While these events were taking place, Professor Bocaros was having rather an unpleasant time with Emily Doon. One morning she came crying to him, with the information that Mrs. Fane had dismissed her for her treachery. "And it's all your fault," said Emily.
"I am very sorry," began the professor.
"What's the use of sorrow?" lamented Miss Doon. "Will sorrow keep bread and butter in my mouth? I have been dismissed without a character, and where am I to go?"
"There's your sister----"
"Oh, thank you, baron," flamed up the girl; "but I can arrange my own affairs. You had no business telling Mrs. Fane. Had I known you intended to play me so dirty a trick I should not have spoken."
"It was necessary that I should do so, for my schemes."
"Well, and what are your schemes coming to? Here am I without a situation, and with hardly a penny. I shan't go to Fanny's. She would keep me toiling and moiling in her horrid lodging-house from morning to night. I am not used to hard work. Keep your promise and marry me."
"I am only too glad to do that," said Bocaros quickly. "You know that I love you very dearly."
"You wouldn't treat me so badly if you did. What about the money?"
Bocaros frowned. "I can't say yet," he said. "But get that money I will. As to your dismissal, I shall see Mrs. Fane and put it right."
"Not with her," said Emily, rising. "She's a hard one, she is, and I shan't go back to be sneered at. Money or no money, I marry you."
"But if I don't get the money," said Bocaros doubtfully.
"I'll still have the title, and one can do so much with the title."
"The professor seized her wrist. When you marry me you will have to behave yourself," he said. "I am not going to give you my honoured name for you to drag in the mud."
"I'll do as I like," gasped Emily defiantly.
"You will not. Become my wife if you choose, for I love you too well to give you up, money or no money. But once you are the Baroness Bocaros, you will be above suspicion. Play me false, soil my name, and I'll kill you."
"You look just the sort to kill a woman," said Miss Doon, wrenching her hand away. "For all I know, you killed that cousin of yours to get the money."
The professor shook her hard. "How dare you say that!" he exclaimed furiously. "I do not know who killed my cousin. But I more than suspect Arnold Calvert. I spoke to your mistress. She can prove much, and she will. The money--the money----" Bocaros convulsively opened and shut his hand. "I must have that money."
"Well," said Emily, rising to go, "you hear me. I'm going to Fanny for a week, and I shall expect to hear from you. I'll marry you as soon as you can get the licence, and I'll behave as I like."
"No," said Bocaros savagely.
"Yes," she retorted. "Don't you think I'm a fool, baron, because I'm not. I can play my own game. If you don't marry me, I'll tell the police what I told you."
"You'll ruin your mistress if you do."
"She's ruined me," retorted Miss Doon, her hand on the door, "and I always pay my debts. I don't know what game you are playing, but, as I say, I can play my own."
Bocaros made a dash at her, but she was too quick for him. With wonderful dexterity she whipped through the door, and was outside, walking rapidly away, before he had time to recover from his rage. He went back to his chair, and flung himself down with a curse. Mrs. Fane had evidently played him false, since she had behaved so with her maid. Bocaros had thought she was in his power, but the dismissal of Emily showed that Mrs. Fane was quite prepared to make the matter public. If this were the case, she might not be ready to assist him in punishing Arnold, since she would not care to be mixed up with a murder case. And the whole chance of getting the money out of Calvert lay in the fact of the matter being kept quiet. From Arnold's demeanour Bocaros did not think he was guilty, but he fancied he could frighten him, and so gain his ends. But if Mrs. Fane made the whole affair public, Calvert might--and probably would--face the worst. No money would be forthcoming then. So Bocaros sat gnawing his fingers, filled with perplexing thoughts and looking old and worn.
"I'll see Jasher," he said to himself, "and tell him all. He may see a way out of the matter. I'll write to him to come here this evening."
So saying, the professor sat down and wrote a letter, which he directed to the Private Inquiry-Office. He closed the envelope and stamped it, and then returned to his seat. Hardly had he sat down when a sharp knock came to the door. Glancing through the window, the professor saw Calvert and Tracey on the step. Here was the very man he was wishing to circumvent putting his head into the lion's mouth. But Bocaros did not like the presence of Tracey, as the American was so sharp. He could deal with Arnold, but Tracey was beyond him. At first he decided to remain quiet in the hope that the two men would depart, but his curiosity got the better of his prudence, and he opened the door, to be met by the smile of Luther.
"Well, professor, and how are you?" said Luther, stepping inside without an invitation. "I have brought Mr. Calvert to see you. We want to say a few words."
"I am delighted to see you, Mr. Calvert," said Bocaros, very much on his guard from this polite demeanour of Tracey. "Come in. I hope you will excuse my humble abode. With your money, you are used to palaces."
"Only to Bloomsbury lodgings," said Arnold, taking a seat. "You forget I have only come into my kingdom lately. By the way, was not that Mrs. Fane's maid I saw leaving your house?"
