Fane and Derrick parted at the top of Achilles Avenue, the latter heartily thanking the former for the very handsome cheque. "And if that husband returns, sir," said Derrick, shaking hands, "you may be sure that I'll let you know straight off. By the way"--he drew near confidentially--"do you know that the motor-car in which the assassin is supposed to have escaped is in Madame Tussaud's?"
"No"--Fane laughed--"what possible interest can it have?"
"Well, sir, you see the mystery of the case makes it interesting. A lot of people will go there and look at it, and talk about the case."
"I hope they may stumble upon some evidence likely to give a clue to the assassin."
"Bless you, no one will do that, sir. The case has baffled me, so I do not think there's much chance of any one else getting at the truth. I think that American gentleman's a smart man of business, though. He sold the car to Tussaud's at a long price."
"H'm!" said Fane, pondering, "do you think he had anything to do with the crime?"
"No, sir. He missed his motor-car sure enough. Had he killed the woman, he would have escaped in it and proved analibi."
"I think it was better what he did do. He met Mulligan and you, and with you surveyed the corpse. That daring would avert any suspicion."
"Have you an idea yourself, sir, that he might----"
"No, no!" interrupted Fane hurriedly; "it's simply an idea. But I have learned from Mr. Calvert that Tracey--that's his name, isn't it?--has taken the Hampstead house."
"I wonder what's that for?" asked Derrick, startled. "I want to find out. And I'll ask Mr. Calvert this very day."
"Are you seeing him to-day, sir?"
"Yes; I am going there now. He wrote asking me to call this afternoon. When I leave you I'll take a cab to his lodgings."
Derrick mused. "I'd like to come along with you," he said.
"No," replied Fane decisively, "better not just now. I am sure of nothing. I only fancy Tracey may have had something to do with the matter. Should I learn anything I shall let you know."
"Thank you, sir. I fancy the case is finished myself; but of course something unexpected may turn up. Good-day."
"Good-day," replied Fane, and hailed a cab.
Owing to his long conversation with Derrick, there was not much time to be lost if he wished to be punctual. Wondering if Arnold desired to see him about Laura, Fane told the cabman to drive as fast as possible to Bloomsbury. "I expect now that he has the money, Calvert will want to marry Laura at once," thought Fane, leaning back in the cab. "I'm sure Julia ought to be satisfied with such a match. But she is an impossible woman to deal with. I wish I hadn't married her. I shall never be my own master now."
It was lucky that things were as they were, for Fane was the last man in the world to take the initiative. He always required to be governed and guided, scolded and petted. The slack character of the man could be seen from his mouth, which was constantly half-open. A pleasant, handsome, kindhearted man was Fane, but his very good qualities added to his weakness. His languid good-nature was always getting him into trouble, and he was kindly not so much from a genuine feeling of the sort as from a desire not to be troubled. It is much easier to be yielding in this world than to hold one's own. But those who thus give way, always have constant troubles. The only way in this best of possible worlds to keep peace, is to be prepared for war. Human beings invariably take advantage of one another, and a kind heart is looked upon as a sign of weakness.
On arriving at the Bloomsbury lodgings, Fane saw Arnold looking out of the window, evidently on the watch for his arrival. After dismissing the cab Fane went up stairs, and on entering Calvert's sitting-room was greeted by its occupant with signs of restraint. Behind Arnold stood Tracey, whom Fane recognised from having seen him at the inquest. The American was also grave, and Fane wondered what was to be the subject of conversation. It could not be Arnold's engagement to Laura, or both the men would not look so serious as they did.
"I am glad to see you, Fane," said Calvert, pushing forward a chair. "Sit down. I hope you don't mind Mr. Tracey being present? You met him at the inquest, I believe?"
"We saw one another," said Fane. "I hope you are well, Mr. Tracey?"
"I thank you, sir," said Luther gravely, "I am well. And you?"
"Pretty well," said Fane fretfully; "but this murder has given me a lot of anxiety. Not a pleasant thing to happen in one's house."
"By no means, sir," replied Tracey, with a puzzled glance at Calvert. "Is it true that you are moving, as I have been informed by Miss Gerty B., the lady I'm engaged to?"
"Yes; I suppose Miss Mason told her. My wife doesn't like the place now that it has such a bad reputation. We intend to go abroad for a time to Switzerland."
"You'll miss your yachting," said Arnold, who was taking some papers out of his desk.
"I don't think I'll yacht any more," said Fane gloomily; "my sea days are over."
"Did you yacht much?" asked Tracey.
"A lot. I sometimes stopped away for a couple of months."
"What did Mrs. Fane say?"
Fane laughed. "Oh, she didn't mind. She never cared for the sea herself. Between you and me, Mr. Tracey, my wife is fonder of business than pleasure. I am the reverse."
