Ruth could not rid herself of a haunting doubt that her father knew more of the Jenner murder than he chose to confess. If he himself had not killed the man in a fit of impetuous rage--and the girl could not bring herself to think this--he knew who had struck the fatal blow. Ruth was certain now that Mrs. Jenner was innocent, notwithstanding the fact that she had been found guilty. This being so, she argued to herself that if her father were aware of the truth he should at once take steps to remedy the grave miscarriage of justice which had taken place. But as he made no move, Ruth, perplexed and doubtful, became quite ill with suspense. It was no wonder then that Geoffrey had found her poor company, and had failed to understand her constant melancholy. Under these circumstances he had taken his departure, wondering what had befallen the house which had formerly been so bright and pleasant. But no satisfaction was to be had either from Mr. Cass or from his daughter.
On arriving at his own place he went at once to the library to look for some document with his father's signature in order to compare it with that on the bill. And after a close inspection of some half-dozen autographs of the late Mr. Heron, he came to the conclusion that the signature to the bill was a forgery. Once convinced of this, he began to see daylight, and argued out the case that evening, alone and undisturbed.
"Jenner was at one time a clerk in the firm of Cass and Marshall," he thought; "therefore he must have known Marshall very well; he was dismissed, and so had no cause to love his employers. Mr. Cass, so far as I know, was always an upright man, and Jenner had no chance of injuring him in any way. With Marshall the case was different. If I remember rightly, Mrs. Jenner told me that her husband and Marshall were as thick as thieves; the master patronising the clerk on account of the man's beautiful voice and musical accomplishments. Marshall, too, lived a gay life, and was given to spending pretty freely. It is quite possible that he might have made use of Jenner as a tool to get more money through this bill! Five hundred pounds," said Geoffrey, looking at the document in question. "Humph! Just the sum he might require for an emergency." He turned over the bill, and found it endorsed by Julius Roper. "Ah!" he went on, "where have I heard that name? Roper--Roper--I am sure someone spoke of Roper."
Suddenly it flashed into his mind that Roper was the moneylender in whose employment Jenner had been after he had failed on the stage.
"The bill was discounted in the office in which Jenner was employed," he thought, with growing excitement, for the matter was becoming more interesting every minute, "and Jenner, knowing it was forged, stole it from Roper. He meant to use it as a means of extorting blackmail! Ah!" He stopped short. "Blackmail? It was of that he boasted to his wife--this, then, was the material for getting money that he said he had in the red pocket-book. The pocket-book has disappeared; but the bill?--Humph! How did it get inside the horse? Could Jenner himself have put it there? If so, why? What was his reason? I must see Mrs. Jenner and ask her. Between the two of us we may get at the truth."
But although he was satisfied that his father's signature had been forged, he could not be absolutely certain that Marshall had been the forger. He had drawn the bill, it was true, but Jenner might have counterfeited the signature and have assisted Marshall to get the money.
Then Geoffrey recollected that his father--a particularly precise man--had been in the habit of keeping a diary in which he was accustomed to set down the most trivial details of his somewhat uninteresting life. No sooner had this thought struck him than he went to a certain press and pulled out the series of little books which contained these entries. Glancing at the date of the bill, he set to work, and after an hour's search found the evidence.
The late Mr. Heron had made no attempt to conceal Marshall's rascality; for it was plainly set down that a certain Mr. Roper had called upon him to shew a bill of exchange and to ask if the signature were his. Mr. Heron had replied that he had never signed a bill in his life, where upon Roper had intimated that the bill had been presented by Frank Marshall, and that the money had been paid to him. Roper had also expressed his intention of having Marshall arrested, but to this Mr. Heron had objected. Bad as he thought the man, he wanted to avoid any serious trouble, less for Marshall's own sake than for that of Miss Inez Cass, to whom he was engaged, and who was deeply in love with him. Roper had left the house with the avowed intention of making things hot for him, so Mr. Heron had called on Marshall at his house near Hollyoak and told him what had happened. Then Marshall had confessed that, being in want of money, he had forged Mr. Heron's name. But he stated that he was going to pay the money back to Roper very shortly, and he implored Mr. Heron to take no steps against him; it would break Miss Cass's heart, he said, and Mr. Heron, pitying Inez, and having a great respect for her brother, had promised to say no more about it, and had agreed to refrain from assisting Roper on condition that the five hundred pounds were repaid. This--as a later entry in the diary-proved--had been done. After that there was no further mention of the matter.
"Well," Geoffrey said to himself, as he put away the books, "all this is quite plain. It seems that Mr. Frank Marshall is a pretty scoundrel! Oh, there is no doubt that this bill is the blackmailing document referred to by Jenner. Now, I wonder if Marshall murdered him to get possession of it; but if he did the bill would not have been concealed in the toy horse. Ah! no doubt Marshall thought it was in the red pocket-book, and stole that after he had killed him; that was why the pocket-book disappeared. Probably Marshall himself destroyed it. Humph! I have gone so far with very good results; now, before I can proceed further, I must see Mrs. Jenner and Roper. I wonder if that scoundrel is still alive?"
Next day Geoffrey paid a visit to the gaol where Mrs. Jenner was serving her life sentence. After some difficulty he was permitted to see the prisoner; indeed, he might not have procured the interview at all had he not told the governor that he saw a good chance of proving the woman innocent. The governor was a humane man, and, anxious that justice should be done, he stretched a point and allowed Heron to see her with as much privacy as was compatible with prison discipline.
