Fanks had gained some useful information from the lawyer, and it would appear that the conversation had settled, at least, two important points in the case. Of these the first was that Sir Louis could not have had anything to do with the commission of the crime, or the leaving of the parcel at the chambers in Half Moon Street. Yet the needle had been prepared by a man learned in experimental chemistry; and, as that was the special study of the new baronet, it might be that he was responsible for the preparation of that deadly instrument. By the death of his cousin he had gained a fortune; therefore that might stand as a motive for the committal of the crime. But Sir Louis had been ill for some months; he had been confined to bed, therefore he could not have been in London on the night of the murder; nor later on--being still in bed--could he have deposited the needle in the letter box. Clearly, the case against Louis broke down entirely.
As for Binjoy, he also had not been in town for six weeks. If this were so, he could not be identical with Renshaw, in which case the suspicions entertained by the detective could not fail to prove groundless. Then again, the fact that Binjoy had a negro servant habited like the assassin--also a black man--was highly suspicious. Binjoy might have instructed the negro to slay, and himself have remained at Taxton-on-Thames in attendance on Sir Louis. But then what could be his motive for the perpetration of so terrible a crime? Fanks sought for this motive.
In the first place, he noted that the absence of Louis from town on that night was deposed to by Binjoy; in the same way Louis said that Binjoy had not left Taxton-on-Thames for six weeks. Both these statements had been made to Fanks by Vaud. It would then appear that Louis and the doctor were in collusion to obtain the property of Gregory by procuring his death at the hands of the negro. But even this theory failed to discover, or point out, who was the man who had called to leave the parcel at Half Moon Street. The constable had asserted positively that no negro had gone up the stairs. If then the messenger was not the negro, it was either Binjoy or Sir Louis. Mr. Vaud said that the one was ill, the other in attendance. Thus the case stood when Fanks left the office of Vaud and Vaud; and he felt utterly unable to cope with the intricacies which met him on every hand. There seemed no way in or out.
Yet in the face of the presumption that Renshaw was not the double of Binjoy, the detective determined to follow up that clue. He did not like the way in which the doctor had behaved, either in the chamber of death, or at the inquest; he was suspicious of his apparent intimacy with Mrs. Boazoph: therefore, for his own gratification, he went to Great Auk Street to interview the man, and to see whether his suspicions had any foundation in fact. On arriving at the house he was unable to decide on his next action, but before he left it again he had determined what to do.
A stupid-looking man-servant received Fanks, and took him into a dull waiting room, while he went to inform Dr. Renshaw of the name of his visitor. In a few moments he returned and conducted the detective to the back of the house, where he found Renshaw waiting for him in the company of another man. This latter was Dr. Turnor, for whom Renshaw had been acting as "locum tenens;" a lean, little man with a ferret of a face, and a sharp, jerky way of speaking which must have been exceedingly irritating in a sickroom. Renshaw was more imposing in looks than ever, and, with habitual restlessness, combed his long, brown beard with his fingers; but in the badly-lighted room Fanks could not find out if the beard was false. So closely did Renshaw resemble Garth's description of Binjoy, that notwithstanding Vaud's evidence, Fanks was on the alert to discover if--as he truly believed--the two were one and the same. The ensuing conversation was likely to prove interesting in more ways than one.
After being introduced to Fanks, and acknowledging the introduction with a sour smile, Turnor arose to leave the room. He was stopped by Renshaw, who evidently did not relish the idea of facing a difficult interview by himself. Another proof, as Fanks considered, of his uneasy conscience.
"Pray do not depart, Turnor," he said, in his usual pompous manner. "I have no secrets from you. I trust, Mr. Fanks, that you see no objection in my adopting this course?"
"Certainly, I see no objection," replied Fanks, quietly. "Let Dr. Turnor stay by all means. I have nothing particular to say."
Turnor, who had resumed his chair, looked up at this, and Renshaw stared at his visitor with pompous indignation.
"Then why are you here, sir?" he demanded in a more confident tone.
Fanks shrugged his shoulders. "Really, I cannot tell you, unless it is because you left a message at my office that you wished to see me."
"I did so in fulfilment of my promise to communicate with you before leaving London."
"Indeed! So you think of starting again on your travels? You will like that much better than staying in London."
"There is no reason why I should not like to stay in London," said Renshaw, with an angry glance.
"No reason in the world, that I can see."
"I am going out to India--to Bombay. I proceed to Aden by the 'Oceana,' and there I exchange into the 'Cylde.'"