"It was. She came on an errand."
"Arnold glanced curiously at the man. He did not know the truth, nor could he guess what errand had brought Miss Doon to this lonely house. He was seated near the window, and the professor went to get another chair. Tracey, who was walking about, spied the letter to Jasher on the desk. Taking it up, he looked at the address, then without a moment's hesitation slipped it into his pocket. Arnold did not see this proceeding, or he might have objected. But Luther had considered the matter. He suspected Bocaros, and wondered what devilry he was up to in corresponding with Jasher. He therefore took the letter to read at his leisure, and should it be harmless he would send it on. But Tracey was unscrupulous, and thinking he was dealing with a rogue, resolved--as in the present instance--to beat him with his own weapons. Having thus accomplished his purpose, he returned to his seat, when Bocaros, with an extra chair, entered the room.
"Well, gentlemen," said the professor when seated, "what can I do?"
"That's rather a difficult question to answer, professor," said Calvert, signing to Tracey to hold his too fluent tongue. "Mr. Tracey and I have come to see you about this murder."
"What have I to do with it?" asked Bocaros coldly.
"Well, you asked me to search for the criminal, and said if I did not, you would do so yourself. Have you?"
"Yes," replied Bocaros, "I have searched with Jasher. From all I have learned, sir--since we are to speak plainly--I think you are the guilty person."
"And if I am, professor, what will you do?"
"Bocaros rose. I don't exactly know. I hate you for killing Flora, who was a charming woman; but since you are a relative of mine----"
"Only a relative by marriage," interrupted Calvert. "That hardly counts, I think."
"Still, you are a relative," persisted the professor, "so I am willing to hush the matter up."
"For money, I guess," said Tracey, who had not lost a word.
"Certainly, for money," said Bocaros dryly. "The fortune of my cousin should be mine. She changed her mind and left it to you. I claim half."
"And you will hold your tongue if I give you five thousand a year?"
"Yes; I will certainly do that," said the professor, thinking he was getting on capitally.
"What about the detective?" asked Luther.
"Jasher? Well, you will have to settle with him also. He will require money also."
"And if I refuse to pay you or Jasher?" asked Arnold.
"I shall ask Jasher to see Inspector Derrick and tell what we know."
Arnold looked curiously at Bocaros, and wondered at the hardihood of his threat. "Merely out of curiosity, professor, I should like to know what evidence you have against me."
"That is easy," said Bocaros promptly. "You were not at the theatre till after nine, and Flora was killed before then. The money you wanted very badly. I heard about the stage dagger from Mrs. Fane's maid, and I know you used it, and----"
"Wait," said Arnold quickly. "All these things I can disprove by analibi. I was at my rooms till nearly half-past nine, as my landlady, Mrs. Varney, can prove. I then went down and finished acting the part, when Hart was unexpectedly taken ill."
"But you were at the house," said Bocaros savagely. "Yes; later. But Mrs. Brand was murdered before nine by your own showing, professor, so you can prove nothing against me."
"I can make your doings on that night public," said the other, feeling the money slipping away from him.
"Hardly, unless you want to find yourself in a very unpleasant position, my good man."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Mrs. Brand left a diary behind her, which was discovered by me and Mr. Tracey. In it, she relates your visits to her--and you paid more than two, professor."
"What if I did visit her?" said Bocaros, the perspiration rising on his forehead. "She was my cousin, and----"
"And you had every right to do so. Quite so. But had you a right to tell her about Fane?"
"Fane?" stammered the Greek, completely taken aback.
"Yes. You knew before July that Fane and Brand were one and the same."
"I did not--I did not."
"I guess you did," said Tracey; "see here, professor, what's the use of slinging lies? I guess we've got the bulge on you this trip. Mrs. B.'s diary gave away the whole thing, and now we have come to ask what you were doing in the house on the night of the murder?"
"Or, to put it plainly," said Arnold quietly, "why you killed Flora?"
Bocaros, as Fane had done before him, leaped to his feet. "I did not kill the woman! I swear I did not."
"Fane said the same thing."
"But Fane did. He was in the house."
"How do you know that?" asked Luther; and Bocaros, seeing he had gone too far, was silent. "I reckon," went on the American, "that this is what the law calls a conspiracy. You've been building up card-castles to get that money, and they've tumbled. Now it's our turn to threaten to make things public, professor, and if you don't speak out you will be arrested."
"I arrested!" gasped Bocaros, stepping back a pace.
"Yes--for murder," said Arnold solemnly.
"I did not kill her."
"We have yet to be sure that you did not. At all events, you wrote letters to me and to Miss Mason, so that you might bring us to the house on that night, so as to implicate us in the matter. It was very clever, Bocaros, and, but that I overslept myself on that night, I would have been at Ajax Villa. Then, I grant you, my position would have been awkward, seeing I inherit the money. As it is I can prove that I had nothing to do with the matter. If you did not kill the woman, who did?"
