"What is the matter, child?" asked Mrs. Marshall, sharply.
But Ruth could not answer. She sat with the red pocket-book in her lap, gazing upon it as though it were a viper. Aunt Inez repeated her question impatiently then, surprised at her niece's silence, she crossed the garret. Her eyes fell at once on the red book, and for a few seconds no word was spoken. Then at last Ruth made a remark, and made it in a hushed voice, as though she feared it might be heard by others than the frozen woman before her.
"It was not produced at the trial," was what she said, looking at her aunt.
Mrs. Marshall might have been a granite image for all the movement she made. Her face was like snow, her eyes fixed as though she were in a cataleptic state. And so she was--for the moment. Only when Ruth, who was the first to recover herself, made a motion to rise did she shew any signs of life. She sighed deeply and removed her eyes from the book.
"I will shew it to my father," said the girl; whereat her aunt changed suddenly into a creature of fire. She snatched at the pocket-book and had it in her grasp before Ruth could close her fingers upon it.
"You will shew it to no one," she said, thrusting it into her pocket. "I forbid you to say a word."
"Tell me how it came to be here, and I will consider if it is right for me to be silent."
"I will explain nothing. Girl, what demon brought you here and shewed you that book? I came up here to look for it; I have been searching for over an hour. You came in and found it in a few minutes. It is fate--fate."
"Aunt Inez," Ruth drew back until she was standing up against the wall, "you--oh, no!--you did not--did not--kill the man!"
Mrs. Marshall shrugged her shoulders, her colour and her courage coming back to her almost as she spoke. "You are at liberty to think so if you like. I will not contradict you. No, indeed. I have other things to do."
"Will you contradict my father?"
"I forbid you to tell your father of this."
"I must! I will know the truth of this matter. There is an innocent woman in gaol for----"
"An innocent woman!" interrupted her aunt, with contempt. "Oh, yes, very innocent!" She paused and looked at Ruth. "Come downstairs," she said. "As you have found what I wanted, we need not remain here."
"You knew that this book was hidden here?"
"Yes; I have known it for years."
"Why did you not produce it at the trial?"
"That is my business."
"How did it come into your possession?"
"Ah! that I refuse to tell you. Think me guilty if you like. It is evident you want to smirch our family name. But I have had enough of this nonsense. You must hold your tongue."
"To all persons save my father. I must tell him, and I will."
"I forbid you."
"It is no use your forbidding me. I tell my father. He has the honour of the family quite as at heart as you have; and he is the man to decide what should be done."
"You will tell?"
"Yes; I am going straight home to tell all."
The eyes of the two women met, and for a moment there was a duel of wills. Then Ruth, with her more youthful fire, got the upper hand; her aunt turned away.
"You are bringing me into great danger," she said; "but have it your own way. Tell your father."
"Aunt! You did not kill the man?"
"Think so if you like."
Mrs. Marshall passed out of the garret. Ruth remained a moment to recover her self-control which had been sorely shaken by this extraordinary conversation. Then she also went down the stairs to the inhabited portion of the house. Mrs. Marshall was not to be seen; and on inquiring of the servant, Ruth learnt that she had locked herself in her bedroom and refused to see anyone. In this dilemma there was nothing left for the girl but to go home, which she proceeded to do feeling sick at heart.
On the way to Hollyoaks a sudden thought struck her. Suppose her aunt were guilty--suppose she had shut herself in her room to commit suicide! If she had not been almost at the gates of the park when this occurred to her she would have run back. But the best thing she could do now was to see her father and implore him to go to Aunt Inez at once. She felt there was no time to be lost, and ran up the avenue as quickly as she could. The window of the library which opened on to the terrace was ajar, so taking this as a short cut she ran up the steps on to the terrace and flung herself into the room with a white and haggard face.
"Ruth! What is the matter? Ruth!" cried Mr. Cass, and sprang forward just in time to catch her in his arms. For a minute or so she could not speak, but when speech did come the words poured out in a torrent.
"Aunt Inez," she cried. "I went to see her. She was in the garret; there I found the red pocket-book--Jenner's book--which was stolen! She will not say if she killed him; yet she knew that the book was in the garret. Oh, see her at once, father--at once! She has locked herself in her bedroom. I believe that she will kill herself!" and the excited girl burst into tears of exhaustion and terror.
Mr. Cass said nothing, but put her into a chair. Indeed, he did not know what to say, or even what to think, for he felt completely stunned. He had suspected Marshall, but never Inez. Even now he did not believe that she could ever have brought herself to commit such a crime.