As soon as they were alone. Heron related all that he had discovered, and then proceeded to ask his questions. Mrs. Jenner, poor woman, became much excited, and small wonder, seeing, that for the first time, she saw a chance of regaining her freedom.
"But, after all, it will be to die, Mr. Heron," she said, sadly. "I am very ill; trouble, exposure and mental worry have been too much for me. The doctor saw me two days ago, and has ordered my removal to the Infirmary." Geoffrey looked at her, and, true enough, there was death in her face. A few weeks were all of life left to her now. And yet on hearing Geoffrey's news, the bold spirit flamed up again in her for the last time.
"I am sure you are right, Mr. Heron!" she said, feverishly. "Mr. Marshall is the guilty person. He was always a scamp and a rake. There is no doubt that it was for the purpose of blackmailing him that my husband came down to Westham on the night he was murdered; in fact, he said as much to me at the Turnpike House. Do you know that he had met Marshall on that very night?"
"No; you did not tell me that."
"I forgot; besides, I really did not think it mattered. I did not expect that Mr. Marshall would be brought into the affair. He was always cunning enough to look after himself. At that time he was engaged to marry Miss Cass, and she loved him with the fierceness of a tigress."
"Do you mean the present Mrs. Marshal?"
"Who else should I mean? She always loved him. He had a strange fascination for women: why, I don't know, for he was not particularly good-looking or attractive. But Miss Inez loved him, and it was within two months of the murder that they were married. I was in prison then, as I am now, and under sentence of death."
"Then you think that Marshall killed your husband?"
"I do," she said, with a look of hatred in her large blue eyes. "I feel certain of it. Look at the motive he had! He was engaged to marry Miss Inez Cass: she was rich and he needed money; then again there was some talk of his leaving the firm. I believe myself that Mr. Cass was quite tired of the way he was going on."
"I wonder that Mr. Cass--knowing him as he did--did not forbid the marriage."
"What would have been the use? His sister was her own mistress; she had her own money--a large fortune--and she was madly in love with Marshall. She would have done anything for him; she simply grovelled at his feet. Her infatuation was the talk of all Westham at the time I was starving at the Turnpike House.'
"Extraordinary!" mused Geoffrey. "She is so masterful a woman that I wonder she could have fallen in love with so weak a man."
"It is one of those things in which a woman's nature is stronger than her principles," said Mrs. Jenner. "Besides, he was fascinating, and she was no longer a young woman," she added, with a touch of feminine spite. "At any rate, she was delighted when he fell in love with her, and determined not to let him go."
"Was he in love with her?"
"No: perhaps I was wrong to put it that way. No doubt he wanted her money. Did he leave the firm?"
"Yes; shortly after his marriage."
"Ah! Then depend upon it, Mr. Cass got rid of him. He married Miss Cass for her money--he must have been in great straits when he committed that forgery. Oh, I quite believe it was he who did it: he was wonderfully clever at imitating handwriting. I knew of that accomplishment long before I was married."
"How you hate him!" Geoffrey could not help exclaiming.
"I am a very good hater," she said, quietly; "and I have every reason to hate that man. It was he who got my husband dismissed, and it was certainly he who led him into dissipated ways; for Jenner was not a bad man during the early years of our married life. It was only when he came under Marshall's influence that he took to drink and began to treat me cruelly. Oh, I know what I owe him only too well! I should like to see him arrested for this murder, and hanged--hanged!"
She spoke with such vehemence that Heron shivered. "I hope he will be proved innocent for all that," he said. "Remember I am engaged to his niece."
"Miss Ruth is not his niece save by marriage."
"Still, the disgrace----"
"Well, leave the matter alone," said Mrs. Jenner, abruptly. "I have suffered so much that a little, more or less, does not matter. When I I am gone, there will be an end of all your trouble. Let Marshall live to repent, if he can. I am willing to die with the disgrace on me; I can't well be worse off than I am. And my son will soon forget me----"
"You do him wrong, Mrs. Jenner; he loves you dearly. But, let this be as it may, what I have to do is to get at the truth of it all. If Marshall will confess his guilt, I will consult with Mr. Cass and see what is to be done. I confess, that on Ruth's account, I do not want a scandal."
"Would you desert her?"
"No, for I love her. And I am too just, I hope, to visit the sins of other people upon her innocent head."
Mrs. Jenner seemed to be considering; then, "Mr. Heron," she said at last, "you are a good man. Leave the matter where it stands, and let me die a guilty woman in the eyes of the world. If I were in good health, I might speak differently but I am dying. Let me die. I have suffered so much, that now I could not even enjoy freedom. There is no rest for me but in the grave. Believe me, it is better to leave things as they are."
"Well, we'll see about that. But tell me, how did the bill get inside the toy horse?"
"Ah, that is difficult to explain! The horse belonged to my boy; he was playing with it before the fire on that evening. I left it there when I took the child to bed. It is likely enough," she went on, musingly, "that my husband, knowing he had driven Marshall into a corner, was afraid he might lose this bill. He may have sewn it up inside the horse when I was out of the room. He knew very well that I kept all my boy's toys, and he thought it would be safe there. No one would ever have dreamt of looking for it in such a hiding-place. It is really most wonderful, when one comes to think of it, that it has come to light at all."
"Can you tell me where Jenner met Marshall on that night?"
"No, I cannot. All I know is what he told me--that he had seen him two hours before he came to see me. He boasted of his blackmailing. That is all I can tell you."
Geoffrey rose. "Well, you have given me some information, if not very much," he said. "Now I will go and see Roper to make certain how the bill came to be stolen."