"It is really very good of you to tell me all this, doctor," said Fanks, ironically; "I trust that you will have a pleasant voyage."
Renshaw looked nonplussed and a trifle disappointed at the coolness of the detective. It was Fank's intention to bring about this feeling; for if Renshaw had nothing to do with the crime, if he was not masquerading under a false name, the detective did not see that it was necessary to make these elaborate explanations. It seemed to Fanks that Renshaw's anxiety to bestow gratuitous information as to his movements had its root in a design to mislead the police. Notwithstanding the assurances of Vaud, his suspicions of Renshaw revived in full force under this clumsy diplomacy; and he bent his energies to get to the bottom of the matter. To this end he affected indifference, and gave Renshaw plenty of rope with which to hang himself.
"Am I to understand that I am free to go?" demanded the stout doctor, in a highly dramatic manner.
"I suppose so; this is a free country."
"You do not think--my friend--any knowledge--murder?" jerked Turnor, as he looked eagerly at Fanks.
The detective saw the eagerness and wondered. "Hallo! my friend," he thought, "are you in this also?" However, he answered the question in the calmest manner. "I was not aware that I had made any accusation against Dr. Renshaw," was his suave reply.
"But I have been watched," cried Renshaw; "watched like a criminal."
"You don't say so," said Fanks, imperturbably. "And who is watching you? And why have you been watched?"
The two doctors looked at one another, and, from a covert sign made by Turnor to Renshaw, the detective became convinced that there was an understanding between them. He guessed that the sign hinted at the conclusion of the interview, and this interpretation proved correct. Turnor rose and jerked out an apology.
"Mistake!" said the little man. "Told Renshaw--moonshine--no watching. Hope you'll catch--murderer."
"I have little hope of that," said Fanks, dolefully. "He has concealed his trail too cleverly," and he chuckled inwardly as he saw the two faces brighten.
"Well! well! well! We will say no more, Mr. Fanks," said Renshaw, in a patronising tone. "I deemed it my duty to let you know that I go to India to-night. I shall not return to England for many years, as I propose exploring Thibet. Good evening; I am delighted that my fears that I was being watched have proved to be groundless."
But Fanks was not to be got rid of so easily. He wished to ask Turnor a few questions, for he believed that the little man knew all about this mysterious Renshaw. However, he made his examination carefully, as he did not wish to startle the pair, but rather to lull their suspicions, so that he might the more easily carry out his plans. He had already decided upon his next step.
"You were not in London at the time of the murder, Dr. Turnor?" he asked.
"No," replied the doctor, promptly. "If I had been, I should have been summoned by Mrs. Boazoph. As it was, Renshaw went."
"Yes, I saw Renshaw," said Fanks; "and I believe that he was right in his theory that the crime was due to a secret society."
"What makes you agree with my theory?" said Renshaw, quickly.
"Well," drawled Fanks, keeping an eye on both men, "you see I can't find out the meaning of that tattooed cross. It must be the work of a society, else it would not have been obliterated. If I could only find out what that cross means I would hang someone." Renshaw wiped the perspiration off his bald forehead and laughed in an uneasy manner. "I wish I could help you," he said, "but I know nothing about the cross, or the society."
"And what do you say, Dr. Turnor?"
"Nothing--was away on that night. Read about cross--papers. Queer."
Fanks saw plainly enough that the pair were on their guard, and that there was nothing more to be got, out of them. The only thing to be done was to watch and wait the progress of events. With this idea he said goodbye, and took his departure. Once outside and he made up his mind that Renshaw should be tracked. His anxiety to show that he was leaving England appeared to be suspicious, and Fanks concluded that he did not intend to go as he had so emphatically declared.
"I shouldn't be surprised to find that he was Binjoy after all," thought the detective. "He professes a deal too much, and his friend Turnor is a deal too eager. I shouldn't wonder if the pair were in league. However, I have thrown them both off their guard. Now I'll play my own game. I'll find out the owner of that silver needle yet, and then I'll punish its owner. I wonder," added Fanks, with a silent laugh, "I wonder whether the criminal will prove to be black or white?"
With this peculiar remark he went in search of the detective whose duty it was to guard the house, and rated himself severely. "You have let yourself be seen," said Fanks. "Have you not more sense than to play the fool? Keep yourself out of sight; remain here until I send another watcher, and report yourself at the Yard."
The detective, much abashed, tried to exculpate himself, but Fanks would not listen to his excuses. He hurried to New Scotland Yard, picked out a smart man, and instructed him to relieve the disgraced watcher, and to follow Renshaw to the Docks.
