If Ruth had but gone carefully through the deserted hovel she would have made yet another discovery. Her instinct had not played her false when she had felt that unfriendly eyes were upon her. For she had been watched, and the watcher now emerged from the house to see her disappear down the road. Much later on she came to know of the spy.
At all events she had found the link--the pale gold oval with the champagne bottle enamelled upon it. It was a strange device, she thought, for a sleeve-link; certainly it was the first of the kind she had seen. And she fancied that the other portions of the links would bear the same design; but in this she was wrong. What she had found proved to her that the assassin had been a gentleman; for no poor creature could have afforded to wear such jewellery. But how to make use of the discovery? How was she to find out to whom the link had belonged, especially now that so many years had passed? The owner might be dead; he might be out of England! There remained the one expedient of asking Mrs. Jenner if she could remember anyone who had worn such links. So this Ruth made up her mind to do as soon as she could see Geoffrey. He might question the unfortunate woman; and through a series of leading questions the truth might be revealed. Meanwhile, feeling that nothing else was to be done for the moment, she went to see Mrs. Garvey. With her powers, she might reveal strange things about the owner of that piece of gold.
The girl had intended to take the brown horse with her; but on going to the drawer in which she had put it she found it empty. Then she remembered that her little nieces had received permission to turn over her silks and laces she questioned them about the missing toy, and Ethel, the eldest, frankly confessed that they had taken it for their brother George.
"I hope you do not mind, Aunt Ruth," the child said, pleadingly; "you said we could take what we liked that wet day, so long as we put the things tidy. We thought George might like the horse, so we gave it to him."
Strange, thought Ruth, that the toy should have passed into the very hands for which it was intended; but she shuddered at the thought of the lad playing with a thing of such ghastly associations! It was her own fault; she had forgotten that it was in that drawer when she had told the children that they might play with her chiffons.
"But I told you, Ethel, to put them back," she said. "Why did you not replace the toy?"
Ethel drew a piteous lip and tears came into her eyes. "Oh, don't be cross, Aunt Ruth, and don't tell mother! You know how angry she will be. We put everything back but the horse, and George would not give it up to us."
"Why could you not take it from him?" her aunt asked, impatiently.
"Because he has hidden it away," sobbed the little girl. "He won't say where it is."
So, after pacifying the child, Ruth went off in search of George. She came upon that young gentleman on the terrace playing with a cart. Naturally, she looked for the horse which should have been drawing the vehicle, but no horse was to be seen. "Where is your gee-gee?" coaxed Aunt Ruth.
"Gone to grass," lisped George, who was precocious beyond telling.
"You bring him back from grass, Georgie, and give him to Aunt Ruth."
But this he positively refused to do. The animal was hidden away, and all she could say or do failed to compel its production. "Dobbin is ill; he is in the paddock," was all that he would say. And from this position she failed to move him.
Ultimately she had to go without it. She made George promise to bring it from the paddock next day, and relying on this slender chance of recovering a toy which should never have fallen into his hands, Ruth went her way, hoping to learn something from Mrs. Garvey about the broken link.
Mrs. Garvey was a thin, pale woman, who practised the calling of a clairvoyant, in opposition to her husband's wishes.
"My dear!" cried the lady, receiving Ruth with great effusion. "I am glad to see you. But this is not unexpected; for it was borne in upon me, by some telepathic communication, that you were in trouble, and would come to me for assistance. Well. I am quite ready to give it to you."
"Do you know----" Ruth began, somewhat I puzzled by this exordium.
"I know nothing--nor do I wish to know. The spiritual insight I possess will reveal to me what is for your good. Come into my temple, and I will see what is to be done."
The room which was dignified by the name of temple was a small bare apartment thickly carpeted, the windows being darkened by green blinds. For quite three minutes there was a dead silence. Then Mrs. Garvey spoke. "Murder," she said, in a low emotional voice. "This piece of gold has to do with a crime. I see a bare room--a child with a knife in his hand--a dead man at the child's feet. There is hate in my heart--not of the child; but of the dead. I am in the darkness--in mist--in rain--the dead man is my enemy he will trouble me no more."
"But who are you?" cried Ruth, her blood running cold at hearing the circumstances of the crime so minutely described.
The woman gave a low cry. "I will not tell--I will not tell!" she said, in a fierce voice, quite at variance with that in which she usually spoke. "I am safe after all these years! I am--you--will never----" Her voice died away in a drawl, and she became silent.
"Tell me more--more!" cried Ruth, springing towards her. But Mrs. Garvey made no reply. The influence of the spirit, of the piece of gold, or whatever else it was that moved her, had passed, and she was in what appeared to be a heavy sleep.