"Fane," said Bocaros, with dry lips. "Yes, Fane came up from Southend, and Fane struck the blow to rid himself of an encumbrance."
"He says he didn't," said Tracey; "we've put him through his paces, and, although he's a mean white, I guess he's not a murderer. How did you know he came up from Southend? Did you write the letter to lure him there also?"
"No; Flora wrote it herself."
"Under your direction?"
"I shan't say."
"You'll have to say," said Arnold quickly; "we will have you arrested otherwise. What has become of the locket Mrs. Baldwin gave you?"
Bocaros looked up doggedly. "She gave me no locket."
"She did," insisted Calvert. "A small round locket, with her photograph inside. You wore it on your watch-chain; and when Flora was struck, she turned round and tore it off in her death-agony. It was found in her clenched hand by Fane."
"I never had any locket," said Bocaros, with dry lips. "I am innocent."
"You'll find that hard to prove. However, both myself and Tracey are willing to give you a hearing."
"What will you do if I confess?"
"I will send you out of the country."
"I guess that's so. We don't want your sort dumped here," said Tracey.
"Will you give me money, so that I may not starve?" said Bocaros, taking no notice of this speech, and addressing himself to Arnold.
"I don't think you deserve a penny, seeing how you proposed to blackmail me. However, if you can prove your innocence, and can tell us who is the real criminal, I will help you."
"I don't know who killed Flora, unless it was Fane."
"Well then, Fane didn't," said Luther sharply. "Now, fire ahead and reel out your yarn. No lies, mind, or there'll be trouble."
"Sir," said Bocaros, with a dignity which never deserted him throughout this very trying interview, "you forget I am a nobleman."
"I know. They sell your sort at a penny a bunch abroad," retorted Tracey. "Go on. Talk away. I want to hear of this conspiracy."
"There is no conspiracy," protested Bocaros. "I merely wished to get back my own."
"Ah, you look upon the ten thousand a year as your own," said Arnold; "may I ask how you make that out?"
"Flora left the money to me."
"She did, and changed her mind. How did you induce her to make a will in your favour?"
"It was her own good heart."
"Rubbish!" said Arnold roughly; "if you tell lies, professor, I won't help you. Come--the truth now."
Bocaros meditated. He wanted money badly, and if he went abroad--and Calvert had the power to force him to take such a course--he would certainly starve. The school, small as the salary was, kept him alive; but even this slender means of subsistence would be taken from him should he be banished from England. And by the stern faces of the two men, he saw very well that he would be judged with justice. He therefore made up his mind to earn the money by telling the truth. Anything was better than starvation, even loss of dignity. But for all that, and although he was fallen from his high estate, Bocaros kept up a dignified appearance, and spoke in his best style.
"I met my cousin, as I told you before," he said, "and I frequently went to see her."
"Why did you say you only paid three visits?" asked Calvert.
"For obvious reasons," said Tracey; "he wanted to keep his cards under the table."
"I don't know what you mean," said the professor quietly; "but I admit that I did not wish you to learn the part I had taken in this matter. I visited my cousin frequently. I saw a portrait of her husband, and recognised Mr. Fane."
"Where did you see him?"
"One day--no, on two occasions, I saw him walking with Miss Mason. I asked who he was. She told me her brother-in-law. When I saw Fane while calling on Mrs. Fane the other day I remembered his face again. But for the moment I forgot where I had seen him."
"Come now," cried Luther, "you couldn't forget a face like that--especially the face of a man whom you were trying to ruin."
"Bocaros put his hand to his head. My brain is not very clear at times," he faltered. "I often think I will take leave of my senses. I assure you, gentlemen, that I forgot where I had seen Mr. Fane when we came face to face the other day."
"Well, it doesn't matter," said Tracey, seeing that the man spoke truly; "go on, and tell us what you did."
"I said nothing to Mrs. Brand for a time, although I knew that her husband was married to another woman. She and her husband did not get on well together, and I did not want to make them more unhappy. Then she inherited the money, and before that Brand went presumably to Australia."
"He was here under the name of Fane," said Arnold.
"He was. I saw him at times. Well, Flora got the money. I wanted some. She talked of making a will in her husband's favour, for she still loved him. I then hinted that he was married. She nearly went out of her mind. I refused to tell her the truth until she made a will in my favour. She did. And she treated me very badly," burst out Bocaros, warm with the memory of his wrongs; "she changed the will after she got the truth out of me. When I heard of her death, I quite thought the money would come to me. Instead of that----"
"It was a case of the biter bit," said Arnold. "I think Flora did quite right. You had no right to levy blackmail."
"It was not blackmail," said Bocaros indignantly, and really he seemed to believe what he said. "I made her leave the money to me, and then I told her the truth."
"The whole truth?"
"Not then. I did not wish her to make trouble at once. I told her that her husband's real name was Fane, and that he had a wife and child. But I did not say where the house was."