"And then, sir?" asked the man.
"Then if Renshaw goes on board the steamer you will report the fact to me without loss of time."
"Am I to come back here, Mr. Fanks?"
"No; I shall be at the Docks in disguise. If you see a clergyman holding a white handkerchief in his right hand you will see me. If you are doubtful ask the clergyman what the time is, and you will be safe as to my identity. Off with you, and send that fool back to Mr. Crate."
"What are you about to do, Mr. Fanks?" asked Crate, when the man had gone.
"Learn if Renshaw is lying or not. I'll see if he boards the steamer at the Docks, and find out if he has taken a passage to Bombay--a fact which at present I am much inclined to doubt."
"And if he goes on board the steamer?"
"In that case I'll follow him as far as Plymouth to make sure that he does not get off there."
"If he doesn't?"
"I shall know that he has nothing to do with this murder."
"And if he does get off at Plymouth?"
"Why," said Fanks, rubbing his hands, "I shall track him to Mere Hall in Hampshire."
Crate looked astonished, for he could by no means follow the thoughts of his superior. "How do you know that he will go there?" he demanded in a disbelieving manner.
"Because if Dr. Renshaw leaves the steamer at Plymouth under that name I shall find him at Mere Hall as Dr. Binjoy."
True to his appointment Garth called the next evening at the chambers in Duke Street, only to find that Fanks was absent, and that a note was awaiting him.
"Dear Garth," wrote the detective, "I have been called unexpectedly out of town and shall not return for at least three days. Visit me at the expiration of that time and prepare yourself for a surprise."
"A surprise," said Garth to himself, as he departed; "I wonder if he has found out about Emma Calvert, and if his discovery has anything to do with the death in Tooley's Alley."
Think as he might he could find no answer to this question, and he was forced to restrain his curiosity until such time as Fanks should return. In the meantime, out of curiosity, he called upon Mr. Vaud to learn what that gentleman thought about the position of affairs.
Mr. Vaud thought nothing about them. A detective had charge of the case, and, in Mr. Vaud's opinion, it would be better to wait the solution by him of this criminal problem. All this, as well as much more, was expressed to Garth by the pompous lawyer. "And I should advise you, Mr. Garth," he concluded, "not to let this unhappy episode divert your energies from your business."
"As to that, I have precious little to do," retorted Garth, with some heat; "you do not put much in my way, Mr. Vaud. I am always hard up."
"I am aware of that," replied Vaud, ignoring the beginning of the speech, "and I am aware also that our late client assisted you several times."
"Because I was necessary to him," said Garth, bitterly. "And I'll tell you what, Mr. Vaud, had I known then what I know now about my cousin I should never have accepted his help."
"Oh, dear me!" said Mr. Vaud, "quite so. Sir Gregory had many faults; but are you a saint yourself, Mr. Garth?"
"I don't pretend to be one. Still, I never drove a woman to her death."
"Do you know what you are saying, Mr. Garth?"
"Do you know the name of Emma Calvert, Mr. Vaud?"
The lawyer paled and pushed his chair from the table. "I--I have--heard the--name," he stuttered.
"Then you have heard the name of a very injured woman, Mr. Vaud."
Before the other could reply a knock came to the door, and immediately afterwards it opened to admit a tall and handsome young man. He bowed to Garth and placed some papers before Mr. Vaud. "Will you please excuse this intrusion, father, and look over these?" he said quietly.
"My son Herbert, Mr. Garth," said the elder Vaud, and again the young man bowed. He rather resembled his father in appearance, but there was a sternness about his manner which was wanting in that of the elder gentleman. He was dark-haired, and clean shaven, with thin lips and a compressed mouth. There was a look of resolution and hard work about him which did not recommend his personality to pleasure-loving Garth. However, the latter bowed and smiled when introduced, and scribbled on a sheet of blotting-paper while Herbert spoke to his father. Still thinking on the subject of his discourse with Mr. Vaud he absently wrote the name of Emma Calvert. Young Vaud moved near him while looking for a special paper, and in doing so his eye fell on the name. With an ejaculation he drew back, and turned as pale as his father had done.
"What do you know of Emma Calvert?" he demanded abruptly; "why do you write down her name?"
"Herbert!" said the father, warningly--almost imploringly. "I shall speak," said Herbert, his composure replaced by intense excitement. "What do you knew of Emma Calvert, sir?"
Garth looked up surprised. "I know as much as Robert, the valet of Fellenger, could tell me."
"A scamp who served a scamp," muttered the young man.