"Go! Go!" cried Ruth, wringing her hands. "Aunt Inez--you may be too late! She will kill herself, I know she will!"
"No fear of that," said her father, recovering himself somewhat. "She is not the woman to give up the fight in that way, Inez. No, she never killed that beast--never!"
"But, father, the red pocket-book----"
"She will be able to explain how she came by it. She has a temper, and is fierce enough when she is roused; but she would not go so far as that. As to committing suicide, she has no reason for doing that, if she is innocent."
"I hope she is. Oh, I hope she is" wailed Ruth, distracted with terror.
Her father saw that the girl was thoroughly overwrought. In her present state of mind everything would be exaggerated. He intended to go at once and learn the truth from his sister, but he could not leave Ruth in this plight. Before he went he must soothe her. So, pulling himself together--no easy task, at his age, for he had received a severe shock--he sat down beside the terrified girl and took her hand firmly in his own. "See here, child," he said, "however that book got into Marshall's hands your aunt had nothing to do with it. She did not--she could not have killed Jenner. I know it because she was in this house on the night and at the time of the murder."
"Then if she is innocent why didn't she tell me so?"
"Well, you know what she is. No doubt she was angry to think you should conceive her capable of such a crime. She will tell me all she knows, if she has any knowledge, which I am inclined to doubt. But I want you to understand, Ruth, that your aunt is innocent, and that her innocence can be proved by me. Under these circumstances, she will not commit suicide, as you appear to think. I will go over and see her at once, and I shall doubtless have a reassuring report to give you when I return. But you must promise not to worry while I am away; and above all things, Ruth, do not tell anyone of this. There may be trouble."
"I will say nothing--nothing," panted the girl, pressing her hands against her beating heart. "And, indeed, father, I did not meddle with the matter again. The discovery was thrust upon me. You can trust me, indeed you can."
"And you will not make yourself ill with expecting the worst?"
"No, no; I promise I will go to my room and lie down."
"That's a good girl; and I will walk over at once."
"Ride--ride! You don't know what may happen."
"Nothing bad, at all events. Yes, I will ride. Now go to your room, dear, and leave me to attend to this."
"Yes, father," she said, faintly. She had the utmost belief in his capability of arranging the situation. "But kiss me before you go. I am--I am rather frightened."
"Believe me, there is no need for that," said Mr. Cass, with an attempt at a smile. "There is your kiss, now go."
Mr. Cass reviewed the whole situation as he rode over to his sister's house. He reflected that Marshall must have told his wife about the bill, for that and the book were, so to speak, inseparable.
"In a word," thought Mr. Cass, as he dismounted at the door and gave his horse to a groom, "Marshall did not kill the man himself, but he knows who did. But I'll make Inez tell truth in some way. This is no time to consider her feelings."
Following the servant, he went into the stone-coloured drawing-room, and found his sister waiting to receive him. She was dressed in black, without a scrap of white to relieve her funereal aspect.
"I did not expect you to come so soon, Sebastian," she said, in her rich, low voice. "But I knew you would come sooner or later."
"I could hardly help coming after what Ruth told me." Her brother was surprised at her composure.
"What did she tell you?"
"That the red pocket-book belonging to Jenner had been found by her in this house."
"To be particular, the garret," said Mrs. Marshall, pointing to the table. "There it is."
He looked at it with repugnance, and touched it gingerly. Then he opened it, glanced at the name, and laid it down with a sigh. There was no doubt it had been Jenner's property, the name was clear enough. "How did it come into your possession?" he asked, sharply.
"That is not an easy question for me to answer."
"Yet it can be answered, and must be, answered."
"How do you know that I will comply with your 'must'?" she asked, with scorn.
"Oh, I know you are hard to drive, but in this case you must speak out. I have the means to make you, that is if you have any regard for your husband."
"You know how I love him, little as he deserves it. You are talking of the bill. Oh, don't look so astonished. Frank told me of his conversation with you. It was by my advice that he went away."
"Inez, is it possible you can love so base a creature?"
Mrs. Marshall sighed. "To you, Sebastian, I will say things I would not say to any other person. Little as we love one another, still we are brother and sister. I know you would do much for me."
"I would do anything for you, Inez; blood is stronger than water, after all. And you can speak freely to me, your honour is my honour. I can hold my tongue. Speak out freely," he repeated.