"Well, what happened?"
"Fane came back as Brand, saying he had changed his mind about going to Australia. I advised Flora to take an impression of his latch-key, so that she could prove the house was Fane's, by its opening the door. She thought this a good idea. Also, she wished to get inside to see the White Room about which I had told her. She took the impression when Fane was asleep. I had the keys made."
"How many?" asked Arnold quickly; "one was sent to me by you."
"No; I did not send that. Three keys were made. One Flora kept herself, and two she gave me. I used one to enter the house myself----"
"Oh, you acknowledge you were in the house?"
"I do. I lost the other key."
"Where?" demanded Arnold, looking keenly at the man who seemed to speak in all good faith.
Bocaros again looked bewildered. "I hardly know. I left it in this room, and I never found it again."
"Did you not send the key to me?"
"No; I swear I did not."
"Then who did?"
"I can't say. The key was left here, and lost. I used the other."
"H'm!" said Arnold, after a pause. "Go on, and tell us about your doings on that night. We can talk of the missing key later. What happened?"
"I appointed to meet Mrs. Brand in the garden. She had the key, and so had I. She told me that she had written asking her husband to come up. She sent the letter to Ajax Villa, and thought it would be sent on. I was annoyed at this."
"Did she tell you this when you met?"
"No; because we did not meet on that night."
"How was that?"
"I was kept till late at the school and could not get away. It was ten o'clock before I left, as I could not get away earlier although I pleaded an engagement. I thought Flora would enter the house and wait. I arrived a few minutes after ten, and saw the light burning, I then thought she was waiting. I entered with my own key, and went upstairs to where the light was. It was the White Room. There I saw Flora dead--stabbed under the left shoulder-blade. On seeing this I grew afraid, and came away at once."
"Oh!" said Arnold, after another pause; "so it was you Fane heard in the house after ten o'clock?"
"I was there after ten, and I went away early at half-past."
"Who was with you?" asked Tracey; "Fane said there were two men."
"I was alone," said Bocaros; "there was no one with me. All happened as I say. I grew afraid, seeing that I was Flora's cousin, and that it was I who had brought her to the house. Also, I had got the keys for her, and she had made a will in my favour. I fancied if I were found I would be arrested and hanged."
"There was certainly enough evidence to hang you," said Calvert. "I also was afraid when I found the body; I fled also. We all seemed to have lost our heads."
"I don't think you did, Calvert," said Tracey, "considering the slim way you lured that policeman away. Well, professor, did you see any one in the house?"
"Not a soul. I was there only for a quarter of an hour or so."
Luther nodded. "Yes; Fane said he heard you go out. But Fane fancied there were two men."
"I was alone," said the professor positively, and the others believed him. He had no reason to tell lies, seeing the position in which he was placed. His only chance of safety lay in telling the truth--the exact truth, and he appeared to be doing so.
"Now then," said Calvert, when he and Tracey had digested this information, "what about the forged letters?"
"I did not write them. Why should I?"
"Well, you might have made up your mind to kill Flora, and then have arranged for me to be lured there, so that I might be accused."
"But I did not kill her; and had I written the letter to lure you, I should not have sent one to Miss Mason also. I could not accuse her."
"That's true enough," said Arnold perplexed; "so the key was lost in this room. Have you many visitors, professor?"
"Very few," said Bocaros, glancing at Tracey. "You often come," this was to the American.
"I do," assented that gentleman; "are you going to accuse me of taking the key?"
"The key has gone."
"That is as much as to say I took it, and killed Mrs. Brand," said the other, with a shrug; "but who else comes? That maid?"
"She only paid me a visit after the murder."
"Well, she can't be guilty. Who else?"
Bocaros reluctantly admitted that Mrs. Baldwin sometimes came.
On hearing this, Tracey looked disturbed. "Can she have taken the key?"
"Nonsense!" said Arnold decisively--"a fat, lazy woman like that? Besides, the person who had the key would write the letters, seeing that the key came in one. Why should Mrs. Baldwin desire to get me and Laura into trouble?"
"I don't know," murmured Tracey anxiously, and recalling Mrs. Baldwin's behaviour at the Hampstead cottage. "She's a queer fish. Then that locket with her picture----"
"I have seen Mrs. Baldwin with such a locket," said Bocaros.
"Oh, you have." Tracey, much alarmed, looked at Calvert. "I say, you don't think she killed Mrs. Brand?"
Grave as the situation was, Calvert smiled at the idea of Mrs. Baldwin in the character of Lady Macbeth. "I would as soon think of my having done it myself," he declared. "There is some mystery about all this. Can you solve it, professor?"
"No," said Bocaros. "I have told you all. What will you do?"
"Interview Mrs. Baldwin, and ask her about the locket," said Arnold, rising. "By the way, I must see Jasher. He may have made some discovery."
"He will be here this evening," said Bocaros. "I have written to him."
