Presently Mr. Cass raised his head and looked at Geoffrey with such a woebegone expression that the young man started. It seemed as if the merchant had grown suddenly old; lines appeared on his face which had never been there before; his eyes were sunken, and his shoulders had bowed themselves as though the whole weight of his misery had been placed upon them. The transformation was at once startling and painful.
"Don't take it so much to heart," said Heron. "After all, we may both be wrong about Marshall."
"I hope so. I trust so." was the hoarse reply. "But if he is guilty, what am I to think of myself? I had a suspicion, on the grounds of which I have told you, yet here I have allowed an innocent woman to spend all these years in gaol, when that scoundrel should have been in her place."
"As to that, you could hardly have accused your sister's husband."
"He was not married to her at the time. If I had insisted upon an explanation that night when he came in torn and dirty at yonder window I might have prevented the marriage. I do not think that even the mad love that Inez had for him would have stood such a test. But Mrs. Jenner held her tongue when she should have spoken out, so I had no clue."
"Even if she had spoken out she could have done nothing. She was silent because she fancied that Neil, in his madness, had killed his father; she never suspected Marshall. But retrospection can do no good; the thing is done, and what we have to consider now is how best to get out of it. If Marshall is guilty he must give us a written confession and leave the country--without our connivance. What purpose would it serve to have him suffer at this stage? Besides, from all I have heard from Mrs. Jenner her scamp of a husband quite deserved his fate. Marshall's confession would set her free----"
"At the cost of publicity!" burst out Mr. Cass. "How [*** *** ***] disgrace, Heron? Think of my sister, of Ruth, of Amy, my married daughter; it would mean ruin to them all. And you, how could you marry into such a family?"
"Oh, as to that I am not afraid to face the world. I should be a mean hound if I were to visit Marshall's sins on Ruth. Whatever happens, you may be certain that Ruth will be my wife, and that she will receive from me all the love and affection due to so charming and honest a girl."
"Thank you, Heron." He grasped the young man's hand.
"But," exclaimed the younger man, "as to Marshall, when we know the truth for certain we will decide how to act. Above all we must not be in a hurry. You say you gave the links to him?"
"I did. And what is more, he wore them on that night. I remember his calling my attention to them at dinner."
"Humph! Then he alone could have lost that one at the Turnpike House. I suppose you did not notice if one was missing from his cuff when he came into this room?"
"No, I never gave the matter a thought. There was no reason why I should. I believed that he had been attacked by gypsies--you know how many there are always about these lonely roads. An assault of that nature would have been quite enough to account for the mud on his clothes and their torn condition. I never thought he had met Jenner."
"Was there bad blood between them?"
"Well. I am not quite sure. It seems that Marshall had persecuted Mrs. Jenner with his attentions, but her husband was not of the sort to take any trouble about that. He and Marshall I had been boon companions for a long time. Whether they parted on account of come row, I don't know; but one thing is clear, that Jenner saw Marshall again when Marshall called on Julian Roper to discount that bill, and finding that it was a forgery stole it to come down here and blackmail his former friend."
"How could he find out that it was a forgery?"
"Oh, very easily. Roper might have talked, or Jenner might have listened. At all events he knew the truth. I suppose they met that night at the Turnpike House."
"No," said Heron, suddenly recollecting his conversation with the dead man's widow. "Jenner had seen Marshall before he came to the Turnpike House. Of course, Marshall might have followed him and watched him through the window; then seeing the pocket-book--which he supposed would contain the bill--he might have killed him and cleared off. But this Marshall must tell us; that's if he can be made to tell."
"I'll force it out of him," Mr. Cass said, grimly. "Those sleeve-links, for instance; he has to explain how he came to lose one at the Turnpike House. I remember after Marshall went away from here the housemaid brought me the pair enamelled the pack of cards and the horse, which she said Mr. Marshall had left in his room. I thought he must be tired of them, and that he had probably taken the other pair with him by mistake. So I put those he had left into my desk, and I thought no more about it. When Mildred wanted a brooch for her doll I separated them and gave one to the child--the one with the horse. The one with the pack of cards I left on my table, intending to give it to Ethel."
"I have the champagne bottle link which was dropped under the window," Geoffrey said. "Now, what has become of the other one, the ballet, girl?"
"No doubt that also will be found at the Turnpike House," said Mr. Cass. "I must tell you that the fastening of the links was somewhat worn, and that a slight tug would have, broken them. In putting his arm through the window to grasp the knife, which Mrs. Jenner says was on the table, I daresay Marshall's cuff caught in a nail and the links were torn apart. Both would have fallen to the ground. One has been found, the other, no doubt, is still on the ground."
"In that case we must make a search to-morrow," said Geoffrey, rising.
"No, we must see Marshall first," Mr. Cass said, very decidedly. "I would go over with you to-night; but that would make Inez suspicious. I do not want her to know anything of all this. And, after all, we may be mistaken; but he must give us an explanation. I will write a note to him this evening and ask him to come over to-morrow. You call here, Heron, at eleven o'clock, and we will force the truth out of him."