"Sir Gregory was my cousin, Mr. Herbert."
"Then your cousin was a scoundrel, Mr. Garth."
"Herbert, leave the room," said his father, sternly
The son looked defiantly at his father, and turned away without a word. At the door he paused and addressed Garth. "I know that your cousin was murdered, Mr. Garth," he said savagely. "I am glad that he met with such a death. He escaped me, but he could not escape punishment. I hated Sir Gregory and I bless the man who killed him."
He left the room, and in dumb astonishment Garth turned to the elder Vaud for an explanation. The old man had buried his face in his hands; but he looked up when Garth touched him, and groaned aloud.
"I am sorry you wrote down that name, Mr. Garth," he said at length. "Its effect on my unfortunate son is always terrible."
"But for what reason?"
"I did not intend to tell you, but as you know so much, you may as well know all. Herbert was in love with this girl. He wished to marry her, and it was he who introduced her to Sir Gregory. You can guess the rest."
"I can guess that my cousin married the girl and took her to Paris, where he neglected her and drove her to suicide."
"I know about the marriage," said Mr. Vaud. "I am glad that Sir Gregory did her that justice. I also know of the death. Sad, very sad."
"She must have been a pretty girl to have so strongly attracted two men."
"I never saw her," said Vaud. "I did not even know that Herbert was in love with her until she eloped with Sir Gregory. Then my son came with his broken heart and told me all. He would have followed Sir Gregory to Paris but that he fell ill of brain fever. Afterwards he was ordered on a sea voyage; and returned only six weeks ago. He heard of the death of Lady Fellenger in Paris, and--"
"Did he know that Fellenger had married her?"
"Afterwards; not at first. He discovered all about the marriage and death in Paris. How, I do not know. But he came back broken in health and heart. He will never be the same man again; and whenever the name of Emma Calvert is mentioned, the consequences are as you see."
Garth rose to go. "It is a cruel story," he said sadly, "but Fellenger's sins have come home to him in a terrible fashion. Good-bye, Mr. Vaud."
Then Garth took his leave; and withdrew to meditate on the villainy of his cousin, which had ruined two lives. Half-way along the Strand, he was struck by a sudden thought. If young Vaud had known and loved Emma Calvert, he would be the man to identify the woman who had presented herself at Fellenger's chambers. He believed Emma Calvert to be dead; brought face to face with the missing woman, and he would see that she was alive. "Though it will be difficult to find that woman," he said, resuming his walk, "she has given us the slip. Still she may call to see Robert again, and he is being watched by Maxwell; so the chances are that we may find out whether she is my cousin's wife or her ghost. If she is confronted with Herbert Vaud we may arrive at the truth. But will the truth lead to the detection of Gregory's assassin. I doubt it."
He thought of calling upon Herbert and telling him about the appearance and flight of the presumedly dead woman; but the same reason which had prevented him from seeing Hersham, prevented this visit. "No!" he said, resolutely. "I must interview Fanks and ask his advice. The matter is too difficult for me to handle alone."
Having come to this sensible conclusion; he went about his daily business and postponed moving in the matter until the return of Fanks from his mysterious journey. His appointment had been for the previous night; and Fanks had asked him to wait three days. As he had employed one day in seeing Mr. Vaud, he thought that he would utilise the second by interviewing Mrs. Boazoph. For this purpose he called at the Red Star, but he was disappointed, Mrs. Boazoph, the barmaid informed him, was out of town--on business. Garth left Tooley's Alley in a meditative mood. "Fanks has gone to the country on business; Mrs. Boazoph has gone to the country on business. I wonder if the same errand takes them there."
Nothing further transpired; and, on the evening of the third day, Garth presented himself at Duke-street. Fanks was within and received him in the most amiable manner. Garth noted that his friend looked weary, and ventured an opinion that Fanks had made a long journey that day.
"You are about right," said Fanks, indicating a seat. "I only got back three hours ago from Hampshire."
"You have been to Mere Hall?"
"I have been in the neighbourhood of Mere Hall. And I have also been to Plymouth," he added, after a pause.
"What have you been doing there?"
"Following our friend Renshaw, alias Binjoy."
"You don't mean to say that the two are one," cried Garth, jumping up.
"I do, and I can prove it by the clearest evidence you ever heard in your life. Sit down and listen."
Garth resumed his seat, and leaned forward with much curiosity to hear the promised recital. It was well worthy of an attentive hearing.