Tracey tapped his coat. "I have the letter, and will post it. In fact, now I have his address, I will send a wire."
"But how dare you take my letters?"
"Go slow, professor. I'm running this show now. We'll come here to meet Jasher this evening, and thresh out the matter. You take it lying down, or you won't get any money. And now, Arnold Calvert, Esquire?"
"We will see Mrs. Baldwin about the locket," said Arnold.
Mrs. Baldwin had been much disturbed since the appearance of her husband. In her secret soul she dreaded the return of the man who had treated her so badly. All these years she had kept her fears to herself, but sometimes she suffered agonies. For some time these had grown less keen, as Rufus not appearing she fancied he must be dead. But the head of Rufus had been seen at the window: she had distinctly seen his face, and she knew she was no longer safe. He could not touch her money which was safely tied up, nor could he deal with the land she owned. But he had a way of terrorising her which would make her give him whatever he wanted. He would spend the money, treat his children badly, leave her next door to a pauper, and on the whole make things as unpleasant as he knew how.
There is nothing makes a man bolder than fear. This is paradoxical but true. Under the influence of supreme fear, the most cowardly person will become brave to rid himself of the cause of terror. Balzac acutely observes that "The rebellion of a sheep is terrible," and in this way Mrs. Baldwin felt. She was a timid woman in reality and had given in to the will of the brute she had unfortunately married. When he went away--not being able to get more money out of her--she breathed freely. But now that there was a chance of his coming into her life again, Mrs. Baldwin felt all her old terrors revive. But she determined if he did come she would kill him. To this extent had her fear driven her. She was scared to death, and therefore was the more dangerous.
Had she been wise, she would have seen her lawyers and told them everything. As Rufus had deserted her for so many years, the law would put things right for her. As he had treated her with brutality her evidence would enable the law to arrange matters so that she would no longer live in a state of terrorism. She could get a separation, even a divorce. But Mrs. Baldwin was not wise. She was a slow-thinking woman, and the mere presence of the man terrified. If he came to rule her again, she would not have the will to go to her lawyers and tell the truth. She therefore took matters into her own hands and bought a pistol which she kept under her bed-pillow in the night and under the sofa-pillow in the day. She made up her mind that if he came secretly to the house, as he had done, and would likely do again, she would shoot him. She would give the man no chance of exerting his influence over her. But of all this she said nothing, not even to Gerty, who could not understand why her mother grew thinner and more silent. Instead of reading and eating Turkish-delight as usual, Mrs. Baldwin wandered about the house feeling every now and then for the weapon in her pocket which she always took when she left the sofa.
"I'm all right, dear," said Mrs. Baldwin fretfully when Gerty made remarks; "I have a little worry, but it will pass away."
Things were in this state when Tracey arrived in the company of Arnold. The two entered the room, being introduced by one of the twins. Gerty was away teaching an old gentleman to manage a motor-car, and Mrs. Baldwin was alone. As usual she was lying on the sofa, but no longer reading or eating sweets. She lay there a shapeless mass in her tawdry tea-gown staring at the roof. When Tracey entered she started and thrust her hand under the pillow. But when she saw it was merely her future son-in-law she sank back with a smile. However, the sudden start made her face white, and Tracey noted it.
"You haven't been troubled by Rufus, have you?" he asked.
"No," said Mrs. Baldwin, with a faint smile, "he has never been near me since. When he does come," her eyes gleamed, "I am ready for him--I am no longer the timid weak woman I was. How are you, Mr. Calvert?"
"Very well, Mrs. Baldwin. You do not look well."
"I have trouble. We all have our troubles."
"Say," observed Tracey, "I've brought Calvert here to ask a question about a piece of jewellery of yours."
Mrs. Baldwin sat up. "My diamond necklace," she cried, "where is it?"
Arnold looked puzzled and Tracey held his tongue. "I know nothing about a diamond necklace," said Calvert; "this is what I wish you to see----" As he spoke he extended his hand in the palm of which lay the round locket of pale gold which Fane had produced. Arnold did not get a chance of finishing his sentence, for the moment Mrs. Baldwin set eyes on the unpretending piece of jewellery she gave a loud cry, opened her eyes, and sitting up grasped Calvert by the arm:
"Where is he?" she asked; "is he outside? If he is----" she released Arnold and pulled out the pistol.
"What do you mean?" asked Calvert, drawing back.
"I guess I know," said Tracey, recalling the previous interview; "this locket belongs to Rufus."
"Yes it does," admitted Mrs. Baldwin, casting apprehensive glances at the door and window, and still grasping the pistol; "where is he?"
"Not here," said Tracey, and strove to take the pistol away. But Mrs. Baldwin resisted.
"He will come," she said, "and I must be ready," and with that she replaced the pistol under the pillow.
"What does she mean?" asked Calvert in a whisper.
"Never mind," returned the American much discomposed, "ask her about the locket. She's queer, that's all."