"Very well, I think that would be best. I hope he will be able to exculpate himself. If Mrs. Marshall should get to know----"
"She would fight for her husband tooth and nail. You don't know what a tigress my sister is when she is roused; the Spanish blood, I suppose. By the way," he went on, looking at Heron with a faint smile. "I am half Spanish, too, and no doubt I am credited with a fiery temper Confess, now, Heron, you thought from my silence that I had killed this man?"
Geoffrey nodded with some embarrassment. "I did," he said, frankly. "But can you blame me? Appearances were against you."
Mr. Cass shrugged his shoulders. "No, I don't blame you," he said. "But you might have given me the benefit of the doubt. Appearances are against Marshall, too. Well, we shall see if he is as wrongly suspected as I was. Are you going now? It is early."
"I should like to see Ruth for a few minutes."
"Well, she will be quite as glad to see you. She is dull, poor girl, and the horror of this thing--so much as she knows of it at least--has got on her nerves. Go and see her, and come here at eleven to-morrow. Of course, you will tell her nothing."
"Certainly not. Good-night."
"By the way, I forgot to tell you that Webster is coming down next week. He is much better, and I think the change will do him good."
"Humph! Will you tell him of this discovery?"
"I don't know. What do you think?"
"I should say nothing until we are quite certain. Let us our own counsel for the honour of the family."
"I think you are right," said Mr. Cass with a sigh. "Heaven grant, for the happiness of us all, that we are wrong in our suspicions. Now go, my dear hoy, and leave me to think the matter over. Ruth is waiting for you."
Heron found Ruth in the winter garden and in tears. She told him, she was the moat miserable girl in the world, and that nobody cared for her; which last statement Mr. Heron was not inclined to hear without venturing to put forward his own claims.
"My darling, girl, how can you say so?" he asked, pressing her closely in his arms. "I love you more than all the world."
"Every man says that when he can think of nothing else to say," replied Ruth, who was too much disturbed to be wholly just. "And if you really loved me, you wouldn't have neglected me so."
"My dear, I was busy. You know what took up my time."
"Yes, I know, and I wish I didn't know! This horrid business has troubled me morn and night. I wonder my hair hasn't turned grey!"
"Nonsense!" cried Geoffrey. "It is as black as ever."
"Black as the outlook of our lives."
Heron could not help a smile at this grandiloquent speech. It was so unlike Ruth to indulge in what the Americans call "tall talk." "Leave the wretched affair alone, dear," he said, kissing her. "You need not trouble your pretty head any more about it."
"But I must," she insisted. "If my suspicions are not set at rest, I shall go mad. And the worst of it is, I have promised my father to tell you nothing. If I could only speak freely to you, it would ease my mind."
"Then ease it and speak freely, Ruth. Oh, you need not shake your head. I know what you are talking about--those sleeve-links."
"Yes, that is it!" she cried hysterically. "I have nearly killed myself with anxiety over the whole thing. Oh, what a wicked girl I am!"
"No, my dear; only a very foolish girl. But you can set your mind at rest once and for all. Your father is perfectly innocent of what you impute to him. He had nothing do with the crime; and he believed in all good faith that Mrs. Jenner was the guilty person."
Ruth rose to her feet, and a smile of relief dispelled her tears. "Oh, how delighted I am!" she said, excitedly. "I shan't worry any more. Oh, how thankful I am! What a weight is off my mind! But why didn't he tell me before?"
"He had his reasons--reasons, which he has explained to me. They need not trouble you, my dear. I think you had better put the whole affair out of your mind."
"I will, now that papa is free from the stigma; he does not know that I thought he was seriously mixed up in the case. He would never forgive me if he did! Don't ever tell him, Geoffrey."
"No, I won't. Now, don't worry any more."
"But, Geoffrey, if Mrs. Jenner is not guilty, who is?"
"Ah, we must find that out," replied Heron, thinking it best not to reveal anything about Mr. Marshall--an explanation which would only have caused fresh trouble. "If you are wise, Ruth, you will leave the matter alone."
"I intend to," she said. "But there is one thing I want to tell you, Geoffrey--Job Lovel."
"Who is he?"
"The gypsy. Didn't I tell you about him?"
"Yes; I think you did say something about having met him at the Turnpike House. Well, what has he been doing?"
"Nothing, except that he has taken up his abode at the Turnpike House."
"Like his impudence!" cried the young man. "Why, that house is mine, and if he wanted to live in the wretched hovel, he should have come to me. Besides, I do not wish anyone to live in that shamble. I intend to have it pulled down, and so get rid of all the legends which haunt the neighbourhood."
"I wish you would pull it down; it is an ill-omened place--a blot on the landscape; and the sooner it is removed the better it will be for the countryside. The people round here think it is haunted, you know, and that keeps up the memory of the murder. If the house were pulled down, there would be an end of it all--and the sooner the better. But I do not know what Aunt Inez will say!"
"Mrs. Marshall?" cried Geoffrey, looking at her sharply. "What has she got to do with it?"
"That is what I want to tell you, it seems that Aunt Inez has taken an interest in Job; she suggested that he should patch up the house and live in it; and she has arranged to allow him so much a week to live on."
"Humph! That is strange. Mrs. Marshall is not usually so philanthropic."