Seeing that nothing further was to be got out of her for the moment, Ruth obeyed the instructions which she had received beforehand, and drawing up the green blind, opened the window. The light and the keen air pouring into the room seemed to dispel Mrs. Garvey's drowsiness. She stirred, moved her arms, and woke with a yawn to find Miss Cass bending over her. Of all that had passed she was evidently quite oblivious; she even seemed surprised at the sight of her visitor's scared face.
"My dear," she said at last, "I hope I have not been telling you anything very terrible!"
"Don't you know what you have said?"
"No. Something speaks through me; I am only the vehicle. I remember nothing when I come out of my trances."
"Do you know anything about the Turnpike House murder?"
Mrs. Garvey started. "Ah! it was about that crime you have been asking me--the Jenner tragedy? I know--the man was murdered by his wife. And what has this piece of gold got to do with it?"
"It belonged to the murderer," Ruth said with a shudder. "It seemed to me that you spoke in the person of the murderer. You described the room, its appearance at the time of the crime--the dead body, and a child holding a knife, and looking on. Then you said you were in darkness, that you would never be found out, and--oh! you said a lot of strange things--that the child had a knife in his hand, and that he was standing over the body," faltered Ruth, thinking she was about to hear that Neil had killed his father.
Mrs. Garvey shook her head. "It was not the child," she said, decidedly; "he would not have had those links about him. The man who killed his father wore them, else I could not have told you what I did. Where did you find this piece of gold?"
"Under the window of the room in which the crime was committed. What you say fits in with my own belief that the blow was struck through the window. You can't remember who you were--in the trance, I mean?"
"No," said the woman gently; "I remember nothing. Find the man to whom the link belongs. I can give no further or better advice than that."
"That is easier said than done," protested the girl. "How am I to find the man?"
Mrs. Garvey shook her head. She could give no more information, and she said so. Moreover, she was exhausted after the effort she had made, seeing which Ruth took her broken link and returned home more perplexed than ever; that being the usual frame of mind of those who dabble in the supernatural. Yet she fully believed what the clairvoyant had told her; Mrs. Garvey could not possibly have known of the scene in that bare room immediately after the crime had been committed. Mrs. Jenner alone could have described it; and she had told it only to Geoffrey Heron.
Although Miss Cass's thoughts were much taken up with the case, she saw no way of prosecuting further inquiries. The toy horse in the hands of the clairvoyant might perhaps have helped her; but, truth to tell, she had forgotten all about it! Meanwhile she wrote to Geoffrey and related what had happened. With regard to the clairvoyant, she quite expected that the hard-headed young man would scoff at her; but, much, to her surprise, he did not. In place of a letter, the young squire himself appeared, with full permission from Neil to tell Ruth the reason why his mother had held her peace. He did not stay at Hollyoaks, but drove over from his own place.
Mrs. Chisel received him with effusion, and worried him with questions about himself; and all the time, for reasons of his own connected with love and business, he was dying to be alone with Miss Cass. At length, however, Mrs. Chisel, putting it in her own graceful way, thought it would only be fair to give poor Ruth her chance of pushing her conquest; so she left the winter garden on the plea that her dear children required their mother's eye; and Geoffrey Heron proceeded at once to the business which had brought him.
"I am beginning to think something of your clairvoyant after all," he said. "What you wrote to me about Mrs. Garvey's description of the scene must be wonderfully accurate; yes, even to the child with the knife in his hand. That child was Neil; and it was because his mother found him standing thus that she has undergone all this punishment without speaking a word in her own defence."
"Gracious!" was Ruth's not very original exclamation. "Did she believe that he had killed his father? How terrible!"
"Very terrible!" said Heron, gravely. "Now you can understand how it was that Webster was taken ill. For his mother had told him that she believed him to have killed his father; then she forbade him to re-open the case. She was perfectly willing to remain where she was so long as he was safe and free."
"Oh, she is a noble woman!" cried Ruth. "But it was not Neil who either consciously or unconsciously committed the crime; Mrs. Garvey says he did not. But who it was she cannot tell. One moment, Geoffrey, and I will tell you all more explicitly than I could do by letter." And she proceeded to relate the whole story from beginning to end.
"Well, we are as far from the truth as ever," Geoffrey said, when she had finished. "I think the next step is to shew that broken link to Mrs. Jenner. She may be able to remember someone who used to wear such an ornament."
Ruth took the link out of her purse and gave it to him. "But you will send it back again when you have done with it?" she said. "I want to keep it."