"My husband stole it when he was with Roper," said Mrs. Jenner. And with this last piece of information Geoffrey departed to follow up the clue.
Mr. Julian Roper had an establishment in Golden-square, Soho. Although this gentleman was over eighty, he had not yet repented of his many iniquities, but callously continued to conduct his evil transactions. His offices--two dingy rooms--were on the ground floor of the house; the apartments overhead being occupied by himself and a crabbed old woman who acted as his housekeeper. The hag was, if possible, worse than her master; and from long years of association, she possessed considerable influence over him; she was a widow--or at least it was as such that she described herself--for her husband had left her many years before in sheer disgust at her tyranny. Mrs. Hutt was her name; and she had a son who acted as clerk to Julian.
When Geoffrey Heron arrived at this sordid temple of Mammon, he was received by the drudge--a young-old person of no particular age, dressed in a suit of rusty black. He informed the visitor that his master was absent.
The clerk, who answered to the name of Jerry Hutt, gave Mr. Heron a broken-backed chair, and returned to his desk, which was smuggled away into a corner. With a shrug at the poverty of the place and the apparently enfeebled intellect of the person in charge, the young man took a seat and amused himself by taking stock of his surroundings.
Jerry took not the slightest notice of Geoffrey after the first greeting; he wrote hard with his tongue thrust into his cheek, giving vent at times to a faint chuckle which was positively uncanny. Coming to the conclusion that he was half-witted, Heron came to regard him in the light in which most people saw him--more as an article of furniture than a man. But in this he, in common with the rest of the visitors to that den, was wrong. For underneath his assumed stupidity Jerry was as sharp as the proverbial needle.
Luckily Heron had not long to wait. In about a quarter of an hour Jerry raised his big head and looked out of the window; a shuffling step was heard at the door; and a minute later someone came coughing and grumbling along the narrow passage. "Mr. Roper," chuckled Jerry, pointing towards the inner room. "Go in there."
Geoffrey, taking no notice of his brusque manner, passed into the back room; it was better lighted and better furnished than the clerk's den. Still, it was sordid enough, and so dirty that the young squire found it necessary to dust with his handkerchief the seat he had chosen. "Cleanliness and godliness are both absent from this establishment," thought Mr. Heron.
He could hear Roper outside growling at Jerry, but could catch nothing of their conversation. He guessed that it had to do with himself, for shortly Mr. Roper entered the back room with what was meant to be an amiable smile on his mahogany face. In appearance he was the double of his clerk, as thin, as yellow, and even smaller in stature.
"Ha! Hey!" he said; this being the way in which he was accustomed to begin a conversation. "Mr. Heron--ah, yes--Mr. Geoffrey Heron--quite so! I knew your father. A good man, Mr. Heron, but strong in his expressions."
Geoffrey took this to mean--and very rightly too--that his father had expressed himself in no measured terms as to the moneylender's professional transactions. But he made no comment, merely remarking that he had come to see Mr. Roper on business.
"Ha! Hey!" chuckled the old man, shuffling towards his desk with the aid of a heavy stick. "Quite so. Not like your father! Oh, dear, no! He never borrowed money."
"I am not here for that purpose," retorted Mr. Heron, haughtily, and the old man, panting for breath, dropped into his chair. "And I can assure you that you are the last person to whom I should come in such circumstances. My business is quite of a different nature."
"Ha! Then why do you come here, Mr. Heron? I have much to do; I am poor, and money is hard to make. If your business has nothing to do with money, why come at all?"
"Because you are the only person who can assist me?"
"I do nothing for nothing," croaked Mr. Roper, quickly. "If you want anything out of me, you must pay me--pay me--cash down, you understand! I have had enough of bills."
"Mr. Frank Marshall's bill for five hundred included?" asked Geoffrey.
The man started and plucked at his nether lip. "Ha! Hey! What do you know about Mr. Marshall, sir?"
"Not so much as you can tell me," said Heron, significantly.
"Marshall--Marshall," muttered Roper. "I don't know him--never heard of him."
Geoffrey took a new tack and prepared to go. "In that case, I need not trouble you. My business has to do with Marshall and a forgery."
"Wait. Come now, don't hurry!" screeched the old man, clawing at Heron's frock-coat. "I do begin to remember something of this. I am old--I can't remember as well as I did. Marshall--Frank Marshall--Cass and Marshall. Yes, yes, of course I know! A forgery--your father--quite so!" He stopped and looked up sharply. "Well, what is it?" he asked.
Geoffrey sat down again. He was beginning to see his way to the successful management of this old gentleman. "It is a long story," he said, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the avaricious face of the usurer. "Let me begin at the beginning. What about a man called Jenner?"
Roper gave another screech, and was visibly startled. He cast a swift glance at the door behind which, no doubt, the useful Jerry was eavesdropping. "Jenner," he said, recovering himself with an effort, "was a clerk of mine, and a blackguard."
"The one implies the other," Heron said, drily, "if all I have heard of you is true."
"Now, sir, don't you come libelling me," whimpered the usurer, still disturbed. "I won't have it. I will bring an action for damages--heavy damages."
"Do, Mr. Roper. I should like to see you shewn up in court. How many of your transactions will bear the scrutiny of the law?"
"I have never broken the law," he roared, with an attempt at dignity which ill became him. "I am a poor man, but honest. Jenner? Oh, yes he was murdered, and he deserved to be murdered--the beast!"
"Who did it?" asked Geoffrey, abruptly.
For the second time Mr. Roper was visibly disconcerted. "How should I know any more than yourself?" he quavered. "His wife murdered him, of course; he treated her badly, and she served him out. Women always do."