"That's exactly what I thought; and that made me think that papa had something to do with the murder, and that Aunt Inez was shielding him."
"Shielding him--how?"
"By assisting Job. I went to see him the other day, and I found Aunt Inez there; she was very angry with me for having gone. I saw Job afterwards, and he would tell me nothing, but he hinted at a secret between him and Aunt Inez; now I think----"
"Don't think anything about it," Heron said, with a forced laugh. "Your aunt is getting charitable in her old age. Believe me, there is nothing between her and the gypsy, relative to the murder, whatever he may say."
"But he talked, Geoffrey----"
"I daresay; I wonder he did not threaten! I will this for myself and if he knows anything--which I very much doubt--I will get it out of him. My dear, how can you think your aunt knows anything about the matter? Now, Ruth, you must promise me to leave it all alone, and think no more about it."
"Very well," she said, with unusual meekness. "Then you don't think Aunt Inez has anything to do--any knowledge, I mean?"
"I am quite sure she has not. She is kind to Job out of pure charity. Now I must say good-night and, once more, don't worry."
But as he drove home he came to the conclusion that Mrs. Marshall's kindness to the gypsy was meant, in some way, to shield her husband.
"And that complicates matters,"--thought Heron.
On the following morning, Geoffrey arrived precisely at the time appointed by Mr. Cass, and was shewn at once into the library. His host was there alone; for Marshall, with his usual want of punctuality, had not yet appeared. Geoffrey was informed of the sudden change in Ruth. "Your visit did her good last night," said her father with a smile.
"I told her not to worry herself--that all was quite right; and she seemed comforted. But she told me something which seems to hint that Mrs. Marshall knows of her husband's guilt." And he, repeated Ruth's tale about the gypsy and Mrs. Marshall's kindness to him--her extraordinary kindness, he termed it. Mr. Cass listened attentively, but shook his head. "I don't agree with you," he said. "You do not know Inez as I do."
While they were still speaking--in whispers like two guilty people--Marshall bustled into the room in what he would have called his breezy fashion. In reality his manner was simply aggressive and noisy, but it gave him the air of being--what he wanted to be thought--a creature too guileless and unconventional to conceal his feelings. "Good-day, Cass," he cried loudly to his former partner, and nodding to Heron. "Well, here I am! What's the matter? Got into any trouble?"
"No, I have not got into any trouble," was Mr. Cass's emphatic reply.
"This boy, then?" and Marshall turned smilingly to Geoffrey, upon whom he looked as a possible member of the family. "You're in trouble--eh, eh? Ah, well, young men will be young men!"
"I am sure you speak from experience, Marshall, said Mr. Cass, while Heron contented himself with a shake of the head. But there is nothing wrong with Heron."
"Very glad, I'm sure," Marshall said insolently; it seemed as though he scented some trouble in the air and thought to meet it with bluff. As yet he had not the faintest idea that the coming conversation was to be serious for him personally. "Well," he went on, "as you are all right and Heron is a good boy, why have you asked me to come over?"
"Can't you guess?" asked Geoffrey, angered by the man's manner.
He lifted his eyebrows. "No," he said, tranquilly. "I really am at a loss to understand why----"
"Cast your thoughts back twelve years," interrupted Mr. Cass, sharply, "and then perhaps you will understand why----"
"What do you mean?" asked his brother-in-law, a thrill running through him. He saw now that this was going to be serious for him. "Do you remember the night when you came in at yonder window, muddy and ragged?" Mr. Cass said, slowly. "When you told me a lie--that you had been attacked by footpads and----"
"It was no lie!" cried the man, moistening his dry lips. "I told you what had actually happened."
"Oh, no, you didn't. For instance, you never told me that you had seen Jenner."
He uttered a faint cry, and flung himself back in his chair with a startled look. "I did not see Jenner!" he said.
"Nor did you tell me that you had been at the Turnpike House," continued Mr. Cass, not noticing the interruption.
"That I deny. I was not near the Turnpike House."
With a look of scorn Mr. Cass picked up an object which was lying on the table, and held it out. "Do you know what this is?"
"A piece of gold, so far as I can see. What is that to me?"
"Evidence that you were at the Turnpike House on that night."
"I tell you I was not there!" he cried, desperately. "Oh, don't trouble yourself to tell lies," Mr. Cass said, wearily. "They will avail you nothing in the end. Since you do not choose to recognise this object, let me tell you that it is a part of the set of links I gave you shortly before that murder."
"Links--I--I--only wore them--once."
"I know you did, and on that night. You lost one pair and left the other in your bedroom, where they were found by the housemaid and returned to me. You would have been better advised had you destroyed them, Marshall."
"Why should I have destroyed them? I lost one pair, it is true. The catch between the ovals was worn, and the links broke."
"Not of their own accord," Mr. Cass said, quickly. "Your cuff caught on a nail when you put your arm through the window to kill Jenner."
Marshall uttered a loud cry and started to his feet his face crimson with rage, and shaking with what looked very much like terror. "I deny that," he cried. "I deny that I was at the Turnpike House--that I killed----"
"This link was found under the window," interrupted Mr. Cass. "The man who wore it was the man who killed Jenner; you are the man!"