"All the same, Fane, you must attend to business now."
"What, Calvert, do you call your engagement to Laura business?"
Arnold looked surprised. "I did not ask you here to talk about that," he replied still seriously.
"Oh," answered Fane carelessly, and taking out a cigarette, "I thought you wanted me to make things square with Julia."
"Laura and I understand one another," said Arnold, returning to his seat with a green-covered book in his hand. "I am now well off, and there is no bar to our marriage."
"I am glad of that. A lucky thing for you, the death of that woman."
"I would rather she had lived, poor soul," said Calvert with emotion.
Fane shrugged his shoulders. "We all have to die some time."
"But not by the knife," put in Tracey sharply. "The poor soul, as Calvert calls her, met with a terrible death."
"I know, I know," said Fane irritably. "I wish you wouldn't dwell on the matter, Mr. Tracey. It is excessively unpleasant for me, seeing I live in the house where she was killed. Why don't you offer a reward to clear up the mystery, Calvert?"
"I don't think there will be any need now," said Arnold with emphasis.
"What do you mean?" Fane sat up suddenly. "Because Tracey and I have reason to believe we have found the assassin."
"What!" Fane sprang to his feet much excited. "Who is it? Tell me his name."
"What would you do if you knew it?" asked Tracey, who was looking at Fane with great wonderment.
"Do," said the other, clenching his fist, "I would hang the man."
"How do you know it was a man? It may have been a woman."
"Why do you say that, Mr. Tracey?"
"Well, there was the singing, you know."
"Nonsense! I never thought of it at the time, but now I know that the singing proceeded from a phonograph."
"Phonograph!" cried both men, much astonished.
"Yes. Julia had an idea of getting records of her songs. She sings very well, you know, Calvert. She has had a phonograph for a long time, and amuses the child with it. That song, 'Kathleen Mavourneen,' is a favourite with my wife, and I wondered afterwards how it came to be sung, seeing she was at Westcliff-on-Sea. Then, when a description was given of the kind of voice, I knew it was the phonograph."
"Why didn't you say so at the inquest?" asked the American sharply.
"Because it never struck me till later. But that's enough about the matter. I'm weary of the murder. Let us talk of other things."
"I am afraid we cannot," said Arnold, holding up the book! "Do you know what this is, Fane?"
"No," said the other, staring; "what is it?"
"The diary of Mrs. Brand."
"How strange," said Fane, but his voice sounded nervously uncertain; "where did you find it?"
"It was concealed," said Tracey, with emphasis; "the man who removed all evidence of Mrs. Brand's past life could not find it. And by means of that diary, Mr. Fane, we are enabled to prove a lot."
"If you can prove who murdered the woman I shall be glad to hear."
"You really mean that?" asked Tracey, staring in his turn.
"Of course." Fane stared at Tracey in return, and then looked at Arnold. "I'm glad you sent for me, Calvert. Let us hear everything."
"It is the story of Mrs. Brand's life----"
"Oh! And has it to do with the murder?"
"I think so."
"Does it point to the assassin?"
"It may even do that. But we can't be sure."
Fane threw back his head and closed his eyes. "Read on," he said; "I will give you my opinion."
Tracey and Calvert glanced at one another again, and then the latter opened the book. Fane, hearing the rustle of the leaves, sat up.
"I say, you needn't read all that," he said; "I can't stand reading at any time, not even from an actor. Tell me the gist of the matter."
"From the beginning?" asked Arnold, closing the book.
"Certainly--from the very beginning."
"As you please," replied Calvert, and handed the book to Tracey. Fane, still smoking, again leaned back his head and closed his eyes. After a pause, Arnold commenced the story. But after a few words, he broke down irritably--
"I can't tell you the thing if you don't look at me."
"Thanks," said Fane lazily, "I can hear better with my eyes closed."
"Oh, don't bother!" cried Tracey roughly to Calvert. "Get along. The thing's getting on my nerves."
"I hope it won't get on mine," said Fane, with a sigh; "go on."
"Mrs. Brand," commenced Arnold, without further preamble, "was the daughter of my uncle----"
"Yes," murmured Fane, "I heard she was your cousin."
"I suppose you heard that from Laura," replied Arnold calmly. "Yes, she was my cousin, and left her fortune to me, although I saw very little of her. She is also--or rather, seeing she is dead, was also--the cousin of Professor Bocaros, whose aunt married my uncle."
"Never heard of him," said Fane.
"You will hear of him now," said Calvert tartly; "do not interrupt, please. Well, Flora----"
"Who is Flora?" asked Fane again.
"My cousin, Mrs. Brand. She was Flora Calvert. She kept a diary all these years, as she led a rather lonely life. The man she married was a commercial traveller, and was frequently away. His name was Brand, and with his wife he lived at Hampstead."
"In Coleridge Lane. I know."