"Come, Mr. Roper, you are evading my questions. But I have no time to play the fool. I have come to talk to you about that forged bill."
"Have you got it--have you got it?" he shrieked, making a dart with one claw at Geoffrey. "Oh, give it to me, if you can! I want to see that Marshall in gaol--with hard labour--hard labour!" he repeated, with evident relish. "My dear gentleman, if you can, help me to crush him!"
"Why?" asked the young man, drawing back.
"Because I hate him. I had a daughter; she loved him; but he would not marry her--oh, dear, no! Her father's reputation was too bad for so fine a gentleman. So she died--pined away. Mr. Heron, as I am a sinner! Oh how Jerry felt it! He admired Elsa, he loved her--so did Marshall." His eyes flashed. "But he would not marry her, for all that. She is dead and buried now--a most expensive tomb!" he added, vaguely. "All marble--most costly. But she was my daughter: I hate to spend good money; but Elsa was my daughter--a most expensive tomb!"
His listener took all this for the senile babble of age. Perhaps it was, for tears stood in the usurer's eyes--those hard eyes which had remained dry whilst looking upon much deliberately-created misery. He wiped them now with snuffy red bandana, and then looked fiercely at his client.
"Come," he said, roughly, with a growl as of a beast about to spring. "What about Marshall!"
Geoffrey said nothing for the moment, but stared fixedly at the moneylender.
"Ha! Hey!" said Roper, impatiently, and there was a yellow gleam in his eyes. "I am waiting. What about Marshall?"
"I would rather ask you what about Jenner?"
"I do nothing for nothing, as I have told you," was the reply. "If you could assist me to punish that wretch, I might perhaps help you; otherwise----"
"Well, I may be able to help you in that!"
"Oh, oh!" said the old man. "And what grudge have you against Marshall?"
"I have none but I have a very good reason for acting as I am doing."
"What is your reason?"
"That I refuse to tell you. Speak freely to me, or leave the matter alone, my good man. I can do without your assistance."
"No, no!" cried the usurer, with frightful energy. "If Marshall is to get into trouble, I am the man to assist. He broke my Elsa's heart; I wish to be revenged. What is it you want to know?"
"Tell me about Jenner," Heron said, curtly. He saw that the old man, moved by the recollection of Marshall's behaviour to his daughter, was in the mood to be confidential. He would get all he could out of him before the wind changed.
Roper commenced speaking in a hurry as though in fear that his resolution would fail him. "Jenner was a wretch--a scamp!" he said. "He was in my employment before Jerry grew up to assist me. I took him off the streets, and he repaid my kindness by robbing me."
"Of the bill of exchange on which was the forgery of my father's name."
"Oh, you know that!" he said with a glance of surprise. "Well, I daresay. Your father--worthy man--would no doubt tell you. Yes, Jenner took the bill--just when I thought I had Marshall in the palm of my hand. Ah, that was a blow! I would have given hundreds to have kept that bill--to have lodged Marshall in gaol. But when that was gone, I could do nothing. Have you the bill--do you know where it is? Give it to me. I'll work the matter."
"I have not the bill," said Geoffrey, deliberately. He saw that the honour of the Cass family would be lost if entrusted to the hands of this man. "The bill was stolen from Jenner's dead body," he added, with studied equivocation.
"By whom?" Roper asked, abruptly. "Do you not know?"
"Certainly not," he said, with violence. "Are you about to accuse me of the crime? Why, I do not even know of the place where he met his death. You can prove nothing against me, sir, however cleverly you lay your trap."
"I am not laying any trap," Geoffrey said, mildly. "I want to know something more about Jenner--as I have told you at least five times! He was in your employment, you say?"
"Yes, I took him off the streets! One day Marshall brought that bill; I discounted it, and gave him five hundred pounds! Then I found out--how, it does not matter--that your father's signature had been forged. I saw your father----"
"I know all about that interview. You saw my father and he refused to prosecute, did he not?"
"He did; but I would have prosecuted myself, and would have called your father as a witness. Well, I came back after that visit, and placed the bill in my safe then I told my housekeeper all about it: Jenner must have listened. Shortly afterwards he disappeared; I made a search to see if he had taken anything. Then I found that the bill had gone--that Marshall had escaped me! I managed to set the police on Jenner's track, and he was arrested. I offered not to prosecute if he would give me back the bill: but he refused. Then I prosecuted him for stealing my money, and he got three years. When he came out, I believe he went down to the country to see his wife; and she murdered him. What became of the bill, I never could discover. He must have destroyed it."
"It is possible," said Heron. "I suppose that the bill was valuable to Marshall as well as to you! No doubt he paid Jenner to destroy it."
"Or else he murdered Jenner to obtain possession of it," the old man said, gloomily. "But, no! Mrs. Jenner killed him I was at the trial; I heard all the evidence nothing could have been clearer or fairer. She killed her husband. Now. I wonder if she could have taken possession of that bill! No, I don't think so; it would have been found on her when she was arrested. I believe Marshall must have bribed Jenner to destroy it; more's the pity. I'll never get at him now, the beast!"
Geoffrey rose to go. "Well," he said, "I have learnt something; but I hardly know if it will be of much assistance to me."
"What are you going to do?" Roper asked.
"Satisfy my conscience. Listen, Mr. Roper; in my father's diary I found a full account of your visit and the truth about the forgery. I was anxious to know all--therefore, I came to you. Now I am satisfied. So far as I am concerned, the matter shall rest where it is."