"I kill Jenner? It is a lie!" Marshall continued to stare at the piece of gold which his brother-in-law continued to hold up as though he were fascinated. He drew his hand across his brow as he uttered his denial in a weak voice, and seemed to be trying to recall something. "Why should I have killed him?" he asked.
It was now Heron's turn. He drew from his pocket the bill of exchange. "Perhaps this will supply the motive," he said, coldly; "this forgery, discounted by Julian Roper."
With a face now positively purple and eyes almost staring out of his head, Marshall craned forward his head to look at the fatal evidence of his past. He recognised it only too well. For years he had been dreading this moment, and now that it had arrived the sight of the document proved too much for him. With a strangled cry he tugged at his collar, then fell like a log on the floor. The strong man, the guilty man, had fainted. And, neither Mr. Cass nor Heron were moved by the catastrophe. It was to them decisive evidence of his guilt; and when they recalled the lifelong imprisonment of Mrs. Jenner they could find no pity in their hearts for the detected rogue. Rather were they full of pity for those unhappy people with whom he was connected by marriage. Nothing in their eyes could expiate his guilt.
"It would be better if he died now," said Mr. Cass, as he watched Heron loosen his collar and dash cold water on his face.
"Pardon me, not at all," replied the younger man, looking up for a moment. "If he died now there would be no confession."
In the end they brought him round and placed him again in his chair, a pitiable object, with his damp hair, his loosened collar and the imploring look in his eyes. The most meritorious of men could not have looked dignified under such circumstances, much less Frank Marshall, who was so to speak, in the dock before two prejudiced judges.
"I suppose you are going to give me up?" he said.
"On the contrary, we want to get you out of this trouble--for the sake of the family," said Mr. Cass, coldly. "Though by rights you should hang."
"They don't hang for forgery, stammered the wretched creature, arranging his collar.
"Pshaw! I am not speaking of the minor crime but of the greater. It was you who murdered Jenner."
"I did not. I swear I did not."
"You did. I am convinced of it. He came down here with that bill in order to blackmail you and you killed him."
He made no attempt to assert his dignity. "You can kick a man when he is down if you like," he said, in a quavering voice, "even though he is your sister's husband, but you have no right to accuse him of a crime he did not commit. I tell you I forged that bill, but I did not kill the man."
"You knew that he was in the neighbourhood?"
"No, I was as much astonished as you could have been when I heard of his death."
"If you are innocent"--It was Heron who spoke--"how did it happen that a part of the links you were wearing were found under the window of the house? You must have dropped it there."
"I did not." He seemed to be reflecting. "If you want to know the truth, that pair of links was torn from me by the footpads who attacked me. I daresay they killed him."
"Rubbish!" cried Mr. Cass, looking at him with disgust. "Why do you tell such lies? You met Jenner on that night, although you denied it when I questioned you."
"I was afraid of being implicated in the murder. I knew if you had the slightest suspicion of me you would have stopped my marriage with Inez, and I loved her."
"You loved her money, you mean."
"Well, then, I loved her money!" Marshall cried, violently. "I was on the brink of ruin, and it was only her that stood between me and the streets. I had to pay Roper the five hundred pounds. He could not have prosecuted as the bill was missing, but he could have talked, and he would have talked, had I not paid him the full sum. It was only when I had possession of the money--my wife's money--that I was able to shut his mouth. I knew before then that the bill was lost."
"Because Jenner had shewn it to you on that night?"
Marshall turned away sullenly, but still under compulsion answered: "Yes, he did. I had received a letter from him saying that he was coming here with the bill and would sell it to me. He asked me to meet him at the Waggoner's Pond, half a mile from the Turnpike House, where his wife was staying. As I had no money, and was in his power absolutely--for by shewing the bill to you, Cass, he could have had my marriage with your sister broken off--I was forced to meet him, and I did meet him at seven o'clock."
"Oh! so you did go out that night to meet him!"
"I did," he said, defiantly. "I dare not tell you for you have always had so many absurd prejudices. So I told you I was going for a walk, and stole out to meet Jenner at the Waggoner's Pond. I said that if he would wait till I was married and could handle money I would buy the bill. So, finding that unless I made your sister my wife I should never have a penny, he consented."
"Oh," said Mr. Cass, "he consented to go without his pound of flesh--a man like Jenner, bloodsucker and thief!"
"He had to choose between exposing me and getting nothing or waiting and being paid," said Marshall, vehemently. "Besides, he knew that Roper was after him because he had stolen the bill, and that if he made a fuss, whatever row I might get into, he would be in trouble himself. So he agreed to wait until I had married Inez and then to accept a thousand pounds. Meanwhile, he kept the bill and promised to hold his tongue about it. He said he was going on to see his wife at the Turnpike House, and that he would get money from her which would enable him to lie low for a time while Roper was searching for him. It was arranged that when I was married and had paid him the thousand pounds he should go to America. I agreed to all this--I could do nothing else--and then we parted."
"Is that the truth?" Heron asked, sceptically.