"Tracey muttered something uncomplimentary, and went to the window. Fane's constant interruptions got on his nerves. During the rest of the story he occupied a chair, and amused himself with looking out. All the same he lost nothing of what passed. For such observation had he been asked by Arnold to be present at the interview.
"From the diary, which begins with her married life, it appears that Mrs. Brand was very happy with her husband," went on Calvert. "She met him at some open-air entertainment, where she was in danger of being crushed by the crowd. Brand rescued her, and afterwards called on Flora, who was then living with her mother. He called himself Adolphus Brand."
"Was that not his name?"
"It is hard to say. When he first came to see Flora he told her his name was Wentworth. She related her life, and how she expected to inherit a fortune from an uncle called Arthur Brand who lived in Australia. Wentworth thereupon said that he also had a cousin called Brand, from whom he expected money. It was probable, he said, that if he did get this money he would have to change his name. A few months later he proposed to marry Flora, but could not do so until he got the money."
"Was it a large fortune?" asked Fane.
"Not very large--a few thousand pounds. One day Brand stated that his cousin was dead, and that he had the money on condition that he changed his name. Now you see, Fane, how Wentworth came to be called Brand. It was curious that he should have the same name as the uncle from whom Flora hoped to get money."
"A coincidence," said Fane coolly; "these things happen in real life. It is only in fiction that coincidences appear to be absurd."
"Well, to continue the story," said Arnold, stealing a glance at the American, "Brand married my cousin after the death of her mother. He took her to live at Gunnersbury."
"I thought you said they lived at Hampstead."
"Later on they did, but not when they first married. Brand--as he said--was a commercial traveller."
"As he said; you doubt his statement then?"
"I have reason to," responded Calvert gravely. "Please let me tell the story in my own way. You can comment on it when it is done. Brand being, as he said, a commercial traveller, was often away for months at a time. Flora, suspecting nothing wrong----"
"Why should she?" asked Fane.
"Wait," said Arnold. "Flora, suspecting nothing wrong, was quite happy. Her husband was fond of her, and they lived in complete harmony. He had banked the money he received from his cousin, and proposed later, when his business affairs were more prosperous, to furnish a house for her. Especially did he promise to furnish a White Room."
Fane sat up, with a lively expression on his face. "Ah, now, this is becoming interesting. I have a White Room in my house."
"Yes. And poor Flora was murdered there."
"By whom?" asked Fane innocently.
"You'll hear that later. To resume the story. Things were arranged in this way, and husband and wife lived very comfortably, although neither had money. But Flora expected to get a large fortune from her Australian relative. He had promised to leave it to her, and corresponded constantly with her. Afterwards finding Gunnersbury inconvenient for his business, Brand removed to Hampstead. Flora took Fairy Lodge, and furnished it and attended to all that. The husband should have done that work," said Arnold with emphasis, "but for some reason he rarely showed himself. Flora's landlord, for instance, never set eyes on Mr. Brand."
"He seems to have been a mysterious person," said Fane coolly. "Go on, please. The story is becoming exciting."
"It will be so before it is finished. Well, Flora settled down in Fairy Lodge. Her husband stayed away a great deal."
"On business?" interrupted Fane.
"So he said," replied Calvert calmly; "but he was away months at a time. Flora never suspected anything to be wrong. But after a time she noticed that Brand was not so loving as he had been. He tried to make it up to her by promising to furnish the grand house they had often talked about. But Flora would not let him do this until the money came from the Australian relative. Then news came that the old man was ill. He wrote and told Flora that a will had been made in her favour, leaving her all his money, which amounted to some thousands a year."
"The money you have now?"
"Yes," assented the young man; "the money I have now. On hearing the news Brand would not be restrained any longer. He told Flora that he would furnish the house, but that he must be allowed to do it in his own way. He did not tell her where the new house was, nor did he consult her about the furnishing."
"What about the White Room then?"
"He knew how to furnish that," said Arnold quickly; "the White Room was a freak on the part of my cousin. She always had a fancy to have a room entirely white, and she had one at Hampstead.
"I had one at Troy," said Fane coolly; "what of that?"
"Nothing. Only it is strange that you should have had the same idea of furnishing an odd room as Flora. Well, then, things were thus a year or two ago when news came that the Australian Brand had married his housekeeper, and that the money would likely be left to her."
"What a blow to your cousin," said Fane ironically.
"Yes; a great blow. From the moment the news arrived Brand grew colder than ever, and stayed away for longer periods. Husband and wife began to quarrel, as Flora fancied herself neglected. Life grew more and more unhappy, as I find from the unfortunate woman's diary, until she was thoroughly miserable about the beginning of the present year. It was shortly before July that she received a visit from her Greek cousin Bocaros."
"What did he come to see her for?"