"I will," she said, and gave him the kindest look that had been in her eyes for many a long year.
"You know how madly in love I was with Frank when I married him. It was not love, it was infatuation I believed him to be the most perfect and the most misunderstood man in the whole world. I blamed you for getting him out of the business, and I thought to repair your wrong by marrying him. Well, I did; and then what happened?"
"I can guess. The scales fell from your eyes."
"They did, within six months. For even then he deceived me. Yes, after all I had done for him. I had made him rich. I had--but that comes later on in the story. Suffice it to say, that I soon found out that I had married a faithless brute."
"Why did you not get rid of him? I would have helped you."
She cast a look around the dismal room and smiled strangely. "Because I had committed a sin. I came to look upon Frank as the cross laid upon me for the expiation of that sin."
"Good Heavens, Inez! You don't mean to say you killed Jenner? No! What nonsense am I talking? You were in bed on that night."
"I did not kill Jenner," she said, calmly. "Nevertheless I had committed a sin; you shall hear all in good time. Well, I took Frank as my cross, and put up all these years with his infidelities, and drunkenness, and wickedness. I behaved to him as though I still loved him. I have deceived everyone."
"You certainly deceived me for one," said Mr. Cass, bluntly. "I thought you still loved the creature."
"Loved him! Why, I hated him with all my soul. It was only my religious principles, and my desire to expiate my sin, that made me tolerate him."
"In Heaven's name, what is your sin?"
"I'll tell you soon enough," she said. "But do not be afraid. I have not dipped my hands in blood. Let me tell my story in my own way. It is not easy for me to tell it at all. I only do so now in order to avert, worse trouble."
Knowing her obstinacy, her brother saw that it was useless to protest. "Go on," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Have your own way."
"I often wish we had kept to our mother's faith," continued Mrs. Marshall. "She was of the true Church, and Catholicism is such a comforting religion. One has a confessor; that would have done me good. I have often longed to confess and relieve my mind."
"Why did you not confess to me?"
"I had no reason for making you my confidant, Sebastian," she said, icily. "Well, I was of the Protestant faith, and could not confess, so I had to bear my own sorrow as best I could. Frank tried me at times with his dreadful ways, but I had a whip to manage him."
"What was the whip?" asked Mr. Cass, struck by the fact that she used almost the same phrase that he had used to her husband.
"I will tell you shortly; but I mortified my flesh in every way. Look at this house. You know how I love pretty things, and yet I spend my life in the midst of these horrors. I am fond of----"
"See here, Inez," broke in her brother, "I want I to know about this pocket-book. You can tell me your feelings later."
Sebastian's abrupt interruption of his sister's enthusiastic confession was as a douche of cold water on glowing iron. The iron forthwith cooled; that is to say, Mrs. Marshall, from flesh and blood, became stone again.
"Of course I will tell you all you wish to know," she said, in even tones, with about as much feeling as might have been expected from a cuckoo. "But since you will not let me tell my story in my own way, I think it is best that you should put your own questions, then I shall know precisely what you do want."
"Don't be angry!" entreated her brother; "but tell me all for the sake of the family. Where did you learn that Frank had committed forgery?"
"At the Waggoner's Pond."
Mr. Cass started from his seat and stared down at his sister in surprise. He remembered what Marshall had told him about that appointment at the Waggoner's Pond. "What!" he cried. "Were you out on the night of the murder? Did you overhear the conversation between Marshall and Jenner?"
"Oh, it was Jenner, was it?" she said, quite composedly. "Well, I guessed as much, though I could never be quite sure."
"Didn't your husband tell you that he had met him by the Waggoner's Pond?"
She looked up with scorn and contempt.
"Frank never told me anything but what was wrung out of him by fear. Besides, we did not speak of these things. Like him, I preferred to let sleeping dogs lie."
Her brother had taken his seat again, and, deep in thought, paid little attention to what she was saying. "I thought you were in bed on that night with a headache?"
"A woman's excuse," she said, coolly. "I had no headache; but I had a very keen desire to find out why Frank had an appointment on that night, and with whom. I suspected another woman--you can guess her name."
"Mrs. Jenner? Ah, but he did not go out to meet her!" cried Mr. Cass, impatiently. "He had an appointment with her husband."
"I found that out later. But I heard him asking one of the servants where the Waggoner's Pond was, and if he could find it in the dark. I knew then that he intended to go there that night for some purpose. The name of Mrs. Jenner was not mentioned; but as she was in the neighbourhood--well, you know what a woman's feelings are!"