"Yes, it is. You can believe or disbelieve it as you like. I left him by the Waggoner's Pond, and that was the last I saw of him alive or dead. On my way back to the house I was attacked by some tramps who took my watch. They wrenched my links off--that is one pair, the missing pair--and were about to take the other when they heard someone coming and made off. I returned here and told Cass as little as I could, in case he might see fit to stop my marriage with his sister."
"I wish to Heaven I had stopped it!" Mr. Cass said, fiercely. "I don't believe a word you say!"
Marshall, seeing that the two men were silent, began to recover his self-command. "I see you don't believe me. Perhaps there is no reason why you should. But I swear I do not know who killed Jenner. If I had known I should have got that bill out of him."
"Oh!" said Geoffrey. "And you would have condoned his sin so long as he gave you back the evidence of your own."
"I would. Every man for himself in this world. I would have told him, whosoever he was, that if he did not give me back the bill I would denounce him to the police. But I have not the least idea who the guilty person is." He wiped his face. "And all these years I have lived in misery, fearing daily and hourly that the bill would turn up. I knew Roper would not spare me if he got possession of it."
"No wonder," remarked Heron, "seeing how badly you treated his daughter Elsa."
The culprit had the grace to blush. "Elsa Roper was never a penny the worse by me," he said. "When I used to go to her father's office to procure money she chose to fall in love with me. I made capital out of that, as I do out of most things."
"Don't be so shameless, man!" interposed his brother-in-law, sharply. Marshall sickened him with his fluent villainy.
"Oh, you were always a Puritan," sneered Marshall. "However, that is neither here nor there. I let the girl believe that I cared for her in order to get her father to part with his money, but I never intended to marry her."
"And she died of a broken heart," put in Heron.
"So the old man says. As though a woman ever died of such a thing! She caught a chill, and was carried off because she was not sufficiently well nourished; that is the truth, although old Roper prefers to put it down to me. If he had fed her better she would be alive now. But he chooser to think I killed her, and would do me a serious injury it he could. I am glad the bill did not fall into his hands. Where did you get it?" he asked, turning to Geoffrey. "Or if you can tell me the name of the person who had it I can tell you who was the assassin of Jenner. Oh, it is quite true. Jenner shewed me the bill that night by the Waggoner's Pond. I would have taken it by force, but he was stronger than I; there was no chance of my getting the better of him. But I noticed that he took it out of a red pocket-book. Now, that pocket-book was never produced at the trial, so the assassin must have it."
"Then you don't think Mrs. Jenner killed him?"
"She? She wouldn't have killed a fly. No, she did not kill him. If she had, that red pocket-book would have been produced in court. I have been living in fear ever since, wondering who had it, though I always intended to make use of the murder should the assassin have tried to blackmail me. Who did you get the bill from, Heron?"
"I did not got it from anyone. Jenner evidently thought that you might come after him to steal it, so, according to his wife, he sewed it up in the body of a toy horse with which his child had been playing. Lately Neil wished to give this toy to George Chisel, so it came into Ruth's possession. The boy cut it open, and Miss Brawn found the bill. She gave it to me and I at once saw Roper about it. Besides, I read up my father's diary and found that his name had been forged."
"Did he know that I had done it?"
"Yes. Roper called on him to tell him so. If my father had not died, Mr. Marshall, you would have found yourself in prison for forgery."
"No, I should not. You forget that Jenner stole the bill. No one could have prosecuted me without producing the document. I know enough law for that. Besides, I had paid the money to Roper, and that I did only to avoid a scandal. Does Ruth know about this, or Miss Brawn, or George?"
"They know nothing," replied Mr. Cass. "Ruth does not even know of the existence of this bill. George is but a child, and took no notice of it. As for Miss Brawn, she thinks the signature is all right. She will hold her tongue. Oh, you are quite safe so far. But this murder. I feel certain that you committed it; no one else could have had so powerful a motive."
"Still, someone else might have had a motive for all that. I am sure Mrs. Jenner is innocent; but her husband had lots of enemies, and many would gladly have done it, could they have escaped the consequences. The only thing that puzzles me is the disappearance of the red pocket-bock. I understand all about the bill now; it could not have been made use of. Well, the whole affair is a mystery, but all I can say is that I did not kill the man. I knew if it came to the pinch I could always prove that."
"It has come to the pinch now," said Mr. Cass, sternly. "Prove your innocence, if you can for my part I believe you are guilty."
"More fool you!" was the retort. "On that night, if you remember, we had dinner at six--a light dinner, dished up in a hurry--your wife had to go to London; you told her you would have some supper at nine, did you not?"
"Yes, I remember something of that," said Mr. Cass, after a pause.
"Was I not in to supper?"
"Yes, you were; I remember that too."
"And supper was at nine?"
"Yes, it was ordered for nine, and I postponed it till half-past because I did not feel hungry."
"I was here when you gave the order, because you asked me whether I would prefer supper at once, or wait."
"That is true enough. Well?"
"Well, if you will look again into the evidence given at the trial of that unfortunate woman, you will find that the doctor said that Jenner had been killed at nine o'clock. Therefore, it could not have been I who struck the blow. By your own shewing I was with you at the time. Now, am I innocent or guilty?"
Mr. Cass looked at Geoffrey. "All this is true enough," he said, quietly. "I begin to believe that you did not do it after all."