"To find a friend," said Arnold gravely. "The man was lonely and unhappy. So was Flora. The two got on well, but Bocaros never saw Brand. He had gone to Australia."
"Why did he go there?"
"He thought he might be related to Brand, seeing that his cousin who had left him the money bore that name. He fancied that if this were so he might induce old Brand in Australia to give Flora some of the money, and so went to Australia. While he was away Flora received a letter stating that Brand was dead, and that the money was hers."
"What about the marriage?"
"That was a strange thing, Fane. Of course Brand's marriage invalidated the will leaving Flora the money. He did many his housekeeper, but he refused to make a new will, as it seems she had trapped the old man into the marriage. When Brand died, it was found that the woman had been married before. Therefore----"
"The marriage was no marriage, and the will in Mrs. Brand's favour stood firm," said Fane. "Is that what you mean?"
"It is. The marriage being no marriage gave the property to Flora. She saw Laing and Merry, and learned that she inherited about ten thousand a year."
Fane gave a kind of groan. "Ten thousand a year," he repeated, "and you have this money--lucky fellow!"
"I would rather it had not come to me, Fane, than in such a way."
"What do you mean?"
"By the tragic death of my cousin."
"Yes, yes," said Fane irritably; "how you harp on that murder. Go on."
"Well, then, Mrs. Brand had the money. It was then that Bocaros told her that Brand was false."
"How do you mean false?"
"Brand," said Arnold, keeping his eyes on the other man's face, "was married to another woman and under another name--probably his real name. Bocaros found this out."
"How do you prove that?"
"By the diary, which is kept up to the very day my miserable cousin went to the house where her husband posed as a married man."
"Go on," said Fane very calm.
"It was at this time Brand came back."
"I thought you said he had gone to Australia."
"So he had," explained Arnold; "but he told Flora that he had heard of Brand's death, and had not thought it worth while to go on. Flora told him she had the money, and then accused him of being married. He denied this. There was a great row, and Brand left the house. Bocaros came back. He insisted that what he said about the second marriage was true, but he refused to tell Flora the real name of her husband. He said, however, that he would take her to the house. He advised her to obtain an impression of the key in Brand's pocket, so that she might prove to herself by the key fitting that the house was her husband's. The plan commended itself to Flora. When Brand returned she pretended to believe his lies, and took an impression of the key when he was asleep. This she gave to Bocaros, who got a duplicate key made. He gave her this. Brand then thinking all was right with Flora, departed. Flora arranged to meet Bocaros at the house of Brand on the night of the 24th of July."
Fane rose with a white face, and began to walk to and fro. "Go on," he said harshly; "what more?"
"Is there anything more to tell?" said Arnold, also rising. "Flora went to your house. Whether she met Bocaros there or not I cannot say. Her diary is written up to the time she set out on that last journey. Before leaving, and thinking she might be in danger, she hid the diary, and left a note for me in the deed-box at Laing and Merry's, the lawyers. But she went to the house before nine, she admitted herself with the duplicate latch-key, and in the White Room, which really and truly had been furnished for her, she met with----"
"Stop cried Fane, his lips grey and his face drawn and white; am I to understand that you accuse me of being the husband of Mrs. Brand?"
"Yes, Mr. Brand, I do. Your name is Fane, but you called yourself Brand to marry Flora. Your first marriage is a real one, your second false. You are a bigamist and----"
"And a murderer. Why not say the word?"
"I do say it. You are the man who stabbed that poor woman when she was at the piano. You set the phonograph going so that the police might be deceived. The dagger you used was one left by me at Flora's by accident. She took it with her, poor soul, perhaps to kill you for having treated her so. Heaven only knows to what lengths her misery might not have carried her and----"
"Lies! Lies! All lies!" said Fane furiously. "I am not the man. I don't believe this cock-and-bull story. Julia Mason is my true wife."
"Julia Mason is Julia Mason still," said Arnold.
"No. I know nothing of your cousin. I dare you to prove that I am the husband of Flora Brand."
"I guess I can do that," said Tracey, stepping forward and producing a photograph from his pocket. "I remained in that Hampstead house, Mr. Brand-Fane, to search and see what I could find in order to set things square. I found an old photograph of Mrs. Brand. I went to the photographer's and learned that she had been taken at one time some years ago along with her husband. Here's the photograph, and you will see that you are the man."
Fane nervously snatched the photograph, and looked at it. There he was in the company of Flora Brand. With a groan he dropped the photograph, staggered to a chair, and covered his face. "It has come out at last," he groaned.
The two men stood in silence, looking down on the wretched creature shivering in the chair. Walter Fane had never been much of a man, and now that his guilt had been brought home to him, he looked more of a craven than ever. A rat would have showed a braver front, for when in a corner that animal will fight. But Fane did not even show his teeth. He lay in the chair, huddled up, with his face covered, and moaned like a rabbit taken in a trap.