"Then you won't help me to crush Marshall? Will nothing deliver him into my hands?" he muttered. "I'll make a last effort; he must be punished for Elsa's sake."
Again and again did Miss Cass wish that she could tell Jennie Brawn the story of the broken link and her position with regard to her father. But she had given her promise, and was forced to hold her tongue. On her part Jennie, always open and honest, felt a trifle embarrassed at the secret understanding with Geoffrey Heron regarding the bill of exchange, it seemed to her too delicate perception to be wrong; for was not the young man her friend's lover? But, like Ruth herself, Jennie had given a promise which could not be broken, and she, too, had to hold her peace. Under these circumstances, both girls were less open with each other than usual, and on this account did not seek one another, as was formerly the case. Jennie made her teaching serve as an excuse; and Ruth took to wandering about the country in the society of her own sad thoughts.
She had promised her father to refrain from further meddling with the Jenner case; but she did not think that this bound her to abstain from visiting the Turnpike House; and she was always finding herself in the neighbourhood of that ill-omened building. It held the secret of a crime.
Several times Ruth had noticed smoke rising from its chimney; she began to think, from the recurrence of this phenomenon, that some tramp had taken up his abode in the deserted building. Full of nervous apprehension lest the said tramp should find something in the house likely to connect her father with the crime, Ruth had, more than once, made up her mind to see who it was that occupied the hovel. But on each occasion her courage failed her at the last moment. But one day she screwed up her courage, and set out to visit the Turnpike House. She would [*** ***] if any other piece of evidence connected with the crime had been discovered; and, if so, ascertain who was the finder.
As she approached, she could see that although the house still looked dilapidated and disreputable in its green jungle, some attempt had been made to render it fit for human habitation. The windows had been mended, the door repaired, and the roof patched in various places. Ruth walked boldly up the path--now trodden down by the footsteps of the new owner--and after a glance at the closed door, looked in at the window. This was guiltless of blinds or curtain, and she could see quite plainly what was going on inside. To her surprise, the first person she saw was her aunt Inez seated by the fire and talking eagerly to Job, who was astride a chair beside her. The gypsy turned his head rapidly as the shadow of the girl, lengthened by the sun, fell across the floor, and he uttered an exclamation of mingled surprise aid vexation. Mrs. Marshall, looking up at that moment, beheld her niece--the very last person she expected or, indeed, desired to see in that place. Her dark face grew a trifle pale, her black eyes flashed, and she looked downright savage at the intrusion. However, there was nothing left for it now but to make the best of the situation, so before Ruth had time to recover from her astonishment, Aunt Inez had passed quickly to the window and had thrown it wide open.
"Goodness, Ruth! Why do you come in that silent way to frighten people? Come in--come in, and don't stand staring there like a fool!"
Ruth struggled to recover from her surprise.
"I am astonished to see you here, Aunt Inez," she said, when she had found her tongue. "I did not know you were acquainted with Job."
"He is a pensioner of mine," Mrs. Marshall said, composedly, preparing to shut the window. "Are you coming in, Ruth? We can walk back together. You know I do not approve of your roaming the country in this uncivilised fashion."
"It seems I am only following your example," Ruth said, pertly.
"I am a married woman."
"And Job's patroness," remarked Ruth, who was too much annoyed by her aunt's manner to be careful. Mrs. Marshall flashed at her a look which boded ill for the harmony of their future relations.
"Yes; I am looking after the poor man. There is nothing wrong in that, I hope?"
"On the contrary," said her niece, and went towards the door. It was opened by Job, who, during this interview, had been most discreetly silent. He winked at the girl--not rudely, but to intimate that he still looked upon her as a Romany sister--and ushered her into the room.
Mrs. Marshall had resumed her seat by the fire, and pointed out the other chair to her niece. Job leant up against the table, and regarded the two with a twinkle in his dark eyes. Evidently he anticipated some amusement.
"Have you been here before, Ruth?" asked the elder lady, sharply.
"Once; I was curious to see the place."
"On account of the murder, I suppose?" replied Mrs. Marshall, with contempt. "Really, Ruth, I do wonder that you should care to concern yourself with such horrors! And why do you come here again?"
"To see Job," was the quiet answer.
"Me and the lady are pals," put in Job. "Oh, yes; she can patter the black tongue, and she is a real Romany sister."
"Perhaps, Ruth, you will explain," said Mrs. Marshall, both puzzled and annoyed.
"I think Job has already done so," Ruth said, coolly. "I met him here by accident when last I came, and I talked Romany to him. He has taken me as a sister of the gypsy folk. I am a female Borrow."
"Ruth!" Aunt Inez threw up her hands in horror. "How dare you speak like this? A low gypsy--a tramp--and you a young lady! And pray where did you learn the gypsy language?"
"At school, and out of it. I got a gypsy woman to teach me. But I do not see why you should forbid me to associate with Job, aunt. You are doing so yourself."
"I!" exclaimed that lady, with something of defiance in her manner. "But I have taken this poor man under my protection, and I intend to make him comfortable."
Ruth did not reply immediately. Then she looked up:
"Last time I was here you watched me, Aunt Inez," she said, slowly.
"Perhaps I did--perhaps I did not," replied that lady, coldly. She scorned to tell a lie, and refused to own the truth.
"Then you know what I found here--under the window?"
Job looked up eagerly and exchanged a glance with Mrs. Marshall. But that clever lady preserved an imperturbable countenance. "What you found, my dear, is of no consequence to me," she said, impatiently, and rose to her feet.
"It is more to the purpose that we should be going. I will arrange about your weekly money," she said, turning to Job.