"You jumped to conclusions?"
"Yes; they were wrong, but that did not matter. At all events, I was satisfied that he did not meet the woman. I slipped out of a side door unknown to everyone; my headache was a pretext that I might be at the meeting-place. Had he done so, I would have broken off the engagement--yes, much as I loved him, or rather, much as I was infatuated--I would have broken it off at the eleventh hour had he put such an insult on me!"
"And yet you married him?"
"Oh, what is the use of that parrot-cry?" she said, impatiently. "You have already said that five or six times."
"Because I am so amazed that your pride did not come to your aid when you knew the use to which he intended to put your money. To him you were not the woman he loved--but the banker upon whom he intended to draw."
"And yet I married him," she said, with a cold smile. "Women are strange creatures, I confess. Yet you always considered me proud. See how mistaken you were! I had more weakness than you thought me capable of possessing. I was wildly--madly in love with him. At all events, I intended to marry him, and what is more, I intended to get back that incriminating bill from Jenner without the expenditure of a penny. I saw that he had replaced it in his red pocket-book; well, I made up my mind that I would get that pocket-book."
"Yet you never guessed the man was Jenner!" remarked her brother, ironically.
"I was suspicious, but not certain. However, I did not go after Jenner at once, for I knew where to find him. I wanted Frank to be out of the way before I left my hiding-place--I was behind a hedge--and not alone."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Mr. Cass, startled.
"I mean what I say. Several times, while I was crouching in the wet grass, I heard the breathing of someone no great distance off. Well, I found that other person."
"When--some time afterwards?"
"On the contrary, the person threw himself in my way within half-an-hour after I was on my way to the Turnpike House."
"Wait a moment!" cried Mr. Cass, with suppressed excitement. "I know who it was--the gypsy, Job."
"Ah!" replied Mrs. Marshall, without betraying much surprise. "Ruth told you something!"
"Geoffrey did: Ruth had told him."
Mrs. Marshall rose with a bound. "And pray what has Mr. Heron to do with this matter?"
"A good deal," rejoined her brother, drily. "You may as well sit down, Inez. Geoffrey is perfectly discreet. He is going to marry Ruth, you know: it will be as much to his interest as mine to keep this affair secret. Well, so you met this gypsy blackguard?"
"Yes, half-way on the road to the Turnpike House. In spite of the darkness and the mist, he knew me in a moment--instinct, I suppose."
"How could he have met you? Had you met him before?"
"Lots of times. I knew the Romany dialect, and used to talk to Job."
"I realty wonder at you, Inez, taking up with such scum! As for Ruth, I'll talk to her! She shall have nothing more to do with him."
"Oh, as to that," remarked his sister, shrugging her shoulders, "the creature is dying; he is consumptive, and is drinking himself to death. I have placed him in the Turnpike House--without Mr. Heron's permission, by the way--and I allow him a small sum a week so that he may die in peace."
"So that you may keep your secret, you mean."
"It will soon be a secret no longer. Job, as I say, knew me. He told me that he had been sleeping behind the hedge--near me, I suppose--and had been aroused by the sound of voices. He recognised Frank's voice, for he had often spoken to him; but Jenner he did not know, any more than I did."
"Naturally. Jenner was a comparative stranger in these parts. Go on."
"Well, Job had heard all about, the red pocket-book and the bill. I saw in a twinkling that here was the instrument I required; I promised him twenty pounds if he would get me that red pocket-book."
"Inez! Did you send the man to murder Jenner?"
"No, I did not. I never thought he would goo so far as that. And, as a matter of fact. Job has always denied to me that he struck the blow."
"He certainly would tell you that to save his neck!"
"Well, after I had made this arrangement with him and had told him that Jenner was at the Turnpike House, I returned home. I entered by the side door and slipped up to my room without anyone being the wiser."
"I certainly was not," said her brother. "You are quite a diplomatist, Inez. What about Job's murdering mission?"
"He did not commit the murder," insisted Mrs. Marshall. "He came next day and brought me the pocket-book. I opened it, but could not find the bill; then I accused Job of having taken it. He grinned, but would say nothing. You understand, Sebastian, he had not got the bill; but he wanted to have me in his power."
"I see; but you could have turned the tables on him by having him arrested for the crime."