"As a memento of this horrible affair?" he asked, with a smile. "You are like the man who had a book bound in a human skin. I do not care for such things myself; but you shall have it back with a full report of what Mrs. Jenner says. And now, dear, I think we may talk a little about ourselves. After all, this case is not the whole of life to us."
And they did talk about themselves. Among other things, she told him of her encounter with Job, the Sapengro, and his astonishment when she had spoken to him in the Romany tongue. "How on earth did you learn it?" he asked, amazed.
"Oh, when I was at school, and after I left, too, I was fond of reading Lavengro."
Then they dropped the subject, and were busy talking of themselves and their prospects when Mrs. Chisel glided into the room; and Geoffrey found that he had an important engagement at the nearest town, and took his leave. For the society of the elder sister was more than he could endure. They both went to see him off, and at the door a few whispered words passed between him and Ruth. Mrs. Chisel was immediately on the alert.
"What did he say to you?" she asked as soon as he was out of earshot.
"He made me an offer of marriage, which, of course, I refused," Ruth said, flippantly, and then darted off to seek safety in her own room before the offended matron could empty upon her the vials of her wrath.
On her way up she was stopped by Mildred Chisel, who held up a new doll for inspection. "I call her Jane," said the small child, in a confidential whisper. "She is new, but her clothes are old. See, Aunt Ruth, she has all the dresses and brooches of old Peggy."
Ruth looked carelessly at the doll. Then her eyes were suddenly caught by an ornament which served, in Mildred's eyes, for a brooch. It was a gold oval, enamelled with a horse, and it was the double--in all but the device--of the link which she had found. "Where did you get that?" she asked, faintly.
"Oh, grandpapa gave me that brooch!" replied the child.
For the first time in her careless, happy life Ruth knew the torments of an anxious mind. A chill struck through her very being at the suggestion that her dearly-loved father might be implicated in the sordid tragedy. Yet she did not lose her presence of mind, but wheedled the so-called brooch out of Mildred on the strict understanding that it should be restored next morning.
Her thoughts were painful in the extreme. For an examination of the piece of gold proved beyond doubt that it belonged to the same set of links as did the one she found under the window. Now Ruth recollected that in some Bond-street shop she had seen a similar set of links, the four ovals of which were enamelled respectively with a horse, a champagne bottle, a pack of cards, and a ballet girl. They were playfully denominated the four vices.
"Of course it is utterly impossible that he can have anything to do with it," she thought as she paced her bedroom. "There could have been no motive. Yet again, how did he, of all men, come into possession of that link?"
She remembered now the horror she had felt at the idea of marrying Neil when she had come to know that his mother was--at least to all outward appearances--a murderess. She judged that if her father should be guilty then Geoffrey would feel the same towards her. Again and again she tried to find some explanation, and again and again she failed. Only by her father himself could her doubts be set at rest, and he was absent. True, he would return in three days; but how to live during that time with this hideous doubt in her mind? She could imagine now how people felt when they were going mad. Sending down an excuse for not appearing at dinner, she went to bed. To face the world, even her own small world, was more than she could bear. Her only relief was in solitude.
Of course, as might have been expected, Amy came up to fuss over her and offer advice and blame her for having made herself ill in some way which Mrs. Chisel herself would have avoided.
Then in came Jennie, creeping like a mouse, with soothing speech and cool hands for the burning brow of the sick girl.
"I am not well dear," she said, in reply to Miss Brawn's inquiries. "All I want is a good night's rest. In the morning I shall be myself again." And with this answer Jennie had to be content.
Left to herself, Ruth began her self-communings. It crossed her mind that her father, who had always been a great admirer of beauty, might have been attracted by Mrs. Jenner's good looks. But even as she thought of it she dismissed the idea with a blush of shame. Who was she to think ill of her father? But she would certainly question Mrs. Chisel about her former governess, and would learn what had been Mr. Cass's attitude towards her.
Ruth, anxious to propitiate her, offered on the following morning to help with the work, but was told she could not do it as Mrs. Chisel wished. In spite of which disagreeable speech she waited patiently for an opportunity of introducing the subject of Amy's childhood and Amy's governess, and kept her temper, as best she might, under a deluge of platitudes and self-glorification on the part of her sister.
At length, after having made attacks upon several of her acquaintances, the good lady indirectly introduced the subject upon which Ruth wished to speak by giving her opinion as to the incapacity of Jennie Brawn as governess.
"I do not say she does not do her best," she said, magnanimously, "but, oh, dear me! Jane Brawn"--so she invariably referred to Jennie--"has no more idea of teaching than a Hottentot. I know how the thing should be done, as I have told her a dozen times, but she will not take advice."
"What about your own governess?" put in Ruth, artfully. "Was she any good, Amy?"