"Thank you, lady," said the gypsy, gratefully. "You are a real good sort. I won't trouble you long, though. I'm booked before the year is out."
Ruth lingered, for she wanted to speak to the man alone; but her aunt hurried her away, and the last glimpse she had of him was standing in the doorway laughing in anything but a respectful manner.
One would have thought that Miss Cass had burnt her fingers quite severely enough to avoid playing with fire. But such was not the case. Her curiosity was stronger than her prudence.. Besides, after the smile she had seen on Job's face she began to doubt her aunt's plausible explanation. Unfortunately, Mrs. Marshall escorted her niece right up to the gates of Hollyoaks Park. But she refused to go in.
"I have left my carriage at the inn," she said, "and, as your uncle is not very well, I must go home at once. I hope you will come and see us soon, Ruth; you are neglecting me very much."
"I will come with pleasure, aunt. Will next week do?"
"Any week will do. I am always at home--except on an occasion like this, when I am employed in charitable works. I shall expect you next week."
When her aunt had gone, Ruth waited until she was out of sight; then took a short cut across the meadows to the Turnpike House. Within the hour she again presented herself at the door. It was opened so suddenly that she felt sure that Job had been watching her; and his greeting proved that such was the case.
"I expected you, sister," he said. "Come into my tent. Duvel! That a Romany should dwell under a roof-tree like a Gorgio."
"It is better for your health than wandering about the roads," said the girl, sitting down.
"I am dying," interrupted Job, quietly. "And I am not the man to decay like a tree. If I find that I can never recover, I will die after my own fashion. I am not afraid."
Ruth did not know what reply to make to this: she glanced round hoping to find a fresh topic of conversation. "You are comfortable here; quite civilised. I am sure that you will get better now that you are so well housed!"
"I do not think so, lady. But I yielded to Mrs. Marshall's request to take shelter here. One place is as good as another to die in; she is good to me; I have this house--and a little money to buy food."
"Why is she so kind?" asked Ruth, sharply. "Such kindness is not in her nature. Have you done her a good turn?"
"Perhaps I have; maybe I have not," Job said, coolly. "See here, sister, I knew you would come back to ask questions. I saw it in your eye; but I know when to keep my mouth shut."
"You do--when it pays you. Well, I have no wish to pry into your secrets, Job. Keep your own counsel."
"I intend to," replied the man. "And it is a good thing for your family that I do."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing that I can tell you."
"Job"--Ruth looked at him sharply--"are you hinting at any disgrace?"
"No: what disgrace could befall so noble a family? I hold my tongue."
"Because you are paid for it," retorted Ruth. Already her wits were at work trying to search out the reason for all this: she scented a mystery and began vaguely to connect it with the Jenner case. Half in jest, half in earnest, she asked a leading question. "Do you know anything of this murder?"
"No. Duvel! I should think not. It was before my time."
"Yet I wonder you are not afraid to sleep in this room. It was here that the body was found."
Job laughed, and stared at the stains on the floor near the window. "Yes; it was here," he said. "But I know nothing."
"You know what I found last time I came to this place?" she said, recalling the glance exchanged between her aunt and the gypsy.
"Perhaps," replied Job; then he began to laugh. "Oh, you are a rare one, lady, you are!" he said. "You would rob me of my new tent by asking me to speak about what does not concern you."
"Ah! Then you have something to conceal?"
"Perhaps," said Job again. "But you may as well stop, sister. I hold my peace until I die."
Ruth looked at him fixedly. By this time she felt quite sure that the secret which procured for Job food, and fire, and roof-tree, was connected with the murder.
"What you know has nothing to do with Mr. Cass--with my father?" she asked in a low voice.
"No, no; on my soul it has not," he said, earnestly. "Why do you think so, sister?"
"Has it anything to do with the murder?"
"I cannot tell you."
"You need not, for I can see the truth in your face. Tell me this, do you know what I found under that window?"
He looked at her. "Yes, I know," he said, softly, and refused to speak another word.
Mr. Cass arrived home in a more cheerful frame of mind. His business, whatever it was, had evidently prospered, and the look of anxiety which his face had worn had given place to his usual imperturbable smile. He was relieved, too, to hear that Amy had gone. Altogether, when, the dinner hour arrived, Ruth found that he was as pleased as ever to be alone with her.
"By the way, my dear," he said, after the dessert was placed on the table and they had had some desultory chat, "we are about to have a visitor."
"Geoffrey?" asked Ruth, eagerly. She was longing to see her lover again.
"No; Neil Webster. I have been to Bognor to see him. He is much better, poor fellow, though still far from well. However, he is coming down here, where he will be surrounded with more comfort than Mrs. Jent can provide. Before long I hope he will be quite restored to health."
"I am glad he is coming, papa." She hesitated, and then continued in a low voice: "Are you going to assist him?"
"I thought we had agreed to close that discussion, Ruth?" said her father with some coldness. "Assist him? What can I do? I have told him that I will endeavour to prove his mother's innocence, but I have not much hope of success. Whatever you may say, Ruth, I believe the woman is guilty."
"I think she is innocent," cried the girl, throwing back her head with a look of defiance.
"I know you do. Well, if her innocence can be proved so much the better. At present Neil has promised not to worry more than he can help. I want to see him on his feet again, therefore he must have cheerful company to distract his mind."
"Is that why you asked him down here?" asked Ruth, ironically. "I am afraid his spirits will not rise in this house. Amy left it because she found the dulness intolerable."