"The locket--the locket," murmured Mrs. Baldwin, beginning to weep; "I gave it to Rufus when I thought he wasn't a brute. My portrait is in it. I was a young girl----"
"Will you look at it?" said Calvert, passing the locket.
Mrs. Baldwin shrank back as though she had been asked to handle a snake. "No, I dare not. He has worn it. Did he give it to you; or," she asked vindictively, "was it taken from his dead body?"
"It was taken from a dead hand."
"From the hand of Rufus. Is he dead? Am I free? Oh, great heavens, am I free?" and Mrs. Baldwin clapped her hands hysterically.
"No. It was taken from the hands of the woman who was killed at Ajax Villa. Evidently the man who wore it----"
"Rufus," whispered Mrs. Baldwin----
"Had a struggle with his victim. She might have seen the blow coming, and putting out her hand to ward it off, must have clutched the locket as it hung to the watch-chain."
"Rufus wore it on his watch-chain," said Mrs. Baldwin; "it is his locket. I gave it to him. He is a burglar. Now he is a murderer. He will come and kill me. Where's the pistol?" and she fumbled under the sofa-pillow, grey with fear.
"We don't know that he's a murderer yet," said Tracey soothingly; "you go slow, ma'am."
"I tell you if that locket was found in the dead woman's hand, Rufus killed her," said Mrs. Baldwin, crushing her hands together.
"What is Rufus like in looks?" asked Tracey.
"Fat and red-faced, with grey hair. Always smiling--always smiling--a kind-looking man--with a black heart. A criminal--a brute, a----"
"Tracey," interrupted Arnold, rising, "she is describing Jasher."
"That's so," said the American, without surprise; "ever since Bocaros confessed that Jasher was his friend I have suspected. Well, now we know at last who killed Mrs. Brand."
"Another woman--another woman," moaned Mrs. Baldwin, "another victim."
"It will be his last," said Tracey grimly; "thank God he's not Gerty's poppa. I'm sorry for the children, though."
Mrs. Baldwin rose. "They must never know--never!"
"If Jasher, or Rufus as you call him, is caught he'll speak out, and the whole business will come to light," said Tracey.
"I don't know about that," said Arnold, with a troubled look; "let us see what we can do. Perhaps Jasher may be innocent."
"If there was murder to be done he did it," said Mrs. Baldwin, in a sharp manner; "do what you like, but keep the man out of my life. I'm dangerous. Quite as dangerous as he is."
"It's all right. You say nothing," said Tracey, and thereupon made Mrs. Baldwin lie down. Then he sent Arnold to wait for him outside, and soothed the woman. When he came out, he walked in silence to the gate. "I've mailed that letter," he said, "and sent a wire also. You bet Jasher, not suspecting anything wrong, will be at the little house yonder to-night."
"Will we get in the police?"
"Not just yet," said Tracey hesitatingly; "you see, he's Gerty's step-father after all. I guess we'll make him confess, and then chuck him out of the country. I don't want him to be arrested."
"We can't be sure of his guilt yet, either."
"No. That's a fact. Bocaros is keeping something back."
"What about Mrs. Baldwin?"
"She's all right. I've got her quiet. So long as this man doesn't cross her track she'll lie still. If he does----"
"Well. What if he does?"
"She'll drop him with that pistol of hers."
"Nonsense. She can't shoot!"
"She'll get the bullet into the heart of Jasher somehow, if he is her husband, as seems likely. The woman is mad with fear, and she'll get him out of her life somehow. I say, Calvert, don't say anything to any one of the rubbish she talks."
"No I won't--not if she shoots Jasher. And if he's the murderer, it would be about the best thing that could happen. For the sake of Mrs. Fane and the child, for Laura's sake, I want things hushed up."
"Same here," assented Tracey, "for the sake of Gerty and the kids. And for Momma Baldwin's sake also," he added; "I'm real sorry for her. She's a good sort, and will sleep better when Jasher's caught."
"But, I say, Tracey, why should Jasher have killed Flora Brand?"
"Can't say, unless it has to do with the money. But you go slow, we'll get at the truth this night."
Nothing more was said at the time, and with Luther, Calvert drove back to town. The play had ceased to run, so his evenings were now his own. He and the American had a meal in a Soho restaurant, but neither ate very much. When the meal was ended Tracey proposed to start for the professor's house at once. But Arnold, calling a cab, first drove to his lodgings. When there he produced two Derringers, and giving one to Tracey, put the other into his pocket.
"But what's this for?" asked Tracey.
"I think there's going to be a row," said Arnold, leading the way downstairs. "Jasher will show fight if he is the villain Mrs. Baldwin makes him out to be. Then there's Bocaros. I do not trust Bocaros."
"Oh, he's all right," said Luther, as they entered a hansom; "he's on the money tack, and so long as you give him the dollars he'll make it hot for Jasher."
"Do you think Bocaros knows the truth?"