"She was excellent--as a governess," returned Mrs. Chisel, with a sniff of disparagement; "but as a woman she left much to be desired."
"But, my dear Amy, how do you know that? You were only a child."
"Children are much sharper than their elders give them credit for. I was ten years of age when Miss Laurence left and quite old enough to see through her designs."
"Miss Laurence? Was that her name, Amy?"
"Yes. She afterwards married a man called Jenner, a clerk in papa's office, and we saw no more of her as I had gone to school. A very good thing, too," went on Mrs. Chisel, with an air of offended virtue. "My mother never liked her. And she did turn out badly, after all, murdering her husband. I can only say it was a mercy it was not papa."
"Why should it have been papa?" asked Ruth, with a beating heart.
Mrs. Chisel tossed her head and observed that men were always men. "Papa is as good as the best of them," she added, "but all the same, he is a son of Adam, like the rest. And when an artful minx---- Ah, well, it does not do to talk of these things."
"I see," said Ruth, taking the bull by the horns. "Miss Laurence was pretty, papa was weak, and mamma----"
"Ruth!" screamed her sister, stopping her ears. "I will not hear these things! How can you speak so of papa? Pretty, indeed! I never thought her pretty. If you like--oh, yes, she would have made a fool of papa if mamma had not dismissed her."
"I thought she left here to get married?"
"You may think what you like," Mrs. Chisel said with dignity. "No one can say that I talk about the weaknesses of my parents. All the same, Mrs. Jenner, as she now is, was a minx, And made eyes at papa. I saw something of that, and I heard more. Though I was a child, I was not a fool, Ruth. Oh, it was as well that she left Hollyoaks, I can tell you. What an escape for poor, dear papa!"
And more than this Mrs. Chisel would not say. But Ruth had gathered that Miss Laurence had been an apple of discord in the house. From all that she had heard, in the strange way in which sharp children do hear things, Ruth had come to think that her mother had been more than a trifle jealous. Doubtless, if Amy's story could be believed, she had hated Mrs. Jenner for her beauty and had got her out of the house. She anxiously awaited the return of Mr. Cass from Bordeaux.
In due time he arrived, looking all the better for his journey, and was welcomed by Mrs. Chisel with enthusiasm. He was more pleased to see his grandchildren than their mother, for, like everyone else, he found her a trifle wearisome. As for Ruth, when she saw once more her father's grave face and kindly eyes, she was ashamed of all that had been in her mind; and she displayed so much affection that Mr. Cass was surprised, for as a rule his younger daughter was not demonstrative.
"You don't look well, Ruth," he said. And indeed her face was worn and thin. "What is the matter?"
"Nothing, papa. What should be the matter?"
"You are worrying about young Webster?" he asked, rather sharply.
"No, indeed," she protested. "I have quite got over my feeling for him. It was a mere girlish fancy."
"Of course it was," put in Mrs. Chisel, with superior wisdom. "And she is taking my advice, papa, about Mr. Heron."
"Is this true, Ruth?"
"Well, it may be," she said, hesitatingly. "I like him much better than I did. Have you heard anything of Mr. Webster, papa?" For she was anxious to hear if her father knew that Neil was at Bognor.
"No, nothing. I believe he is abroad, and I sincerely hope that he will stay there. Marry Heron, my dear Ruth, and forget all about him."
Ruth found it impossible to say more then, but determined to wait until her sister had retired for the night before seeking speech with her father.
Mr. Cass was pleasantly surprised when Ruth came into the library about ten o'clock. As a rule he saw her only for an hour in the drawing-room after dinner. He had quite expected that the two sisters would be chatting in their own rooms by this time.
"Well, my dear," he said, gaily, "have you come to give your old father some of your company? I suppose this is to make up for my absence."
"Yes," she said, as gaily as she could. "You have been away so long, and I do see very little of you, papa. I want to see as much of you as possible."
"Until you leave me for Heron," he said, patting her hand. "Seriously, my dear, I hope you will marry him. He is a good fellow, and will make the best of husbands for my Ruth."
"He wants me to be his wife," Ruth said, gloomily enough. "I have not decided yet; I may or may not marry him. But you can set your mind at rest about Neil Webster, papa. I would not marry him if there was not another man in the world."
Something in her voice struck Mr. Cass unpleasantly and he looked sharply at her. "Why not?" he demanded.
She returned his look boldly. "Because I know now why you did not wish me to be his wife," she said.
He lifted his eyebrows. "Woman's curiosity again," he said, harshly. "What do you know?"
"I know that his real name is Jenner, and that his mother----"
"Stop!" cried her father, his face growing haggard before her eyes. "Who told you this nonsense?"