"Amy is a frivolous butterfly, my dear. I hope you have more sense. You must do your best to amuse Neil, and above all you must say nothing to him about this case. It is becoming a sort of monomania with him, and his thoughts must be kept off it."
"In that case I shall get Jennie to amuse him," replied Ruth "for I find it difficult not to become a monomaniac on the subject myself. Besides, I want her to marry him."
Mr. Cass stroked his chin and did not appear to look unfavourably on this proposal. "Neil might do worse," he said, after a pause. "Jennie is a good little creature and will make him a very adaptable wife. You would never have suited yourself to the boy. Geoffrey Heron is more in your way, Ruth. He will be at once your husband and your master."
"So long as he is not a domestic tyrant I do not care. I am very, very fond of Geoffrey, now that I have got over my foolish feeling for Neil. I do wish Geoffrey would come to see me oftener."
At that moment, as if in answer to her words, a servant appeared with a card, which he presented to his master. "Queer!" exclaimed Mr. Cass, glancing at it through his eye-glass. "Here is the very man you want."
"Geoffrey!" she cried, joyfully.
"Yes; I wonder why he did not send me notice of his coming. He wants to see me on business. Business!" he repeated, with a frown. "Humph! I hope he has found no new mare's nest with your assistance."
"I have meddled no more with the case, papa, if that is what you mean," said Miss Cass. "But where is he?"
"In the library. I will see him first. You can talk to him afterwards."
"Ask him to stay, papa," said Ruth, following her father to the door of the dining-room.
"Of course he can stay if he likes," Mr. Cass said, looking at his daughter as if he were about to make some remark. However, he thought better of it and hurried out. Ruth guessed that it had been in his mind to say something about the unhappy affair in which they were all interested. She was irritated at not being admitted into his confidence, for her nerves were worn thin with the constant strain. However, he had been quite determined to see Geoffrey alone; and all she could do was to possess herself in patience until such time as the conversation should have ended.
Meanwhile the two men were sitting opposite one another in Mr. Cass's room. Geoffrey refused to have any dinner; he had dined before leaving home, he said, but he did not decline a cigar and glass of good port. Mr. Cass was at once convinced, from the expression of tragic gravity on the young man's face, that he had something serious to say, and he concluded that it had to do with the Jenner case. But he was not going to commit himself by introducing the subject lest he might appear too eager. He talked lightly on desultory matters and waited for Heron to begin.
"Mr. Cass," he said, at last, "I have come to renew our former conversation."
"Oh, the Jenner murder, I suppose?" Mr. Cass said, lightly. "I thought as much; but I did not know that you intended to pursue the matter."
"Nor did I of my own free will," replied Geoffrey, coolly; "but circumstances have thrust upon me fresh discoveries, and I want your assistance."
Mr. Cass looked up sharply, and replied with studied carelessness: "Of course I will do my best to help you, my dear fellow; but really I do not see how I can."
"You will soon see when I have told you of my discovery," was the grim answer. "About those links, you know----"
The merchant started and changed colour. "Ah!" he said. "Ruth told you?"
"Some time ago; but what she did not tell me, and what you did not reveal, Mr. Cass, was that you were the owner of those links."
"How can you be certain on that point?" asked Mr. Cass, calmly. "What have you found out to make you think that they--at any rate the broken one Ruth got under the window of the Turnpike House--have anything to do with me?
"I will tell you," he said, leaning forward and looking very directly at his host. "You gave a portion of one of those links to your granddaughter Mildred for her doll. I found the child crying because Ruth had taken what she called a 'brooch' from her. At first I did not connect it with the one Ruth had found, but when she described it I guessed that it was part of the set; to make certain I shewed her the one her aunt had picked up, and she recognised it at once as the double of her brooch, with the difference in the design, of course. You did not tell me of this, Mr. Cass.
"Why should I have told you?" Mr. Cass's tone was slightly defiant. "I did give such a link to Mildred, and it was one of a set."
"Have you the set?" asked Heron. "Forgive my asking you, but I have a good reason for doing so."
"I know what your reason is," replied the merchant, raising his voice; "but you are wrong; I did not drop that link at the Turnpike House--I did not murder Jenner!"
"Nothing was further from my mind," protested the young man. "You jump to conclusions; my meaning was quite different."
The expression on Mr. Cass's face was one half of relief, half of uneasiness.
"What do you mean, then?" he demanded. "I have a right to know."
"You shall know. It was in order to tell you that I came over this evening. But first, have you the remaining links?"
Mr. Cass crossed the room to an old-fashioned desk which stood in a corner, and began to search. In five minutes he returned to his seat by the fire, bringing with him an oval enamelled with a pack of cards.
"That is all I have," he said. "Mildred has the one with the horse on it; you have the other with the champagne bottle."
"And the ballet girl? Where is that one?" Mr. Cass was silent and shifted uneasily in his chair. "That I cannot tell you until I know more clearly what you have discovered."
"You shall know all. It may save a certain person from a relentless enemy. Yes; you may look, Mr. Cass! I tell you there is one man who hates another with all the intensity of his soul, and will only too willingly do him an injury."
Mr. Cass began to grow angry at this mysterious description. "One man--another man?" he repeated. "What do you mean? Who is the enemy?"
"Julian Roper."
"And who is he?" Heron looked at him in astonishment. If faces were to be read, his host knew nothing of this man. "I am surprised that you do not know who Roper is," he said, slowly.
"Why should I? I never even heard his name, that I can recollect. If he has any grudge against me, I cannot understand the reason, seeing, as I have said, that he is unknown to me."
"I did not say that he had a grudge against you."