"No, he knew of the bill--of Frank's disgrace. I thought, if he were arrested, he would tell all, which he certainly would have done; then Frank would have been prosecuted. Remember, I thought Job had the bill! All these years I have believed he had it in his possession; you do not know the blackmail I have paid that man! He was always worrying me for money. At last, seeing he was ill, I put him into the Turnpike House, and--well, I have told you all that. But now you know why I assisted him."
"Assisted a murderer?"
"Job denied that he had killed the man."
"Then how did he get the pocket-book?"
"He said that he had met Jenner before he got to the Turnpike House, and robbed him of the book."
"That is a lie!" cried Mr. Cass; "and a feeble lie to boot. Jenner had the book when he was in that room--before he was killed Mrs. Jenner said that the book was on the table near the window; and my own opinion is that the blow must have been struck through the window and the book stolen."
"But why believe Mrs. Jenner more than Job?"
"I will tell you all. The bill was in the pocket-book; you yourself saw Jenner put it there. Well, he thought Marshall might steal that bill, so he sewed it up in the body of a toy horse with which his child was playing. Neil kept the horse, and a short time ago he sent it to George, who cut the animal open. The bill was found, and is now in my possession. So, you see, Job could not have taken the pocket-book which contained the bill before Jenner got to the house. He must have murdered the man and stolen the book after the bill had been placed inside the horse.
"But nothing of all this came out at the trial."
"No one knew anything about it--least of all Mrs. Jenner. But now you are satisfied that Job committed that murder?"
"I suppose so; it looks like it. Oh, the wretch, to let me think all these years that he had the bill, and that he was innocent of killing the man!"
"Had you no suspicion of his guilt?"
She thought for a moment. "I confess I had," she said, after a pause, "but, you see, I had to put all such suspicions behind my back. If I had denounced Job, I thought he would have produced the bill and ruined Frank."
"I see. Well, here is the bill. No one knows of it but Heron, and he will say nothing. I thought of keeping it as a useful whip for your husband, should he treat you cruelly. But now that I find you do not care for him, I think it had better be destroyed."
"No," she said, putting it into her pocket, "I will keep it, to hold over Frank myself. I hate him, and would gladly divorce him--which I could easily do. But I am as proud of the family name as you are, and I do not want a scandal. So I shall not separate from him; but now I shall know how to make him behave himself." She tapped her pocket with a grim smile.
"Did you ever speak to him about the red pocket-book?"
"No, he never knew I had it. I put it away, and afterwards sent it up to the garret, where I thought it would be safe. Hardly anyone ever goes there but myself. Besides, if I had told Frank, he would have worried Job about giving him the bill, and Heaven only knows what would have happened then. No, I was wrong, I suppose, but I acted for the best. When Frank told me that he had seen you, and that the bill was in your possession, I went up to the garret, intending to find the pocket-book and destroy it. Then I was foolish enough to ask Ruth; she found it by chance--and--well, you know the rest."
"Yes, I know the rest," said Mr. Cass, grimly; "and, among other things. I know that Job Lovell killed Jenner, and that the dead man's unhappy wife has been punished all these years. Inez, I know you always hated her, but would you have let her lose her life?"
"No; if she had been in danger of that, I would have come forward and told all I knew, even at the cost of disgrace; I would not have had the blood of a fellow-creature on my soul. But, to tell you the truth, Sebastian, as Mrs. Jenner did not defend herself, I really believed she was guilty, and Job innocent. He confessed to having robbed Jenner; she would say nothing; so of the two, I thought Job the innocent one. Can you blame me?"
"Partly. I blame you for not having told me this long ago. I always suspected your husband. Now I know that he is innocent; and I should have known it all along, seeing that he was in the house--in my house--when the crime was committed. If you had spoken out, I would have managed to get Mrs. Jenner off in some way without exposing the whole of this dreadful story. Job should be punished."
"Think what that would mean to us all," said his sister, warningly.
"I will contrive to evade the worst. But I must have that poor woman released!"
His sister's attitude puzzled Mr. Cass less than might have been expected.
On leaving her he went straight to the Turnpike House to interview the gypsy.
The first thing was to get the truth out of Job; then he would try to arrive at some settlement of the question which would be satisfactory to the world, to justice, and to his conscience.
The door of the house was closed when he rode up. He dismounted, gave his horse to his groom, and told the man to take him home.
"I have to see this gypsy," he explained. "I find he is here without Mr. Heron's permission. I shall probably remain some time, and I don't want Sultan to get cold. Go home."