"I told on that I suspected Renshaw to be Binjoy in disguise," said Fanks, "your description of the one fitted the other in many respects; and the eagerness with which Renshaw tried to impress me with the fact that he was going to India, roused my suspicions. I determined to see for myself if he was really leaving England, so I disguised myself as a parson, and went to the docks. Renshaw had been followed there by my emissary, and he duly went on board the P. and O. steamer 'Oceana.' Assured of this I dismissed the watcher, and took up the running to Plymouth."
"But how about your passage."
"Oh, I fixed that up all right; how, I need not stop to explain. You may be sure that I kept a watch on our friend; and confident in my disguise, I tried to get speech with him. This was impossible, as he remained in his berth the whole time. I discovered, however, that his passage was booked to Bombay, exchanging at Aden into the 'Clyde.' At Plymouth he feigned to be so ill as to be unable to proceed further on his journey, and rather than do so, he forfeited his passage money, and got off--"
"Then he did not go to India after all?"
"My dear sir; he had no intention of going to India. I followed him ashore; and then I am sorry to say that I lost him. It is not creditable to my intelligence," said Fanks, shrugging his shoulders.
"What did you do?"
"The best I could. I saw the local police, and had the railway stations and boats watched. He could not leave Plymouth either by land or water without my knowing it. To make a long story short, I was informed that a stout gentleman, somewhat like my man, was awaiting a train at a certain station. I went there--"
"And you saw Renshaw?" interrupted Garth.
"Indeed, no. I saw a clean-shaven man much younger in appearance than Dr. Renshaw, and dressed differently. From your description I recognised him as Binjoy, and to clinch the matter, I followed him to Mere hall."
"Then you are certain that Renshaw is Binjoy?"
"Positive. I made inquiries in the village, and I was informed that Sir Louis was ill, and that Binjoy was attending him. Of course I said nothing, for, to tell you the truth, I did not know what to say. But you will observe, Garth, that I have proved that these two men are one and the same."
"And the negro. Did you see Binjoy's negro servant?"
"I inquired about him, and I was informed that Binjoy had brought no negro servant with him. No doubt, he left him behind at Taxton-on-Thames."
"Then my idea is correct," said Garth, "the negro committed the crime at the instigation of Binjoy; and Binjoy in the disguise of Renshaw, went to the Red Star to see that it was accomplished. Now he has got rid of the negro and of his disguise; so cutting off every trace of his connection with the crime."
"A very plausible theory," said Fank, shaking his head, "but the motive?"
"Motive? Why Binjoy wanted Louis to inherit the property. He has a great influence over Louis; what would benefit the one would benefit the other. Oh, depend upon it, Fanks, it is as I say."
"No!" said Fanks, "there is a third person in it. A woman!"
"Emma Calvert?"
"Mrs. Boazoph!"
"Oh, come now; she is out of town on business."
"I know that; and her business was at Mere Hall in Hants. I saw her there."
It was a moment or so before Garth could quite grasp the fact of this new intrusion of Mrs. Boazoph into the case. When he did so, he remarked that she had no doubt gone to Mere Hall to see Louis Fellenger. Fanks dissented. "In my opinion she went to see Binjoy."
"For what reason?"
"I can't tell you. It must be a powerful reason which would make this woman seek out Binjoy when he had so carefully destroyed his connection with Renshaw. But I have long had my suspicions of Mrs. Boazoph. She removed the dead body; she answered my questions in a hesitating manner, and attempted to exculpate herself without being requested so to do. Also she got rid of the grains of gunpowder. All these things show that Mrs. Boazoph knows more about the matter than she chooses to tell."
"Do you think that she knows who committed the crime?"
"I wouldn't swear to that," said Fanks, with some hesitation; "but she must have identified Renshaw with Binjoy, else she would never have sought out the latter at Mere Hall."
"Do you believe that Mrs. Boazoph inveigled Fellenger to her hotel by means of that advertisement, and then had him killed?"
"How can I tell?" retorted Fanks; "you know as much about the matter as I do. But I will do Mrs. Boazoph the justice to say that I hardly believe she would adopt a course so dangerous to herself. I do not think that she had anything to do with the advertisement."
"The envelope was addressed in a woman's handwriting."
"No doubt; but the handwriting may not be that of Mrs. Boazoph. Still she is in some way connected with Binjoy, and he is mixed up in the crime."
"You mean that he employed the negro to commit it?"
"It looks like it; and yet," continued Fanks, with a frown, "the evidence is too clear for me to take that view."
"Why! The clearer the evidence, the more certain you must be of the truth."