"It is not nonsense," she cried in despair. "Oh, why will you not trust me? I know that it is true. Mrs. Jent told me."
"Oh! Then that was why you went to Brighton?"
"Yes. I was quite determined to find out why you forbade the marriage."
"I see," he said, ironically. "Well, are you any the happier for this discovery?"
She hid her face with a cry. "Heaven knows I am the most unhappy girl in the world!" she moaned.
"Ah!" said her father, a word of meaning in his voice. "So you do love the man after all?"
"No; but--never mind. Tell me, papa, is it true?"
"Yes. You know so much now that you may as well know more. Mrs. Jenner murdered her husband and has suffered imprisonment all these years."
"She did not murder him!" cried Ruth.
Mr. Cass, who was swinging the poker in his hands, dropped it with a crash. "Ah! and how do you know that she did not?" he asked in a stifled voice.
"Because Geoffrey says----"
"Heron!" He rose to his feet. "What has he to do with all this?"
"He is a friend of Neil's, and----"
"A friend of Neil's?" Mr. Cass said, incredulously. "How can that be? They never even got on well together; they were rivals. I do not believe it."
"Will you believe me when I tell you that Geoffrey is nursing Neil at Bognor in Mrs. Jent's house? He is, then. And Geoffrey wrote telling you that he was abroad--and Neil, too--to keep you away from Bognor."
Mr. Cass stood as though turned to stone, and the haggard look on his face seemed to grow more marked.
"There appears to be a lot of plotting going on behind my back," he said, quietly. "My own daughter is plotting against me. Why did you not tell me all this? No, never mind. You have told me so many lies that I cannot believe you. Do not answer that question. But I must ask you to tell me what this means?"
"I have told no lies," cried Ruth, indignantly. "If you had been more open with me, papa, I would never have set to work to find out this affair. I will tell you all, just as it happened, and you can judge for yourself if I have been wrong."
"Nothing can excuse your silence," he said, bitterly. "You don't know what harm may come of this meddling with what does not concern you. Well, I will hear your story."
He sat down again and looked at the fire, while Ruth related all that had happened, and how Geoffrey and she had made up their minds to discover the truth. Mr. Cass listened without a word. Only when she had finished did he make an observation.
"You have done wrong," he said, sternly. "You should have told me all this at once. I am the best friend that Neil Webster has, and it was my place to look after him, not Heron's."
"But is Mrs. Jenner innocent?" Ruth asked, anxiously.
"I cannot answer that question," he said, evasively, but he clenched his fist. "At all events I will see Heron and Neil, and hear what grounds they have for believing that she did not kill the unhappy man. I can only hope, Ruth, that you will refrain from meddling in the matter any more."
"Oh, I have done with it, papa. I'm sorry if you think I have behaved badly; but I thought I was acting for the best. You can depend upon my doing nothing more. The matter is in Geoffrey's hands now."
"And it will soon be in mine," her father said, coldly. "If Mrs. Jenner is to be released I am the person to see to it."
Ruth noticed that he did not say "If Mrs. Jenner is guiltless," and her heart was like lead. She made up her mind to try the effect of the link, and, rising as if to go, drew it from her pocket.
"I will go to bed now," she said, quietly. "By the way, here is something of yours," and she placed the piece of gold before him. "Yes, it is mine," he said, glancing at it. "I gave it to Mildred for her doll. How did it come into your possession?"
She burst into teats. The strain was getting too much for her. "Oh, papa, say it is not yours," she wept, stretching out her hands.
"Ruth, you are hysterical," Mr. Cass said, with some severity; and the girl noticed even then that he was a trifle nervous. "Why should I deny that it is mine? I had a set of these links made many years ago when I was foolish enough to wear such things. One pair I lost, the other remained in my desk amongst a lot of rubbish, until one day I gave one piece of it to Mildred. I had intended to have the other pair replaced, but time went on, and somehow I never had it done. Why should you cry about these things, and why do you shew me this link?"
"Because I found one oval like this under the window of the Turnpike House."
Mr. Cass rose from his chair and looked at her with a frown. "Go on," he said.
"I have nothing more to say," she cried with a fresh burst of tears. "I know now that the links did belong to you. How did you lose the one at the Turnpike House? The blow--"
"Was struck through the window, you would say," her father finished, with a cold smile, "and that I struck it!"
"No, no!" she cried. "I am sure you did not. Oh, I am sure you did not, father. But ever since I have found these links I have been in terror for you. What if the one I gave Geoffrey should be traced? Oh, I wished I had kept it myself?"
