "here is one who will tell you."
"Santiago!" said Herrick rising to be ready for emergencies.
"Yes! He is coming up the stair now."
At that moment there was a shrill whistle outside, Belcher's signal.