Fanks shook his head. "From my experience I am inclined to doubt easily-obtained evidence. Everything points to the committal of the crime by the negro servant of Binjoy, and for that reason I do not care to accept it. It would seem that in case of trouble Mrs. Boazoph and Binjoy had provided for their own safety by throwing suspicion on the negro."
"But one thing is clear enough," said Garth, impatiently, "the negro killed my cousin."
"A negro killed your cousin, but not necessarily the negro of Binjoy."
Garth looked puzzled. "I am more in the dark than ever," he said.
"Same here, Garth. Depend upon it this murder is no bungling affair. It is a cleverly-planned and cleverly-executed scheme; carried out by people who know what they are doing. As the case new stands I cannot see my way. The evidence--in my opinion--leads to nothing. If Crate had this matter in hand he would arrest Binjoy on suspicion, and hunt for the negro servant as the supposed murderer, and by doing so he would make a mess of the whole business. I shall arrest nobody--at present. Save to yourself and perhaps Crate I shall give my opinions to nobody. I shall watch and wait; put two and two together, and when they make four I shall pounce on the assassin. It will take time and patience and money, but, as I said before, the case is a delicate one. We are dealing with people who are as clever and cleverer than we are. I confess that the outlook is anything but promising," concluded Fanks, with a sigh.
"You cannot guess who committed the crime?"
"No, I cannot. To all appearances it was the negro, but--and this is the main point--was it the negro of Binjoy, and would the negro be clever enough to conceive so subtle a method of committing a crime as the mode of the poisoned needle? Again, would a negro be in possession of such information as would induce Fellenger to permit the use of the needle? The whole mystery lies in that cross tattooed on the arm. When I discover its meaning I shall be able to name the assassin."
"Then why not see Hersham?" suggested Garth. "He has a similar tattoo mark on his left arm. He may be able to tell you what you wish to know."
"I have an appointment with Hersham at his rooms to-morrow. I may learn something from him; on the other hand, I may learn nothing."
"And what about Emma Calvert?"
"Oh, I shall find out about her at Taxton-on-Thames. I may discover dead Lady Fellenger of Paris alive at the Surrey village under another name. And yet," added Fanks, producing a paper, "Crate's report proves that the woman died in Paris in 1893, and was buried in Pere la Chaise."
"If that is so, who was the woman who appeared so strangely? The evidence of the photograph and the valet both prove that she is Emma Calvert."
"I can only surmise that she did not die; but that either knowingly or unknowingly some woman was buried in her place. It is the only explanation that I can give. Yet, for all I know, Emma Calvert may have employed that negro to kill her wicked husband."
"It is a wild theory," said Garth, "why should this woman, the lawful wife of my cousin, pretend to be dead, and submit to have her identity destroyed by the false burial? If she is alive, I can quite conceive that she should have my cousin killed out of revenge; but why the pretended death, which--to all appearances--was acquiesced in by Fellenger?"
"I can't answer that question until I wring the truth from Robert."
"There is no necessity for Robert. I have found another person who can tell you the truth."
"Oh!" said Fanks, looking up sharply, "and this person?"
"Herbert Vaud; the son of the lawyer you saw the other day."
"You don't say so," exclaimed Fanks, eagerly, "you laugh at chance, Garth; well, here is another chance which may put us on the right track. If we solve the mystery of Emma Calvert, we may unravel the Tooley Alley enigma. Tell me all you know; omit no detail. Begin, begin!"
Flattered by the interest taken in his discovery, Garth related at great length the extraordinary conduct of young Vaud; the cause of such conduct as explained by the elder Vaud; and drew attention to the fact that if confronted with the missing woman, Herbert might be able to recognise her, either as an imposter, or as the dead Emma Calvert.
Fanks listened with the closest attention; nor did he venture a remark until Garth had concluded his story. Then he drew a breath and reflected.
"It is most extraordinary," he said at length, "dare you disbelieve in chance. Chance led you to the office of the Vauds; chance made you scribble that name on the paper; chance drew the attention of Herbert Vaud to the name. I have always found that chance is my best friend."
"All this is beside the point," said Garth, impatiently, "what do you say?"
"Your discovery may lead to something," replied Fanks, cautiously. "I shall see Herbert Vaud after I have interviewed Hersham. Between the two of them I may learn something likely to throw light on the darkness of this case; but we are only on the threshold of our difficulties as yet."
Garth rose to take his leave. "I agree with you," he said, "the future looks anything but hopeful. But I shall leave you now; as you are tired after your long journey."