"It is too late to wish anything now," he said, bitterly, but very quietly. "I must say you are a dutiful daughter. I suppose you really mean to accuse me of having murdered Jenner?"
"I do not--I do not. I am sure you never did. You can explain."
"I explain nothing," he interrupted, sternly. "The links are mine. Whether I dropped a portion of one at the Turnpike House or not does not matter to you. I will see Heron and explain to him. All I ask of you is to hold your tongue."
"I will, I will," sobbed the girl. "But, oh, father, don't be hard on me. I'm very sorry that I meddled at all."
Mr. Cass looked at her in silence, and his stern face softened. "I know you do not credit me with this crime," he said, "and I am glad you have so much grace. But even to you I cannot explain. You must trust me."
"I do. Whom should I trust but my own dear father?"
"I wish you had thought of that before, and had not acted in this underhand way. However, it is of no use talking now. The thing is done and I must put it to rights as best I can. I will see Heron and Webster. Put all these things out of your mind, child."
"How can I until I know the truth?" she said, passionately. "I am sure you are innocent, but I am certain, too, that it was not Mrs. Jenner who committed the murder. For Neil's sake, for my own sake, I want the horrible thing explained."
"Whether it will be explained or not does not rest with you or with me, my dear girl. I cannot say to you what I should wish to say. All I can advise you is to hold your tongue. If you do not Heaven knows what will happen!"
"I will say nothing," she said, faintly, and staggered towards the door. Her father had not insisted upon his innocence as she had expected him to do; he had taken refuge in vague phrases which meant nothing. Yet she could not believe--she thrust the thought away from her. "I will go. I will say no more," she repeated.
"Ruth," he cried as she opened the door, "one thing I must tell you. You have either done great good or great harm. But, in either case, you have brought sorrow to this house."
The next day Mr. Cass informed Ruth that Geoffrey Heron was coming to spend a few days at Hollyoaks. He made no attempt to conceal his reason for asking the young man.
"It is necessary," he said, "that I should talk over this deplorable matter with him. Anything further that has to be done in connection with the possible release of Mrs. Jenner must be done through me. I am her oldest friend; I am her son's best friend; and I have a right to bring the matter to a creditable issue. Do you not agree with me?" He looked at her keenly.
"Yes, papa, I do," she replied, feeling more at ease in her mind now that she saw he did not shirk the investigation. "I only wish I had told I you before. But you must do me the justice to own that I never expected to find you in any way connected with it."
"The wonder is that you did not find me mixed up in it earlier," he said. "I have had so much to do with Mrs. Jenner and her son that I could hardly help being concerned in their trouble. But you need not worry about me, child. I am quite able to protect myself and to explain, when the time comes, how that broken link came to be lost."
"If you will only do that----"
"Ruth, is it possible that you believe your father guilty of this crime?"
"Oh, no, I do not; but----"
He turned away. "Well, say no more about it," he said, in a softer tone than was usual with him, for he saw that the girl was terribly troubled. "There is, on the face of it, some ground for you to doubt me. I do not for a moment deny that such is the case. But I hope to right myself in your eyes. Still, you must give me time to consider the matter."
"You are not angry with me, then?" she asked, anxiously. "I am displeased that you should have undertaken this investigation without telling me your intention. But I can forgive you, for I know how impulsive you are. Let us say no more about it. My task is to get at the truth of this matter; and with Geoffrey's assistance I hope to do so. All I ask is that you should be silent and leave things in my hands. And never conceal anything from me again."
"I will do all you say," replied his daughter, and kissed him.
In due time Geoffrey arrived. He was in high spirits and brought the best of news from Bognor. Neil was mending rapidly and would soon be on his feet again. Since he had found a friend and brother in Geoffrey he had become much less morbid, and was beginning to take quite a cheerful view of life. If his mother could only be proved innocent and set at liberty he would have little left to wish for. As for Ruth, his love for her had by some strange mental process been obliterated during his illness, and he rose from his sick-bed with nothing more than a strong feeling of friendship for the girl who had so recently been all the world to him. And, indeed, when Miss Cass came to hear of this she was not over well pleased. But it was not long before she blamed herself for her vanity, and reminded herself that this was quite the best thing that could have happened to her former lover.
After dinner Mr. Cass carried Geoffrey off to the library; he particularly wanted to have a few words alone with him, he said. Heron had not the least idea what the subject of their talk was to be, Mr. Cass having merely invited him to spend a few days at Hollyoaks, saying he had an important subject to discuss with him. And it had passed through Geoffrey's mind that Ruth must have confided in her father their tacit engagement. He was a good deal astonished, therefore, when Mr. Cass abruptly informed him that the matter referred to was that of the Jenner murder.