"No, but you hinted as much. After all, I suppose I am the man who is so well hated. At least, I can take your speech in no other way."
"I don't mean you at all. I allude to Marshall--your brother-in-law."
"Marshall!" Mr. Cass sprang to his feet and his face turned positively grey; this time Geoffrey had no reason to complain of indifference: it was plain that his host feared the revelation about to be made against his sister's husband. "I don't quite understand," he said. "What has Marshall----"
"I think you understand very well, Mr. Cass; and I can only wish that during our last conversation you had spoken out. If you want the truth in plain words, I say that Frank Marshall murdered Jenner at the Turnpike House to recover a bill of exchange on which he had forged my father's name."
"Stop! Stop!" cried Mr. Cass, dropping back into his seat. "What--what grounds have you--such an accusation----"
"Is it not true?"
"Upon my word of honour, I cannot say."
"I think you can, Mr. Cass. You know that Mrs. Jenner is innocent and that Marshall is guilty."
The merchant became vehement. "I cannot say that!" he cried, dashing his fist on the table. "Because I don't know. I did suspect Marshall myself--on certain grounds; but I knew nothing of this bill--I could not fathom his motive. I was doubtful, and so I came to the conclusion that Mrs. Jenner was the guilty person. I would have told you all this before, Heron, but the honour of my family----"
"I hope to be one of the family myself, soon," Geoffrey said, quietly; "and you cannot suppose that I am less anxious than you are to avoid a scandal. I must know the truth now, at all costs."
"You shall know everything I can tell you. Oh, Heavens! If it should be so--if he should be guilty! I could never be sure--never; or I would have taken steps to get that unfortunate woman released; I did not want her to suffer. In some way--without incriminating Marshall--I would have managed it, if only I had been sure! But this bill--ah! that was his motive, and I never knew! He did not tell me that. As to Roper, I can assure you that this is the first time, to my knowledge, that I have heard his name."
"Yet he discounted the bill. It was in his office that Jenner was employed after he had failed on the stage."
"I took no interest in the man after I had dismissed him. I never even heard his employer's name. He stole the bill, I suppose--ah, yes, I begin to understand--and he came down here to blackmail Marshall. Quite so. Great Heavens! Can he be guilty, after all? I'll have the truth out of him at all costs."
"That is the difficult part of it," Geoffrey said, with a flush. "I can make Marshall speak out, but I dread his confession. By rights, we should give him up to the law--and yet the disgrace--the----"
"We must get at the truth first; afterwards we can decide how to get the woman released, and how to punish my wretched brother-in-law. Tell me what proof you have against him?"
Heron produced his pocket-book, and took therefrom the bill of exchange, which he gave to Mr. Cass. He started, as though a snake had stung him. "Forged?" he asked, placing his finger on the signature of Geoffrey Heron. Then on a nod from that young man, he added: "Did you find this among your father's papers? No; that is impossible. Jenner must have had it on the night he was murdered; yet if Marshall killed him to get possession of it, how came it into your hands?"
"Because Marshall lost the fruits of his wickedness he never gained possession of this bill. Jenner was too clever for him; it seems, as I learn from Mrs. Jenner, that she left him alone while she put her child to bed. During that time he--fearing, no doubt, lest Marshall should try and recover it--sewed it up in the body of a toy horse with which his boy had been playing. Neil sent the horse to George Chisel, your grandson, and he, as children will, cut up the animal. Miss Brawn saw this paper among the stuffing, and gave it to me."
"Does she know? Has she said----"
"She knows nothing of the connection of this with the murder--and she has said nothing for I made her give me her word that she would not. No one but you, and I, and she are aware of its existence.
"Roper--what of Roper?"
"He knows nothing about it. If you knew how he hated Marshall, you would be glad that he is ignorant. For he would certainly prosecute if he got hold of this paper."
"I doubt if he could now, seeing that your father--who alone could give evidence as to the falsity of the signature--is dead. But why does he hate Marshall so bitterly?"
"Well, it appears that Roper had a daughter who fell in love with him she would have married him, and he had given her every reason to believe that he would. But, of course, he stopped at that, and she died of a broken heart. I don't think there was anything scandalous about the affair--nothing worse than the playing fast and loose with the affections of the unhappy girl."
"He always was a scoundrel. I paid him a large sum to leave my firm, as I feared he would do something criminal some day. Then he married my sister. I begged her to give him up; but she was headstrong, and insisted. Great Heavens!" he cried. "And he married her very shortly after he had committed this crime. Yet I doubt very much if he would have had the courage to kill Jenner."
"Will you tell me what led you to suspect him?"
"In the first place, from the circumstances of his return on that night; in the second, these links."
"How is that? I should like to know all from the beginning."
"Well, Marshall was staying here on the night of the crime. He looked out of sorts; but he made some excuse--I forget what. After dinner he said he was going out for a walk; it was wet and misty, and I tried to dissuade him. My sister had gone to bed with a headache. I was alone, and, although I never liked him, I wanted to talk to him. But he insisted upon going. About nine he returned, knocked at the library window--that French window over there--and I let him in, torn and muddy and wild with fear! He said that he had been set upon by robbers--footpads. The next morning I heard of the murder, and I spoke to him about it, but he swore that he had not seen Jenner."
"Tell me about the links. Are they yours?"
"Yes; I bought them many years ago, when I was young and vain. Marshall saw them, and took a great fancy to them; so I gave him the set--and now"--Mr. Cass clenched his hands--"I fear, if he got his deserts, that they would hang him!"
And, quite overcome, he bowed his head on the table.