There seemed no doubt as to his guilt, and none was in the mind of the two men who had hunted him down. The evidence was without a flaw, and if Fane escaped the gallows, he so richly-deserved, it would be more a miracle than by any natural occurrence. The diary of his wife, identified him with the husband who had grown weary of her. The evidence of the key showed how she had entered the house, which had originally been furnished for her, and it only remained to learn from the lips of the assassin precisely how the crime had been committed. Fane made no attempt to defend himself. He did not even state that he had been at Westcliff-on-Sea on the night, and at the very time of the murder. He simply lay there crushed, and in spite of the horror of the cold-blooded crime he had committed, in spite of his cowardliness, the two men pitied a human being who could fall so low, and behave so basely. Even the courage of a rogue can be admired, but there was nothing worthy of admiration in the conduct of the man who had thus been caught.
Arnold spoke first, and even though he pitied in some ways the man, he could not render his voice other than cold and harsh. "Well, Fane," he said sharply, "and what is to be done?"
Fane did not reply. He only moaned. Tracey answered for him. "There's only one thing to be done, I guess," said he; "hand him over to the police. He deserves it."
The miserable man sprang to his feet with a shrill cry. "No! no! I will kill myself first. You shall not--you shall not"; and he glared at them with dishevelled hair and bloodshot eyes, his face white, his lips grey in an extremity of fear. Calvert took no notice but turned to the American.
"I am unwilling to do that," he said. "After all I am to marry Laura, and there is her sister to be considered. Should the whole truth be made public, Mrs. Fane will suffer. She is not this man's wife. I must think of her and the child, Tracey."
"That's true," assented the other, pondering. Then he looked up in a brisk manner. "I reckon the best thing is for Fane here to tell us the whole story."
"You have heard the story," moaned Fane, still hiding his shameful face.
"Not your version of it," said Tracey. "I dare say you'll try and make black appear white, and swear you didn't kill your wife."
Fane looked up. "I'll swear to that certainly," he said solemnly. "I did not kill her."
Arnold turned from him in disgust, thinking to save his neck he was lying, but Walter caught him by the coat. "Calvert! Calvert! listen to me only a moment--only a moment. I swear by all that's holy that I did not lay a finger on Flora."
"You acknowledge that she was your wife?"
"I do--I do."
"And that she came to the house?"
"Yes, yes!"
"And that you saw her there?"
"Not alive--not alive. She was dead when I set eyes on her."
"That's a lie, anyhow," said Tracey.
"It is not a lie."
"It is. You want to save your neck. Hang it man, confess, and die like a man. You killed this poor woman to rid yourself of her."
"No! I didn't. I swear I didn't. Oh, why won't you believe me?"
"You are such a liar," said Tracey. "But I don't want to be hard on you. Take a drink of brandy. It will pull you together. Calvert, with your permission----"
The American went to the side-board and filled a glass. While he was thus occupied, Calvert touched the man on the shoulder. Fane, who had again sunk into the chair, trembling and white, looked up. "Take the brandy," said Calvert quietly, "and then tell us your story. Until I am absolutely convinced of your guilt, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."
"Oh bless you--bless you!" Fane seized Arnold's hand, and tried to kiss it, but the young man drew it away, with an ejaculation of disgust, and wiped it.
"Be a man," he said angrily. "If you had nerve enough to kill poor Flora in that brutal manner, surely you can face the result."
"I didn't kill her, I tell you," cried Fane in an hysterical manner. "I am as innocent as you are. Give me the brandy--give--ah!"
He had it to his lips by this time, and drained the glass of neat spirits at a draught. Then he coughed, placed the glass on the table, and sat down. The spirit give him the courage he lacked, and after a few moments he looked up, more composed.
"Sit down, Calvert, and you, Mr. Tracey. I'm going to make a clean breast of it. But you will not find me so bad as you think."
"Whatever you may say, the case is bad enough," growled Tracey, and took a seat. Calvert did the same, and both pair of eyes were turned expectantly on the culprit. Fane began in a hurry, as though he was afraid lest the effect of the spirit should die out, and leave him powerless to finish his gruesome recital.
"I am the husband of Flora Brand," he declared in a low voice, and with a flushed face, induced by shame at his position. "I met her five or six years ago--I forget the exact time--and married her."
"Why did you call yourself Wentworth?" asked Arnold.
Fane wriggled and looked down. "I hardly know," he said faintly. "I wanted----" he paused, then out came the truth with a violent effort. "I wanted two strings to my bow."
"As how?" asked Tracey, watching him.
"In this way. I met Flora in a crowd at some fireworks. She was in danger of being crushed. I rescued her. She was pretty, and I admired her. I followed up the acquaintance, and called on her mother."
"As Wentworth?"