"Why, Mr. Cass!" exclaimed the young man. "How do you know about that? And what do you know?"
"Ruth told me that you were interesting yourself in it," was the reply, "and I know all that she could tell me. I was not very pleased to find that she had been getting mixed up in the affair."
"It was her own wish," Heron said. "I did not like it myself, and I should have been the last person in the world to tell her anything about it. But, after all, it was but the curiosity of a young girl. No one can blame her."
"No one can blame any woman for being curious," Mr. Cass said, drily. "All the same, feminine curiosity can do a lot of mischief when it is not properly directed--as in this instance. Will you please to tell me, Heron, exactly how Ruth found it out?"
Not knowing that Mr. Cass wished to compare his story with Ruth's, Geoffrey willingly consented, and informed him of Ruth's visit to Mrs. Jent, and how the outcome of it all, so far as he was concerned, had been his discovery of the fact that Ruth was willing to marry him. "And that is, after all, what I care most about," he said, with a happy look in his eyes.
"I am very glad of it," Mr. Cass said, soberly. "I always wanted her to marry you; I think you will be able to control her. I was afraid at one time that she would have run away with Webster."
"I don't think that he would have run away with her," replied Geoffrey. "He decided to give her up when he learnt the secret of his parentage. Now he has got over his love, and is quite willing that she should marry me. Poor Neil! He has had a bad time."
"That could not have been prevented. I did my best to spare him the knowledge of his mother's fate. She asked me to make her the promise, and I did so.
"Do you think she is guilty?
"I really can't say," replied Mr. Cass with some hesitation. "When she was arrested I implored her to defend herself if she could. But she obstinately refused to open her mouth. She certainly never told me that Neil had killed his father."
"Do you believe he did?"
"No, certainly not. I believe the child got up from his bed in a dazed condition on suddenly waking out of the trance. He came into the room and found his father lying dead with the knife on the floor beside him. Naturally enough the child picked up the knife. Then, no doubt, his reason became unsettled, added to which the cold to which he was exposed that night when his mother fled, was altogether too much for him, and he fell seriously ill."
"He remembers nothing of all that," Heron said. "I asked him myself. He remembers his childhood up to the time his mother put him to bed that night, or rather, I should say, up to the time when he struck at his father with the knife. His memory re-commences from the time of his recovery from the illness which followed, but the interval is a blank. Of course, he might have seen the assassin. But I am sure," continued Heron, firmly, "that his mother is not the guilty person. She denies having committed the murder, and says she was silent on Neil's account."
"Does she suspect anyone?" asked Mr. Cass; and Heron noticed that he did not give an opinion as to her guilt or innocence.
"No, she cannot think who did it. I asked her about the links, or rather about the part of one which Ruth found under the window. I suppose, she told you of her discovery?"
"Yes, she did. By the way, have you the link with you?" Heron took it out of his pocket-book and laid it on the table. "It is a curious one," he said. "The pattern is an odd one and not in very good taste."
"Oh, I don't know," Mr. Cass said, with studied carelessness. "I have seen the same kind of thing. They were in vogue some years ago. Each oval has a different design on it--a ballet girl, a bottle, a horse, and a pack of cards. They were known as the 'four vices.' What does Mrs. Jenner say about this?"
"She cannot think who can have worn them; she says she never saw such a set before."
Had Geoffrey Heron been an observant man he would have seen a distinct expression of relief pass over the face of his host; but he remarked nothing, and Mr. Cass went on.
"It is possible the person who killed Jenner may have dropped it," he said. "But I am afraid it is but a slight clue after all these years. Besides, if Mrs. Jenner cannot guess the motive for the crime, I don't see how we can."
"She thinks the motive was fear of blackmail on the part of the assassin," said Geoffrey.
"Ah!" said the merchant, significantly. "I am not astonished. Jenner was a clerk in my office, and as thorough a blackguard as ever walked. He was exactly the man who would have blackmailed another if he could have done so with safety. But what reason has Mrs. Jenner for thinking this?"
"Because her husband had boasted to her that in a red pocket-book which he flourished in her face he had the materials for getting money. Now, that pocket-book was not produced at the trial."
"I see," said Mr. Cass, his chin on his hand. "You think the murderer stabbed Jenner as he stood by the window, stole the pocket-book, and had his link wrenched off in the struggle?"
"That is the only way in which I can account for the crime."
"It seems feasible enough," replied the merchant, musingly. "But I do not see how I can help you to trace the man. After Jenner left my office I saw very little of him. If Mrs. Jenner cannot tell whom it was he intended to blackmail no one else can."