Fanks stretched himself. "I am rather weary," he remarked, yawning, "and I shan't be sorry to go to bed. Come and see me to-morrow, and I'll tell you how I get on with Hersham. And Garth," added Fanks, going to the door with his guest, "don't do any more detective business on your own account. It will take me some time to exhaust the information you have brought me. When I have arrived at some conclusion regarding this new evidence, I shall tell you what to do."
Garth was quite willing to be guided by Fanks' advice; the more so as he was entirely at a loss how to proceed, and was waiting for the more experienced head of the detective to guide him. With quite sufficient to think about for the next twenty-four hours he took his departure, and left Fanks to enjoy a well-earned rest.
The appointment with Hersham was for twelve o'clock the next day; and punctually at that time Fanks took his way up to Acacia Road, St. John's Wood, where the journalist had his lodgings. Certainly not a very central position for a man engaged in the press; but Hersham had been brought up in the Isle of Wight, beside the sea, and amid green trees. From the effect of early association he could not bear to be cooped up amid bricks and mortar, where he could scarcely breathe. Therefore he had taken up his abode in a suburb where he was certain of fresh air. He went to and fro between Fleet Street and St. John's Wood on his bicycle, and thus by a little dexterity, he managed to attend to his duties on the "Morning Planet," and yet to live a comparatively rural life.
When Fanks arrived at noon, Hersham, for health's sake, was digging in the garden; but, on seeing the detective, he came forward to greet his visitor. He was a slender, handsome young man of eight and twenty, or thereabouts; with curly, brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a moustache, but otherwise he was clean-shaven. Usually his face was pleasant and smiling, with a high colour and a genial expression. On this occasion he was rather pale, and there was an anxious look in his eyes which did not escape the detective. He had seen the same expression in the eyes of Binjoy.
"How are you, Fanks," said Hersham, with an obvious effort at lightness. "I see that you are punctual to the minute. I am glad of that; as I can't give you much time. I have an engagement with my editor at one-thirty."
"Oh, I can explain my business in half an hour," replied Fanks, lightly. "I won't take up more of your valuable time than I can help. You were astonished to get my note."
"Frankly speaking, I was," said Hersham, with an uneasy look. "I can't conceive what you want to see me about. I hope," he added, with a faint smile, "that it is nothing in your line of business?"
"That is just the point. It is in my line of business."
To the surprise of Fanks, the young man gave a kind of gasp, and without a word he turned and led the way into the house. This behaviour was so different to his usual manner, that Fanks suspected trouble; and, with nothing but his incurable suspicion to go on, he wondered if this agitation was in any way connected with the business he had come about. In plain words, with the tattooed cross; and with the crime of Tooley's Alley. The room into which Hersham ushered the detective, was a simply-furnished apartment of a bright and cheerful character. Furniture, carpet, wallpaper, and curtains, were all of a light and pleasant complexion. Two dwarf book-shelves on either side of the fireplace were filled with well-chosen volumes; while boxing gloves and foils on the walls showed that the tastes of the journalist were not exclusively literary. Excellent pictures adorned the walls; and photographs--mostly those of pretty women--were ranged on the mantlepiece. As a whole, the room was remarkably bright and attractive in both of which respects it thoroughly reflected the character of its occupant.
With commendable hospitality, Hersham produced a bottle of whisky, two glasses, and a jug of water. Signing to Fanks to help himself, he sat in a chair near the window, and waited for his apparently unwelcome visitor to speak. Fanks did not open his mouth, and Hersham looked up to see the cause of his silence. The detective was staring at the photographs on the mantleshelf--or rather, he was gazing with astonished eyes at one portrait. It was little wonder that he did so; for the picture was that of the young woman, who had appeared and disappeared so unexpectedly at the chambers of Sir Gregory Fellenger, in Half-Moon Street. For once in his life, Fanks was rendered dumb with astonishment.
"What are you staring at?" asked Hersham, sharply.
The detective pointed to the picture. "Who is that young lady?" he asked in a tone of intense curiosity.
"I don't see what business that is of yours," replied Hersham, "but to gratify your curiosity I may tell you she is the girl I am engaged to."
"The girl you are engaged to! Is she alive?"
"Of course she is," said Hersham, half angry, half amused, "why should she be dead. Do you know her? Have you seen her? Why do you ask?"
"I shall tell you that later on," answered Fanks, "but tell me. Is the name of that girl Emma Calvert?"
"I never heard of Emma Calvert," retorted Hersham, crossly, "the name of that young lady is Anne Colmer."