"If you can be so honest as to admit that I was in this room at nine o'clock I could not have killed Jenner, who was at that very time being murdered by some unknown person four miles away. I am a forger, I admit that; but"--here he became finely scornful--"I am not a murderer. Foolish I may have been, wicked I never was."
The two listeners gazed at each other in amazement. Then Marshall went on.
"Now I know where the bill is I feel relieved," he said, and his self-pity was almost, pathetic. "I can sleep in peace, more especially when it has been destroyed." As he spoke he advanced his hand towards the table with the intention of taking the paper. Mr. Cass anticipated him, and snatched the incriminating document away.
"No, Marshall," he said, putting it in his pocket. "I keep this. You are too dangerous a man to be allowed to go your own way. I use this bill as a whip to manage you. Behave yourself, and act a decent part for the remainder of your life, and no one shall ever know of this. But try any of your tricks and you will be laid by the heels."
"Do you call this honourable?" blustered Marshall.
"I call it caution. You are quite safe with me, and I am sure our friend Heron will say nothing."
"Certainly. I shall be guided entirely by Mr. Cass."
"But Roper might get hold of it, and then I should be lost."
"Roper will not get hold of it. I keep it, Marshall. It is for your wife's sake only that I am thus lenient. So far as you are concerned nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see you suffering a just punishment. You are the most unblushing scoundrel I have ever seen!"
"You had better look out Cass," said Marshall, threateningly. "I can make you pay dearly for these insults."
"Can any person possibly insult you?" sneered Mr. Cass. "Do what you like, but remember"--he touched his breast-pocket--"I will exact payment. Now you know. As for the rest, I don't want you in my house again, but as that might provoke remark on the part of Inez, and lead to an explanation, I will permit you to call occasionally; but I hope your visits will be rare. Were I in your place I should go abroad. Now you can go."
The man was livid with rage. He was evidently inclined to make trouble. He knew that he could go pretty far, for only the direst extremity would force Mr. Cass into creating a scandal by producing the bill. But he could find nothing to say in face of the threat held over him; and, cowed by the looks of the two men, he finally sneaked out of the room. Then he left the house, but he had recovered himself sufficiently to make a gay remark to Ruth and Jennie, whom he met returning from their walk. Truly the man was bad to the core.
"Do you believe him?" asked Heron when they were alone.
"Yes, what he says is perfectly correct. I confess I am greatly relieved."
"So am I. But do you think he knows who killed Jenner?"
"He might, but that we shall never get out of him. On the other hand I am inclined to think he does not know, for believing the assassin to have had the bill, he would have made an attempt to get it from him. But what is to be done next? Mrs. Jenner is still in gaol and ill."
"Ah, that reminds me," said Geoffrey, taking a letter out of his pocket. "I had this from Neil this morning. I intended to show it to you, but our interview with our friend put it out of my head. He is coming down to-day."
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Cass, running his eyes over the letter. "Is he well enough to travel?"
"Oh, yes; he has wonderful recuperative power. You see, he says there that he intends to see his mother. It appears she has sent for him. He must have gone to her yesterday as he is coming down to-day. I am anxious to see him, for I cannot help wondering why she should have sent for him. Do you think she might have something to tell him?"
"No." Mr. Cass shook his head. "I saw her the other day. She is quite ignorant who killed her husband; she is in the infirmary now, and very ill. I don't think the end is far off. I expect she sent for Neil to bid him good-bye." Mr. Cass paused for a moment. "You know, Heron," he said, "in spite of all the trails you have followed, I cannot help thinking that she really killed her husband."
"I cannot believe it. The person who committed the murder was the man who got those links--who dropped one under the window."
"Ah--then we shall never find out."
"Marshall might know; he might have recognised the footpads who attacked him that night," suggested Heron. Then he started, struck with a sudden idea. "By the way, is it possible that the gypsy Job was one of them? That would explain how he comes to be so intimate with your sister."
"I don't see that," remarked Mr. Cass, with a frown. "If she knew that Job had attacked her husband, and had afterwards murdered Jenner, he would receive but short shrift from the hands of Inez. She is no sentimentalist."
"But, don't you see," persisted Geoffrey, "she may think that he has the bill--she may be keeping her knowledge of the murder quiet so that Job may not produce the document and incriminate her husband."
"Inez knows nothing about the bill. You heard what her husband said!"
"He is such a liar!" cried Heron, in disgust.
"Nevertheless, I believe on this occasion he spoke the truth. I cannot believe that my sister--in spite of her love for that reptile--would go as far as to grovel to a gypsy and shield a murderer. No; the gypsy might have been one of those who attacked Marshall on that night; but I do not believe that he killed Jenner. Don't trouble any more about the matter, Heron. We have done all we could with no result. Besides, Mrs. Jenner--poor soul--will soon be released from her unjust imprisonment--if, indeed, it be unjust; death will set her free."
"What about Neil and his wish to see his mother cleared?"
"We shall see what he says about that," replied Mr. Cass, closing the subject in a more peremptory manner than was usual with him.