"Yes, sir," said the man, and then ventured to add a few words on his own account. "Shan't I wait, sir? Joe Lovel is a rough customer."
"I know," Mr. Cass said, calmly. "I am prepared for that. I shall return in an hour, more or less. If Mr. Heron should come to Hollyoaks, ask him to wait for me."
The man rode off, leading his master's horse. Mr. Cass waited until they were out of sight, then knocked vigorously at the door. There was no response.
A third knock, or, rather, a perfect battery of knocks, proved that Job was at home. From within came the growl of a waking beast--a beast angry at being disturbed; and shortly afterwards the door was wrenched open by no very gentle hand. The gypsy, with his red-rimmed eyes blinking from under a thatch of disordered hair, stood on the threshold. Mr. Cass took in his condition at a glance.
"Are you not ashamed to be drunk at this time of day?" he asked. "What do you mean by it?"
"It is none of your business," growled Job, who had slept off the worst effects of his debauch.
"It is my business. I am Mr. Cass."
"I know you are," retorted the man, still blocking the doorway. "But that doesn't give you the right to come knocking at my door. 'Tisn't your house."
"It is Mr. Heron's house." Mr. Cass said, sharply; "and I have sufficient influence with Mr. Heron to have you kicked out into the cold if you do not behave yourself."
"I shouldn't do that if I were you," said the ruffian, with a sinister smile. "Others may find themselves out in the cold too. Aye, my gorgeous Gentile--bigger folk nor the poor Romany."
This was plainly a threat levelled at Mrs. Marshall, as her brother clearly saw. However, it was not his intention to quarrel with the man until he had got the truth out of him. "You speak in riddles," he said, "but perhaps you will stand aside and let me enter."
"What for?" asked Job, suspiciously.
"You shall hear my business when I am within."
The gypsy began to cough, and the paroxysm was so violent that he had to hold on to the door-post.
"Well, sir," said Job, at length, somewhat sobered by a fit of coughing; "come in. I ain't the one to keep a Romany Rye out of my tent."
Mr. Cass entered, and followed the man into the sitting-room in which Jenner had been murdered by--so far as Mr. Cass knew--its present occupant. As he entered he became conscious of a strong smell of petroleum, and, making a sudden pause, "Have you upset your lamp?" he asked.
"No, I ain't upset anything," said Job, sulkily. "The smell, is it? Oh, that's my business. I've got an idea that ain't nothing to do with you. Sit down and tell me what's the row. I know, though. It's your young lady. Well, I haven't done her no harm; she's a sister to me, because she patters the black lingo. Has she been setting your back up, Rye?"
"My visit has nothing to do with Miss Cass," said her father, sharply. "Leave her name out of the question. I know all about her visit to you and how you behaved. I am not blaming you. But my business here has to do with a very serious matter. Perhaps you can guess my errand when I tell you that I come from Mrs. Marshall."
The mere mention of that name drove the remaining fumes of drink from the gypsy's head, and he cast a sharp glance at his visitor. Mr. Cass sustained this scrutiny with the greatest calmness, and, finding the smell of the petroleum quite unbearable, threw open the window and placed his chair close beside it so that he could breathe freely. Then he turned round and looked again at the man. Job, open-mouthed at these liberties taken with his domestic arrangements, stared insolently at Mr. Cass; but at length he found his tongue. "You'll give me my death," he grumbled. "I want that window shut."
"You shall not have it shut, then," said Mr. Cass, coolly. "The air here is horrible with the smell of that petroleum, whatever you are doing with it. Sit down over there, and you will be out of the draught. I have something serious to say to you."
"So you said before," growled Job, surrendering the point of the window and pitching himself on to a broken-backed chair. "What's she up to now?"
"If you are speaking of Mrs. Marshall, be more respectful," Mr. Cass said, angrily. "However you may have intimidated her, you ruffian, you cannot deal with me in the same way. I'll make an example of you!"
"Ha! ha! You touch me at your peril!" retorted Job, who was getting exasperated.
"At your peril, you mean! Now, then, my man, no equivocation, but a plain confession. Out with it!"
"Confession? What have I to confess, my Gentile cove?"
"Be respectful, I tell you, or I'll lay my whip across your shoulders! 'What have you to confess about,' you ask? If the walls of this shambles could speak they might tell you, not but what you know well enough what I mean."
"Ah!" cried the man, his eyes glittering. "She's blown the gaff."