"I'm sure of it. He only told so much as he was obliged to this afternoon. A deep cuss is the professor. I say, it's raining!"
"Worse," said Arnold, drawing up the collar of his coat, "a mist is coming on. We'll get lost in those fields."
"Don't mind, so long as Jasher don't get lost."
The cab drove on. The fog was not very thick in town, but as they neared Troy it became more dense. By the time they turned down Achilles Avenue a dense white pall lay over the earth, and the air was as cold as a December day. The cabman professed his inability to drive them further. On hearing this Tracey hopped out, followed by Calvert. "It's just as well," said the latter; "we don't want to make the thing too public."
He paid the cabman lavishly, and then the two men set off down the side-road which ran through the ancient village of Cloverhead. They passed along the lane which led to the stile on the verge of the fields, and at the back of the manor saw a light on the ground floor. "Mrs. Baldwin's bedroom," said Tracey as they jumped the stile; "she's in bed early--it's just eight o'clock. I guess her nerves have given way."
"I wonder she isn't afraid to sleep on the ground floor," said Arnold.
"Oh, she's only lost her nerve lately. She didn't mind before. I guess she'll change her bedroom soon and get up to the garret. Say, what a fog."
It was indeed a thick white fog, and to make things more uncomfortable it was raining steadily. The low-lying meadows underfoot were slushy, muddy, and slippery. The two men toiled through the dense curtain of mist more by instinct than by sight. Tracey knew the path to the little house well, as he had often passed over the fields to see Bocaros. By the feel of their boots they managed to keep to the somewhat irregular path which ran from the stile, and so by devious ways they succeeded in making their way across the waste. At last they came to gorse bushes looming out of the fog, and beyond this was a dim yellow light.
"I guess the professor hasn't disappointed us," said Tracey, as they felt their way to the door; "he's in there."
"Alone, probably," said Calvert.
Tracey shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. It's not the night to tempt a cat out let alone a comfortable scoundrel like Jasher, who hates, I bet, to get his feet wet. But the business is urgent, else Bocaros would not send for him, so fog or no fog, he's there."
"But Tracey was wrong. When they entered the warm study and took off their coats they formed a trio with the professor. He explained that Jasher had not arrived. Then they sat down and talked over the matter. The Greek had by this time turned King's evidence to save his own skin, and to get money out of Calvert.
"But you didn't tell us everything this afternoon?" said Arnold.
"What else there is to be told will be explained when Jasher is here," replied the Greek grimly; "it won't be pleasant for him."
"Guess there's no honour amongst thieves," muttered Tracey, toasting his steaming feet. "Say, professor," he added aloud, "why do you call that low-down cuss Jasher?"
"Has he another name?" asked Bocaros.
"He's bad enough to have a dozen names," growled Tracey, who did not intend to give away Mrs. Baldwin's secret, for Bocaros was just the man to make capital out of it. He had only made a tentative attempt to see if Bocaros knew anything of the matter. Apparently he did not, and to him Jasher was simply the private inquiry-agent he represented himself to be.
While they were thus talking a soft knock came to the window. The Greek put his finger to his lips and nodded silently. Evidently this was Jasher's private signal. When Bocaros left the room to admit his confederate--for Jasher was nothing more and nothing less--the young men felt for their revolvers. It was not likely that Jasher would give in without a struggle, and a show of force might be necessary. Arnold's heart thrilled at the coming fight, and Tracey's eyes glittered. "It might be a clearing out West," he whispered Calvert, "with judge Lynch holding his court."
Jasher, round and ruddy and as complacent as ever, entered in the wake of Bocaros. He had no idea that the Greek had betrayed him, for he shook hands--he insisted on shaking hands--with much gusto. "I am glad you are here, Mr. Calvert," said he, sitting down. "I have much to say. But what brings you to this quarter?"
"We have made a few discoveries ourselves," said Calvert, "and we came to talk them over with the professor."
"Why, the professor knows nothing," said Jasher, still quite unsuspicious. "Let me hear what you have found out."
"On the contrary, I should like to hear of your discoveries."
"Well," said Jasher, gazing into the fire, "it seems to me that Fane committed the crime. He came up from Southend, and he was at the villa on that night. I've an idea he knew this woman."
"What was she to him?" asked Arnold calmly.
"I have heard it said she was his wife."
"Why don't you say straight out what you know?" broke in Tracey; "I guess you knew the truth from Bocaros."
"Bocaros!" Jasher, with sudden suspicion, leaped to his feet, and his little eyes glittered. "What's that?"
"This much," said the Greek, also rising, "I have told these gentlemen all I know. Ah----"
"No you don't," said Tracey, catching Jasher as he hurled himself forward. "Go slow."
Jasher tried to recover his calm. "This is some joke, gentlemen," he said, wiping his face and looking at the watchful faces before him. "What does Professor Bocaros know?"