The same afternoon Neil Webster arrived at Hollyoaks, looking a shadow of his former self, pale and fragile, and very downcast. Ruth and Jennie both gave him a cordial welcome; and neither his host nor Geoffrey Heron were lacking in heartiness. But all the kindness and attention he received served only to make the young man more melancholy. Observing this, and knowing that he had seen his mother, Mr. Cass took the first opportunity to draw him into the library: it might be that Mrs. Jenner had told the poor fellow something. It appeared that she had.
"Yes, I saw her," Neil said, in reply to Mr. Cass's question. "She is dying; I have seen her for the last time! She cannot live many days now; indeed, I wanted to stay beside her till the end, but she would not hear of it. She said that I was to go away and remember always that she had loved me. For the rest, I was to put her out of my mind, and live as good a life as I could. Then she kissed me, and we parted."
"Is that all?"
"That is all; except that she has commanded me to stop searching for the real assassin of my father."
"Did she say that?"
"Yes; she said no one would ever find out the truth, and, moreover, that my father had deserved his fate. She was sure I had not committed the crime; she swore that she herself was guiltless; but she said that it was quite impossible that the truth should ever come to light."
"Do you think she knows the truth, Neil?"
"No; I am sure she does not. She said if she did she would have told me, if only to put my mind at rest. But she knows nothing. Poor mother!"
"And what do you intend to do?"
"Obey her commands," said Neil. "I shall search no more."
Ruth let Miss Brawn take entire possession of Neil. In spite of his languid ways, Webster was an interesting study to a woman. So Miss Cass found it a trifle dull; for Geoffrey had returned to his own place, and did not come over to Hollyoaks quite so often as she thought he might have done. Yet she rarely intruded upon Jennie and Neil, but allowed them to drift into a companionship which she devoutly hoped would result in the closer tie of marriage. Jennie continued to give the usual lessons to her little pupils; and after school hours Ruth took them off her hands, so that she might be free to entertain Neil. After a time he recovered sufficient interest in his music to take up his violin, and with Jennie he spent long hours going over his old music and experimenting on new.
Meanwhile, Ruth naturally found the house extremely dull without Geoffrey; so she spent as much time as possible in long walks, in riding her bicycle, and in paying visits. One day she recollected her promise to call and see her Aunt Inez. Mr. Marshall had gone for a change to Brighton, where, no doubt, he was enjoying himself after his usual selfish fashion. His wife had declined to accompany him, giving as her reason that she had more to do than waste her time among a pack of fools--as she was wont to designate the rest of the world. So she remained at home and attended to her duties in rather a joyless way. She still retained a mild love for her husband; she despised his weaknesses; she hated his lack of principle; but some sentiment of love remained at the bottom of her soul. Companionship had begotten toleration; and, on the whole, she thought, she was not worse off than other women. She, at least, could govern her husband's weaker nature, and could curb his follies. And this somewhat unsatisfactory employment gave her plenty to do; so she succeeded in passing her life in an endurable fashion. Fortunately for her, she was not a woman who had the capacity for being bored. Nine out of ten women would have killed themselves out of sheer weariness of the flesh; but Mrs. Marshall continued to live on--grimly.
Ruth had often wondered in her secret soul if her aunt were doing penance for some hidden sin; it was the only way in which she could account for the asceticism of her life. She lived in an ugly house, in which all the rooms were hideous both in colour and design--all, save those which were occupied by the master of the house. His apartments, furnished by himself, were charming in every way.
As she stood now in the stone-hued drawing-room, the melancholy of the place struck Ruth more than ever; and, moreover, glancing round the room, she caught sight of a copy of Thomas a Kempis. "She's taking to religion," she thought, turning over the leaves. "I really wonder if there is a secret in her past life to account for----" But at this moment a grim maid-servant entered I to interrupt her conjectures.
"If you please, Miss," she said, "mistress is in the garret storing things, and she wants to know if you will go up to her there?"
"Oh, certainly," said Ruth, wondering if her aunt were mad that she should invite a visitor to go poking about among old lumber--even though that visitor were her niece. But she meekly followed the maid up to the top of the house, and was introduced into a long, low, wide attic, immediately under the roof. Here Aunt Inez, in a stone-coloured dress, with a severe face, gave her an icy greeting. In spite of the summer warmth the garret was chilly, and this, joined to her reception, made the girl shiver.
"I am glad you have remembered me at last, Ruth," said Mrs. Marshall, in her most metallic tones. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten me."
"I found it difficult to leave the house, aunt; Neil Webster is there, and, of course, I have had to attend to him."
"I heard the young man was back again," she said, in a muffled voice, "and truly, I wonder that my brother should have him in the house!"
"Why shouldn't he? Neil is a good fellow!"
"But his mother is not a good woman. She belongs to the criminal classes."
"My dear aunt," cried Ruth, "I am sure the poor woman is more sinned against than sinning."
"What do you know of her?" asked the good lady, turning a terrible eye on her niece. "Has your father----"
"Yes, he has; and I found out a great deal for myself. I am sure Mrs. Jenner did not kill her husband."