"Precisely. And it should have been blown long ago. You blackmailing beast! Now, then, I'm here to learn the truth."
"Oh, she's not told it to you, then?"
"Yes, she has. But I want it confirmed by you."
"What am I to confirm?" asked the gypsy, with a savage oath.
"The story of how you murdered Jenner in this room!"
He started from his seat with a howl, and flung himself towards Mr. Cass. But the merchant was ready for this, and pushing back his chair sprang to his feet. Job found himself recoiling before the barrel of a revolver. "You get back to your seat, or I'll blow your brains out!" said Mr. Cass, and said it with such ferocity that the ruffian crawled back like a whipped dog. But, then, Mr. Cass had the blood of many a slave-owning Spaniard in his veins, and was much more savage than an ordinary Anglo-Saxon. "Do you think I would trust myself here without protection, you wretch?" he asked, resuming his seat. "No; you move, and I shoot. I am less English than Spanish, let me tell you; and perhaps I do not consider my actions so carefully as the people of this country."
"You re a fierce one, you are, anyway," grumbled the man, climbing up to his seat with an uneasy eye on the weapon which still covered him. "My sister is just like you, plucky as a bantam, she is."
"Which sister do you mean, Mrs. Marshall or Miss Cass? You have two, you know, adopted sisters?"
"Oh, she told you that, did she?" said Job, rubbing his head, and evidently perplexed at the extent of his visitor's knowledge. "Well, it seems you know a lot, you do!"
"Enough to hang you," was the curt reply.
"That's a lie!" shouted Job. "I didn't lay a finger on him."
"Then how did you become possessed of the red pocket-book?"
The gypsy started, and gave Mr. Cass another of his keen glances. He did not reply immediately, but seemed to be reflecting. At length, "How do I know you are not laying a trap for me? The business I had with the high-born Gentile lady concerns her only. She has not told me to speak of hidden things to you."
"If you don't tell me--and tell me quickly too--you will have to reply to a magistrate."
"What magistrate, rye?"
"The one before whom I will bring you," was a the quiet answer. "Understand that I have sufficient evidence in my possession to have you arrested on suspicion of having murdered the man Jenner. For reasons which you will doubtless appreciate, I am willing to deal gently with you. But," he raised a threatening finger, "only on condition that you make a clean breast of all to me--and at once."
"Anything you do to me, rye, will harm your sister. I hold something which can break her heart."
"The bill of exchange you heard Marshall talking about to Jenner?"
Job fell back in amazement. "You do know all! Yes; I hold the bill--the forged bill--which can put in prison----"
"No one. That is quite enough; you need tell no more lies. You got possession of the pocket-book----"
"Yes; and I took the bill out before I gave it to the lady."
"I see," said Mr. Cass tranquilly, although he marvelled at the daring of the man. "And you made use of your assertion that you had possession of the bill to blackmail Mrs. Marshall?"
"I only got a little money out of her, my Gentile. She has been kind to me, and she has given me this house to die in."
"Then the sooner you die the better. You are no good to anyone, so far as I can see. You scoundrel!--to blackmail a lady! She believed you--I do not.
"You don't believe I have the bill?" asked Job, incredulously.
"No; for if you had you would shew it to me."
"I will not. Why should I?"
"You cannot shew it to me! I thought as much."
"Hey! You think so, rye! Then if I haven't the bill, who has?"
"Mrs. Marshall; for I gave it to her to-day."
"It is--a lie! a lie!" Job was quite pale now; he saw that his last card was played, and that he had now very little hold--but still some--over Mrs. Marshall.
"It the truth. The bill was taken out of that pocket-book by Jenner in this room, and placed in hiding. I need not explain where. It is sufficient for you to know that the bill came into my possession, and that I gave it to my sister. Your teeth are drawn, tiger!"
The gypsy saw--that he was beaten, and began to whine. Although he already bore the impress of death, he did not want to be turned out to die in the open fields. "What do you want to know, honourable rye?" he asked, in fawning tones, for he wanted to propitiate the man who could make a tramp of him. "I will tell you all--all. You know so much that--"
"Now, then," interrupted Mr. Cass, impatiently, "where did you get the red pocket-book? Did you snatch it through this window at which I am sitting and kill Jenner to get it?"
"No, rye, I swear I did not. I was not near this house; I got the pocket-book from Jenner."
"You liar! The bill was in the book when Jenner came to this house, and if you had stolen it, the bill would have remained there. Jenner did not leave the house again; he died here."