"She does not know, Mr. Cass. Her husband gave her no hint. All he said was that he could make money out of what he had in that pocket-book. She held her tongue, as you know, for her son's sake; now she sees that it was wrong. But she did it for the best.
"I suppose she did," said Mr. Cass, giving the link back to Heron. "But I wish she had spoken out when I asked her. I could not induce her to be frank. She merely declared that she was prepared to suffer. Well," Mr. Cass rose to his feet, "I don't think there is anything more to be said, Heron."
"But how are we to continue the search?"
"Leave it in my hands for the moment. I will see Mrs. Jenner, and between the two of us, seeing we knew Jenner better than anyone else, we may find out who it was he intended to blackmail. If that should fail, I really don't know what to suggest.
"Well, I will wait till you have seen her," Geoffrey said, and went off to bed.
He rose early, and was out walking up and down the terrace before breakfast. Ruth was not down, but he could see Jennie Brawn playing with little George Chisel and Ethel. Mildred was not visible, but in a few minutes he found her seated in a disconsolate attitude on the steps.
"What is the matter?" he asked, for he was fond of children.
"It's Aunt Ruth," said the child, tearfully. "She won't give me back my doll's brooch."
"Oh, I'll ask her to give it back. What is it like?" He asked the question carelessly, little dreaming of what the answer would be, nor guessing the consequences which would ensue.
"It's a gold brooch, with a horse on it, a dear little horse."
Even then it did not enter his mind that the brooch referred to had any connection with the links of which he had spoken to his host the night, before.
"How big was it?" he asked. "If Aunt Ruth won't give it back I'll try and get you one like it."
"Oh, I think grandfather will give me another," Mildred said, hopefully. "He gave me this. It is this size," she drew a small oval in the dust with her finger, "and that shape, with a horse on it in pretty colours, and a little thing on the back to put a thread through so that my doll can wear it. It is so pretty." Heron felt as if he had received a blow. For was not the child describing, with the exception of the design, the broken link he had in his pocket? And she had got it from her grandfather! Without a word he took the link out of his pocket and shewed it to the child. She pounced on it with a scream of delight.
"Why, that's my brooch!" she cried. And then on a nearer view: "No, it isn't. Here's a nasty bottle! Mine had a horse on it."
The young man remembered the description given by Mr. Cass of the links known as the "four vices," and he could no longer refuse to believe that it was he who had given Mildred the link which matched the one now in her hands. And that link had been found under the window of the very room in which the crime had been committed! "Could it be possible---- No! No!" cried Geoffrey, staggering back, his ruddy face pale. "It cannot be!"
"What is the matter, Mr. Heron? Are you ill?" asked the child, rising.
"No, I am not ill, dear. But give me back my brooch."
"I don't like it," she said, thrusting it into his hand. "A nasty bottle! Mine with the horse was much nicer. I'll ask grandfather to give me another. Now I'm going to play, Mr. Heron, do ask Aunt Ruth to give me back my dear little brooch."
The prattle of the child worried him terribly. "Yes, yes," he said, impatiently; "but run away and play now, dear." And as Mildred scampered off "Great Heavens!" he thought. "Can Cass have murdered the man? Impossible! He could have had no motive."
He was thankful to be alone, for he felt that in his present state of mind he could speak to no one. Therefore, still thinking of the new discovery he had made he felt annoyed to see Jennie Brawn leave the children and come towards him. He would have escaped her by walking off, but she called to him, and he had, perforce, to remain. She looked anxious and worried.
"Mr. Heron, I wish to speak to you particularly," she said. "I am so glad to find you alone. You look ill."
"I have had rather a shock, but really I am all right," he said, with an attempt at a smile. "What is it, Miss Brawn?"
"Well," she said, "it is a somewhat curious story. You know Ruth brought back with her a toy horse which she put into a drawer in her bedroom. She gave the children permission to open the drawer, and there they found the horse, George took possession of it and hid it away. Well, he produced the animal the other day; pulled it out of its hiding-place and proceeded to cut it open-to see what was the matter with it he said: I was in the room and watched him without paying much attention. If I had had my wits about me I should have recognised Ruth's horse and would not have allowed him to touch it. But, however, he did so and pulled out all the stuffing. I saw that he was making a mess on the carpet and went to stop him. Then I found among the stuffing a paper with your name on it. I waited for an opportunity of giving it to you, and here it is." And Jennie put into his hand a bill of exchange, old, discoloured and crumpled.
Hardly knowing what he was doing Heron glanced at the document and saw that his father's signature--Geoffrey Heron--was written across the bill, while the signature at the foot was that of Frank Marshall.