"You know nothing at all about it. Mrs. Jenner was a minx; I knew her well when she lived at Hollyoaks and taught Amy. I lived there myself, and managed the house, too, for your poor mother never did have any idea of how to conduct an establishment. Mrs. Jenner--a bold, bad woman! She came down to Westham after the arrest of her abominable husband, and lived at the Turnpike House----"
"And there her husband called to see her on the night he was murdered."
"On the night she murdered him," corrected Mrs. Marshall, vehemently. "Will you be wiser, than the law, Ruth? I tell you it was she who struck the blow. I do not say that she had not good cause, for the man was a brute. But she had no right to take his life!"
"She didn't--she didn't," asseverated Ruth, with quite as much vehemence as her aunt had shewn. "The blow was struck through the window for the sake of getting a red---- Why, whatever is the matter, aunt?"
"Nothing--nothing!" gasped Mrs. Marshall. She had seated herself suddenly on a convenient box, and with her hand to her side, was gazing at her niece with an ashen face. "A stitch in the side--that's all, child! Why did your father tell you all this--and what does he know about the red pocket-book?"
"I have heard scraps of information at times," said Ruth, trying to get out of the unpleasant position in which her tongue had placed her. "But I know very little; I don't want to have anything to do with the matter. Please don't ask me anything more about it aunt."
"You have said so much that I must know all," said Mrs. Marshall, so fiercely that the girl was frightened. "If you refuse to tell me, I shall speak to your father."
"He is the very best person to whom you could speak," replied Miss Cass, with some defiance in her voice, for her temper was rising at her aunt's tone. "But please don't bring me into it."
"I shall act as I think best. If this case has been reopened--as I judge from your words, it has been--why was I not informed?
"I refer you to papa," said Ruth, coldly. "And, after all," she added, "I do not see what you have to do with it, Aunt Inez."
"More than you think," replied Mrs. Marshall, tightening her thin lips.
Then Ruth did a very foolish thing--a thing she repented of for many a long day after. "What about Job?" she asked. "Does he also take an interest in the case?"
Mrs. Marshall sprang forward in the most dramatic fashion, and seized her niece by the arm. "You have been asking him questions," she said.
"And what if I have?" cried the girl, twisting herself away. "Anyone has a right to ask questions, I suppose? But he told me nothing."
"He had nothing to tell."
"In that case you need not look so fiercely at me, aunt."
Mrs. Marshall realised how indiscreet was her demeanour.
"Don't trouble about me, child," she said, with a forced laugh. "I have done nothing to be ashamed of."
"I never thought you had, aunt!"
"Mrs. Jenner," continued Aunt Inez, exactly as though she were repeating a lesson, "was a flirt. When she married a brute, she only got her just punishment. I did my best to be kind to her; but I always hated her. It is no use my denying the fact--I did hate her! If you are a woman, Ruth, if you have your grandmother's blood in your veins, you will understand."
"Oh, yes," said the girl, proudly conscious of her own tiger blood, "I can quite understand. I should like to see any woman take Geoffrey from me! Aha!" And she growled like a playful cat.
"I believe Mrs. Jenner killed her husband," continued Aunt Inez, taking no notice of this speech, "and she is being punished for it. As to Job--I merely assist him out of charity; he knows nothing about the murder; it had happened before he came to these parts. Now, are you satisfied?"
"My dear aunt, I never wanted to be satisfied," replied the girl. "I never thought you knew anything about the murder."
"I don't--I don't! I swear I don't!" cried Mrs. Marshall. "But this red pocket-book--it was not mentioned at the trial."
"I know nothing about it," said Ruth, promptly; she was not going to be drawn into the discussion. "Ask papa about it."
Mrs. Marshall, seeing she would get nothing further out of her niece, returned to the examination of the lumber which was scattered over the floor of the garret. "Then we will go down shortly and have some tea, my dear," she said, in her most amiable tone. She was evidently desirous of effacing the impression of her former fierceness.
Ruth wondered but little at her aunt's strange demeanour.
In a meditative way she watched Mrs. Marshall moving about on the other side of the garret, so close under the slope of the roof that her head touched it. There were two windows--one at each end, but these were so dirty that the place was enveloped in a kind of brown twilight which had, at first, prevented the girl from seeing plainly. As her eyes grew more accustomed to the semi-gloom, she examined the lumber that was piled up on all sides. All the scum of the house had risen to the top and been left in this isolated attic. It was filled with the wreckage which will accumulate even in the most orderly houses. There were, also, ancient books, piles of newspapers, and suchlike things huddled together pell-mell, and over all lay a thick, grey dust.
Suddenly as Ruth, growing tired of waiting, shifted her position, the light from the window behind struck out a patch of red. Her eyes wandered mechanically towards the colour. It was the red morocco binding of a narrow book which protruded from the heap. Hardly thinking what she was doing, the girl picked it up, and with the light from behind her strong upon it she examined it minutely. Then her heart seemed to stand still, for it was a pocket-book--perhaps the very red pocket-book which had been stolen by Jenner's murderer, and of which they had been speaking only a few minutes before.
Anxious to make quite certain as to this, Ruth slipped off the elastic strap and examined the discoloured leaves. For the most part they were blank, but written on the front page was a name, and the name was Jenner!
At the sight Ruth uttered a cry. Mrs. Marshall turned sharply.