Job scratched his head; he was puzzled. "Well, I thought it was Jenner, rye; if it wasn't him, then who was it?"
"Marshall--you attacked Marshall on that night. Oh, I know! You tore his cuff and stole his sleeve-links; and one was found under this very window. You dropped it there, you murderer!"
"I ain't a murderer, I tell you," growled the man, getting angry. "I did try to get some tin out of that Marshall cove; but that was afore I met Mrs. Marshall. I was sleeping behind a hedge, and I heard Marshall and Jenner jawing; I listened, and heard all. When they parted I thought I'd drop on Marshall, rye, and get some money. I was poor and he was rich. He put out his arms to fight, and I did grab his wrist; but I didn't steal his links, I swear! Then I heard someone coming, and I ran away, while he went home. I came back to the Waggoner's Pond and then followed the lady. I knew she was hiding not far from me in the hedge."
"How could you tell that, in the mist and darkness?"
"I've eyes like a cat, and can see through stones," said Job, in a sulky tone. "Black don't make no difference to me. I knew her, I tell you rye and thought she go after Jenner and get that bill for Marshall's sake."
"Why for Marshall's sake?" asked Mr. Cass, coldly.
"'Cause I heard she was going to be his rani--marry him, as you Gentiles call it. I went after her, and caught her up. I offered to do the job for money. She said she'd give me lots if I got her the pocket-book. I said I'd give it her next day. Then I came to this house where we are now and waited in the hedge on the other side of the road. I saw the winder was open, but nothing more. There was a cry and a yell, and a cove comes dashing down the road, I after him and caught him up, though he run like the wind. I fell on him, and I said: 'Give us the red pocket-book!' He fought, but said nothing. I thought he was Jenner."
"Oh, but you could see in the dark!" remarked Mr. Cass, sarcastically.
"What did that matter?" Job said, surlily. "I didn't know Jenner when I saw him; he was a stranger to me."
"True enough," said Mr. Cass. "Go on."
"Well, he fought and twisted, and I grabbed on to his throat then he half gave in, and pushed the pocket-book further into his pocket. I held him down and got it out. I didn't know he'd been knifing Jenner. I took the pocket-book to an old barn where I was going to sleep for the night, and looked through it; I couldn't find no bill, and thought I'd had all my trouble for nothing. So thinking she'd give me no money, I made up my mind as I'd tell her I'd got the bill and would keep it till she paid up; she believed the yarn, and I saw she was afraid. She asked me to shew her the bill; but I said I wouldn't, as she might put it in the burning fire. In one way or another I made her think I could do her husband harm with the bill, so she paid up well. Oh, yes," said the scoundrel, generously, "I will say she was a real gentle lady."
"And all the time you hadn't the bill, you beast!"
Job slapped his thigh. "That's the joke of it," he said, and began to cough again. Mr. Cass watched him with an expression of contempt.
The secret of the murder seemed as far off as ever Like an elusive phantom it flitted just within reach, but when the seer hoped to grasp it, it was still the same distance ahead. Twice or thrice had Mr. Cass been on the verge of solving the mystery, and now again it was impenetrable as always before. He saw no reason to doubt this man's story; yet he was doubtful. He made one more attempt to get at the truth. "Who was this man you struggled with?" he asked.
"I don't know--I could not see much of him because we were fighting hard, my rye. But I've often thought he was the same cove as I heard the steps of when I tusselled with Marshall."
"How could you tell that?"
"I can't tell, rye," was the candid response, "but I feel it was the same. When I heard of the murder next morning, I knew he'd killed Jenner to get that pocket-book; but the lady she said she didn't know. I told her it was Jenner, and she thought I'd tackled him going to the house; but it was when the man had left the house, and then Jenner was inside--dead."
Mr. Cass had by this time learnt as much as he was capable of taking in; and the mystery of the murder was deeper than ever. He resolved that he would go away and think the matter over quietly. "I will go now," he said.
"And give me up to the peelers?" asked Job, with a scowl.
"No, I am doubtful now if you are guilty. I cannot say; but I shall not tell the police just now; I will see you again. One thing, don't go near Mrs. Marshall." And he left, his brain in a perfect whirl.
"Won't I just!" growled Job. "I'll get some more money out of her and cut the country. No, I won't." Here he sniffed the petroleum. "I'll try that game first. The Gentiles chuck me; the Romany won't have me! There ain't nothing but that," he sniffed again, "for poor Job!" And he swore.