"Yes! I--I----" here Fane wriggled again, and made an effort as though swallowing a lie. "I called myself Wentworth, because I didn't wish her to know my real name. For the same reason I said I was a commercial traveller."
"I don't see the reason."
"You will soon," said Fane, with a cynical look, for, as the brandy took more effect on him, he became bolder. "I had a small sum of money, and no occupation. If I wanted to be at ease, it was necessary that I should marry a rich woman. I wanted to leave a way of escape."
"I see," said Tracey, in a tone of disgust. "You intended to marry Flora under your false name, so that should occasion offer, you might marry a wealthy woman under your real one."
"Yes," said Fane calmly; "that was my intention. But I did not intend to marry Flora at all at first. Then I fell so deeply in love with her that I decided to ask her to be my wife. She told me of the money she expected from Brand in Australia, and of course that made me eager to marry her."
"Then why did you take the name of Brand?"
"One of my friends saw me in the neighbourhood, and I could no longer assume the name of Wentworth. Flora's mother was just dead, so I told her that I expected money from a man called Brand, who had the same name as the man in Australia."
"You got the name from him?"
"Yes
"Well," said Calvert, "I don't see your reason for the change of name. Wentworth would have served quite as well to hide your contemplated villainy. I suppose you know, Mr. Fane, that even though you married Flora under a false name, the marriage holds good."
Fane shivered. "Yes, I learned that from my lawyer when I went to see him about my marriage with Julia. I had no intention of committing bigamy. Circumstances were so strong----"
"Oh, chuck that," said Tracey roughly; "get along with the yarn."
"Fane looked angrily at the indignant face of the American, and obeyed. He had no alternative.
"I took the name of Brand, and married Flora. We lived at Gunnersbury, and were always talking what we should do, when we got the Brand money. I intended to furnish a house with the money I had."
"What about the White Room?"
"That was a favourite fancy of Flora's. She loved a white room. I promised to furnish one in the new house."
"Then you did not furnish Ajax Villa for Miss Mason?"
"No; for Flora. News came that the old man was very ill--probably dying. The money had been left to Flora. On the strength of that, I spent my money in furnishing the villa, so that when we inherited the fortune I might take Flora there."
"It seems to me you counted your chickens before they were hatched, Fane," said Calvert; "but it's just the sort of thing a weak man like you would do. I suppose you loved Flora in a way."
"I did love her. I loved her very dearly. Had I not done so I would have severed myself from her when I married Julia. As it was----"
"You betrayed both women," finished Calvert. "Yes?"
Fane hung his head, for the scorn in Calvert's voice was hard to bear with patience.
"I knew Julia for some time, and knew she was rich. She took a fancy to me, and I saw that I would only have to ask her to be my wife, and she would consent. Then came the news that old Brand had married his housekeeper. I thought it was all up with the chance of getting the money, so I married Julia. As a commercial traveller (as Flora believed me to be) I could stop away for a long time. I induced her to take the Hampstead house, and did not appear in the matter. I acted----"
"Like a mean hound!" cried the American wrathfully. "In our country you'd have been tarred and feathered, and lynched on the top it."
"There's no need to call names," said Fane cynically. "I am at your mercy, so----"
"You deserve none."
"Calvert, I appeal to you," said Fane, turning to the other.
"You shall have strict justice, and no more," said Arnold, in an icy tone; "anything I do will be for the sake of your wife and child."
Fane shrugged his shoulders, and sneered. "Virtuous men," he said; "oh, what virtuous men! But had you been in a dilemma, as I was, you would have acted as I did. I had little money, having foolishly spent a lot on the furnishing of Ajax Villa. Also, I had to pay the rent. And you know, Calvert, how magnificently it is furnished."
"White Room and all," said Calvert, coldly and unsmilingly.
"Yes, I arranged that to surprise Flora. But after we learned that the money of Brand would not come to us, we did not get on well together."
"I guess you made her suffer," said Tracey savagely.
"No. The fault was with Flora. She thought I was in love with other women, and was jealous."
"She had cause to be. Go on."
"Not so, as far as she knew," replied Fane coolly. "Well, we did not get on harmoniously. Then, finding matters were desperate with me, I proposed to Julia, and married her."
"And you took her to the villa you had prepared for Flora?"
"Yes, I did," said Fane defiantly. "Julia's money could keep up that house, and Flora had none. I told Julia I was fond of yachting, and she allowed me to go away for months at a time. She did not mind so long as I left her control of the business, as I did. I bought into the firm with a little of my money, and a good deal of hers. The business rightfully belonged to her, so she did the work."
"And you went away yachting?"
"I never yachted at all--or very little," said Fane in a contradictory manner. "I spent the time when away from Julia with Flora."
"And the time you indulged yourself as a commercial traveller, you spent at Ajax Villa," said Calvert.