"He knows," said the Greek, keeping well behind Calvert, "that it was you who suggested the idea of getting Mrs. Brand to make the will in my favour. It was you who put me up to getting the key stolen and duplicated. It was you who wrote those letters luring Mr. Calvert and Miss Mason to the villa so that you might put the blame on them. I never knew you meant murder, Jasher," said Bocaros, stepping forward, "or I should not have joined with you."
"This is all lies," said Jasher faintly.
"It is true. And it was arranged when we found that the woman was dead that I should engage you as a detective so that you might be able to manipulate the case at your will. Owing to the change which Mrs. Brand made in her will, Calvert stood in my way and in yours. It was then that you proposed to fix the guilt of the murder on him."
"And had I not overslept myself," said Calvert, his eyes on Jasher, "I should have fallen into your trap."
"Let me out of this," said the detected scoundrel, and made a dash for the door. He was met by Tracey, revolver in hand. With an oath he slipped round his hand for his own weapon.
"Hold up your hands or I shoot!" said the Yankee. "Now get back to your seat and tell the truth if it's in you."
Sullenly and with all his surface good-nature gone, Jasher, with his hands held over his head, sat down. "It's a lie--a lie!" he said vehemently, finding his voice in the extremity of his danger. "Bocaros lured the woman to the villa. I came later--a few minutes after ten. I was admitted by him."
"That's a lie!" said Bocaros. "You told me you let yourself in with the key of Mrs. Brand."
"I didn't. I was not at the villa till after ten--the woman was killed before. I found you standing by the dead body. You killed her."
"I did not. From the fact that you had the key to enter, I guessed you must have seen Mrs. Brand earlier. You met her, I swear--not I. It was you who stabbed her, and with the dagger which she brought with her to threaten Fane. You arranged all these plans so that you could lay the blame on others. If I did not pay up, you arranged--as you told me--to hunt me down in your character of detective. It was you who killed the woman to get control of the money."
Jasher had kept his eyes steadily on the face of the professor. When the man finished, he flung up his hands with a wild cry and pointed to the window. "Look! Look! A face!" he shrieked.
The others involuntarily turned. In a moment Jasher whipped out his revolver and dashed out of the door. As he passed Bocaros he fired, and the Greek fell to the floor. "Judas! Judas!" cried the other man, and fled into the darkness.
Calvert remained behind to attend to the wounded man, but Tracey, whose blood was up because of the stratagem of which he had been the victim, dashed after Jasher, revolver in hand. He plunged into the cold mist, running wildly. His foot caught in the stump of a tree, and he fell at full length. In the blinding fog it was useless to attempt pursuit, but Jasher, without coat and hat, could not run far without being questioned by a policeman. The recent crime in Troy had made the police wary, and Jasher would certainly be detained. With this idea, Tracey rose and limped back to the house.
Meanwhile Jasher, who knew the ground well, turned to the left and ran across the meadow. He slipped his weapon into his pocket, and raced hard through the mist. By chance he came against the fence at the back of the manor-house, and saw above the yellow light of Mrs. Baldwin's bedroom. Jasher knew that she slept there, as for reasons of his own he had made himself acquainted with all that went on in the house. He had heard that his wife was rich because of the rise of land, and had intended to come back with an apology for having taken the diamond necklace. But the chance offered by the murder of Mrs. Brand to get a large sum of money out of Bocaros proved too tempting, and thus Jasher had remained away. Now that he was a fugitive and with--so far as he knew--Calvert and Tracey on his track, he thought he would take refuge with the wife he had treated so badly. He also knew that without hat and coat he would be stopped by the police, and when he dashed out of the professor's house it was his intention to make for the abode of his wife.
After listening intently and hearing nothing but the steady rain, Jasher, cursing his bad luck, climbed over the fence. He walked up the lawn and mounted the terrace which ran before the windows of Mrs. Baldwin's bedroom. At the middle window he knocked softly. He heard a cry within, and applying his eyes to a hole in the blind, he saw that his wife was alone, reading in bed. She had half-started up, and had her hand under the pillow.
"Who is there?" asked Mrs. Baldwin sharply.
"Maria. It's me--Rufus. Let me in. I am in danger!"
"Never! Never! Go away, or I'll alarm the house."
"Jasher pleaded, and swore, and did all he knew to make her alter her decision. But she would not. He was drenched by the rain, shivering, and hatless. The bloodhounds were on his track. He lost his head, and with a furious oath dashed his whole weight against the window. The frail structure broke inward, and, half blinded, he burst through the curtain. As in a dream he saw his wife wild with terror start from the bed. She raised her hand, and the next moment there came a stunning report. With a yell Jasher threw up his hands and fell. Mrs. Baldwin's shrieks aroused her daughter, the children, and the servants. They rushed into the room, and found the dead man and the frantic woman.
"A burglar--a burglar cried Mrs. Baldwin. I've killed him." Then she threw up her hands wildly. "Out of my life at last--out of my life!"
The next moment she was lying senseless by the side of the husband she had shot.