"Yes. I managed to keep both wives, and both households."
"Calvert and Tracey, amazed by the utter shamelessness of the man, stared at one another. But they could not help admiring the cleverness which he had employed to live this double life. How long did it last?" asked Calvert.
"For three years more or less. At last things became so bad that I wanted to be away from Flora for a long time. I suggested that I might be a relative of Brand and that I should go to Australia. Flora believed that I went."
"And all the time you were posing as Fane at Ajax Villa?"
"I was--I told Julia I was tired of yachting. I remained at home----"
"One of your homes."
"In my own home," said Fane, with emphasis, "under my own name. I suppose this man Bocaros--although I don't know him--must have seen me and have put two and two together."
"Yes," chimed in Tracey, "and no doubt he heard of you from Miss Mason, who is a friend of Gerty B. She is the daughter of Bocaros's landlady, Mrs. Baldwin, and he was frequently at her house."
Fane groaned. "To think I should have been given away like that," he said in a melancholy tone, "and I never knew the danger. I wonder why Bocaros told Flora?"
"For the money, I guess," said Tracey, "seeing she made a will in his favour. But that needs clearing up; the professor shall do it. You get along with your story."
"There's little more to tell."
"Oh yes, there's a lot. What about the crime?"
"I am innocent," protested Fane solemnly; "I came back to Flora while Bocaros was poisoning her mind. She accused me of being married but I denied it. She never mentioned Bocaros, or I should have been placed on my guard. I remained a time in the Hampstead house, and I suppose while I was there Flora, under the direction of Bocaros, managed to take an impression of my key. I always wore my latch-key on a chain, but Flora could easily have taken an impression while I was asleep. Then I went away for the last time, thinking that her jealous fears were at rest. She told me about the money, and I was enraged to think how I was done out of it. Julia has not ten thousand a year," said Fane sadly, "or anything like it. I would have done better to stick to Flora."
"Go on," said Arnold impatiently, "for heaven's sake spare us these remarks. You left the Hampstead house, thinking all was well."
"Yes," replied Fane, with a sullen glance at the man who rebuked him, "and all would have been well but for that interfering Greek. I went down to Westcliff-on-Sea, and stopped with my wife."
"With Miss Julia Mason?"
"With my wife," said Fane savagely; "I look upon her as my wife."
"Does she know you were married before?"
"No. She knows a lot and about the death of Flora. But she thinks----"
Arnold rose. The man sickened him. "Don't say anything more. I can understand what lies you told her. Come to the point. Why did you come up on that night to Ajax Villa?"
Fane gave Arnold a second ugly look. "I came, because on the morning of the twenty-fourth I received a letter from Flora saying she had found out my house and was going there on that night to see my wife. She insisted I should be there also so that she might learn the exact truth."
"As though a low-down cuss like you was capable of telling it," said Tracey, in disgust; "but how did the letter come to the seaside? Did Mrs. Brand know your address there?"
"No. The letter was addressed to Ajax Villa, and sent on. It had been written on the previous day, and had I received it earlier, I should have gone to Hampstead and seen Flora. As it was, I had no time, and could see her only at the villa."
"You had the whole day," said Arnold dryly, "seeing that you received her letter in the morning."
"Yes. But Mrs. Fane was in the room when I received it. She became angry, for she is a very jealous woman. I swore it was not from a woman. She would not believe me, and all that day kept a watch on me. I could not get away, yet I felt, to put things straight and to persuade Flora to hold her tongue, I must. I then pretended to be ill and went to bed. After five I slipped out and took the six train to town. I have reason to believe that my wife followed----"
"We'll come to that later," said Calvert quickly. "Did you go at once to the villa?"
"No. Flora said she would not be there till between eight and nine. I waited in town. Then I met a friend and he detained me till nearly nine. I got away at last, and went to the villa. It was in darkness. I could not find Flora in the garden where I expected she would be."
"You didn't know she had a key?"
"No. She said nothing about it in her letter. I wondered where she was, then concluded that as I was late she had gone away. I intended going to the Hampstead house, but thought I would go into my own for a time. I opened the door, and went upstairs. I entered the White Room, and there I found Flora, dead."
"Dead!" it was Arnold who spoke; "you swear she was dead?"
"Yes, I swear it," said Fane, striking his breast in a somewhat theatrical manner. "She was lying dead on the mat before the piano, and had apparently been struck from behind. I looked at my watch;---it was a quarter past nine. I was horrified and wondered how she had come by her end. I searched the house. There was no one about, and all the doors were barred. About half-past nine, while I was searching in the back, I heard a ring at the door. I was terrified, and thought if I were found in the house with the dead that I would be arrested."
"And it's a pity you were not," said Tracey.
"A ring at the door at half-past nine," said Arnold thoughtfully; "I expect that was Laura. She promised to meet me there then. But after a time, as no one came to the door, she went away."
Fane stared at Calvert. "What was Laura doing there?" he asked. "I knew you came, but Laura----"
"How did you know I came?" said Arnold sharply.
"I saw you."
"Where?"
"In the White Room when you looked at the body."
"Then you remained in the house?"
"I was afraid to go," said Fane, with a shudder; "I thought some one would see me coming out of the house, and that I would be arrested when the crime came to light. I had an idea of disposing of the body, but I could not. After the ring at the door I waited for a time. Then I stole back to the White Room, and took the dagger which was lying by the body."
"A stage dagger?"
"Yes. Though I didn't know it was so at the time. I went to the back and thrust it into the dustbin out of sight. I was afraid to take it away with me lest it should be found on me, for that with the dead body and my relations with the dead woman, would have been evidence enough to hang me. I hid the dagger in the bin. Then I was coming back to the room, when I heard footsteps."
"Whose footsteps?"
"I don't know. I was too afraid to venture out. I remained in the back part of the house almost mad with terror. Calvert," cried Fane, clasping his hands, "I assure you I thought my brain would give way. I fancied that the police were in the house and that the body had been discovered. I made up my mind to be arrested. Had I but had the nerve I would have gone back for the dagger and killed myself."
Tracey sneered. "People of your sort don't kill themselves. Well, how long did you hide?"
"I can't say. Till some time after ten. Then I heard the front door close and stole out. I went up to the White Room. The body was still undisturbed. I wondered how I could get away and down to Southend so as to establish analibi. Then I waited and heard you come in. Yes, I heard the door open. I concealed myself behind the hangings of the room. I saw you enter. You started when you saw the dead and recognised the body, to my surprise. Arnold, how was it you never knew me as Flora's husband?"
"I saw very little of my cousin," said Arnold, "and she scarcely spoke of you."
"But the photographs?"
"I never saw any of you."
"Yet there were several. Afterwards, when all was quiet, and after the body was buried, I went to the Hampstead house and removed all papers and photographs so that my connection with Flora might not be known."
"You forgot a photograph that Derrick found, and one that I picked up," said Tracey; "then there was a diary."
"I never thought of the diary," said Fane, passing his hand across his face, "yet I should have. Flora told me she kept one, and I might have guessed she would set down everything. But I was in such terror at being discovered in the Hampstead house that I forgot."
"You were a coward right through," said Arnold coldly; "however, go on. What happened after you saw me?"
"I waited. You went down the stairs evidently in a great fright. As you recognised the body I knew you would not call in the police, as you apparently fancied you might be accused. When you left I went to the window to see you go out. I saw the officer passing, and then to make him think that people were in the house, and to drive you away, I set the phonograph going."
"I heard it--I was in the hall," said Arnold, "and I was afraid. I admit it, Fane, I was terribly afraid."
"I guessed you would be. You left the house. I saw the policeman lean over the gate to listen. I saw you join him. I saw you walk away. Then I thought I would escape. When you were gone with the officer, I stole out. I passed along a by-street. I saw a motor----"
"My car," said Tracey, "and you took it to Charing Cross."
"I did," nodded Fane, "then I left it there and caught the underground railway to Liverpool Street, where I took the express to Southend. The rest you know."
"Not who killed Mrs. Brand," said Arnold.
Fane considered. "I can't tell you who did," he said; "she was dead before I came, so those who came into the house after ten could not have killed her."
"Do you know who they were?"
"No! I heard footsteps."
"How do you know there were two?"
"I only think so. There might have been only one person. I can't say, I was not in a state to think. I hid, and then all happened as I say. I don't know who killed my wife. I got back to Southend and afterwards heard the body had been discovered. I came to town and bluffed out the whole matter with that fool of a Derrick. When I heard about the Hampstead house being found I went there before Derrick came, and removed everything, as I said."
"Did you find nothing to lead you to think who killed Mrs. Brand?"
Fane hesitated. "I can hardly say," he said, feeling in his watchpocket, "but as you know so much you may as well know all."
"We must know all for your safety."
"You believe I am guiltless?"
"Yes," said Arnold slowly, "I think you are, seeing that your story is consistent. But we'll see. I will do nothing publicly for the sake of your wife and Laura. What did you find?"
Fane took out his watch-chain and produced an old-fashioned, small round locket of pale gold. "That was in the hand of Flora," he said. "I expect she grasped at it when the murderer struck at her."
"There was a struggle, then," said Calvert, and opened the locket. He gave a cry: "Calvert, it's Mrs. Baldwin's face!"
Tracey started also. Sure enough it was the face of Mrs. Baldwin only much younger-looking. "I said a woman did it," murmured Tracey heavily, "but I never thought it would be that woman. Yet she might be the one."