"Of Taxton-on-Thames?"
"Yes! Of Taxton-on-Thames."
Fanks was prepared for most surprises, and, from experience, he was capable, of controlling his emotions thoroughly. In this instance, however, he was so overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of the discovery that it was some time before he could arrange his thoughts and plan of action. The coincidence of the tattooed cross was extraordinary, but the resemblance of the portraits was still more so. Before he could comment on the fact Hersham asked an abrupt question.
"Why do you speak of these things?" he said anxiously, "and what do you know about Miss Colmer?"
"I know nothing about Miss Colmer," replied Fanks, quickly. "Hold on a minute, my good fellow, I have had what people call a turn."
Hersham accepted this explanation with a doubtful air, and pushed the spirits towards the detective. Accepting this attention, Fanks poured himself out a stiff glass. A sip or two braced his nerves and set his brain to work, so that shortly he was able to face the unexpected situation. For obvious reasons he did not wish to reveal too much to Hersham; yet under the peculiar circumstances of the case he was forced to tell him a certain amount. To gain his ends with the least possible risk to his plans he was reduced to manufacturing a plausible theory from the facts within his knowledge. The task was one of some little difficulty, but he succeeded fairly well in suppressing so much of the truth as he did not wish known.
"That photograph took me by surprise, Hersham," he said after a pause.
"Why should it take you by surprise?" said the other, jealously. "Have you ever met with Miss Colmer?"
"I have not met the lady," replied Fanks, slowly, "but I have seen some one who greatly resembles her. So greatly indeed that I thought the person I saw was the original of that photograph."
"Where did you see this person?"
"At Paris--in the Morgue."
It seemed to Fanks that Hersham changed colour on hearing this; but he kept his feelings under control, and merely remarked, "In the Morgue? A case of murder, no doubt."
"No! Suicide by drowning. Afterwards I heard that the body was that of an English girl called Emma Calvert." He purposely suppressed the fact of the marriage. "She is buried in Pere la Chaise under the name--whether true or not, I cannot say--of Calvert. You cannot wonder that the sight of that picture, which I took for that of the dead woman, should startle me, the more especially as you assure me that the original of that photograph is still alive and is engaged to you."
"Was it for this purpose that you came to see me?" demanded Hersham.
"No; I came to see you about something else. Nevertheless, before telling you the object of my visit, I should like to have the mystery of the photograph explained."
"How do you know that I can explain it?"
"Perhaps you can, perhaps you can't. On the other hand, perhaps you can and perhaps you--won't."
Hersham bit his lip, and took a turn up and down the room. He appeared to be on the verge of revealing something, but checked himself when about to speak. At this stage Fanks wisely held his tongue, and resolved to let Hersham make the first remark. Evidently the young man had something on his mind, and what the something was Fanks was determined to find out; but he left the mode of revelation entirely to his host. Hersham was aware of this, and hesitated and faltered and frowned. Ultimately he resumed his seat and accepted the situation.
"I have always looked upon you as a friend, Fanks," he said in a hesitating manner; "and I have every reason to believe that you wish me well."
"My dear fellow," said Fanks, wondering what could be the reason of this appeal, "you are perfectly right. I would do anything to prove my friendship for you."
"Then answer me candidly. Did you come here to ask me about that cross which you know is tattooed on my left arm?"
"Yes," said Fanks, unhesitatingly; "I did. How did you guess my errand?"
"I read the report of the inquest on the body of Fellenger, and I remarked the fact of the poisoned needle and the tattooed cross. I was informed that you had the case in hand; I knew that you had seen the mark on my arm. So when you wrote asking me to see you it was not hard for me to guess what you wanted. You see, I was right."
"I congratulate you on your penetration, my dear Hersham," replied. Fanks, coolly. "At the same time, I do not see what this speech has to do with your former one about friendship."
"I can explain. You asked me a question about that photograph; and to answer it in a satisfactory manner I shall be forced to tell you something about the family of the girl to whom I am engaged."
"Does your explanation concern the late Sir Gregory Fellenger?"
"Yes. It has a great deal to do with the late Sir Gregory."
"And with Emma Calvert?"
"With the woman you call Emma Calvert."
"Ought I to say Lady Fellenger?" said Fanks, quickly.
Hersham shrugged his shoulders. "That makes no difference to my explanation," he said, and rose to get the photograph off the mantelshelf. "You think that this is the picture of Emma Calvert?"
For answer, Fanks produced the portrait he had found in Fellenger's rooms, and showed it to Hersham. "Is this the picture of Anne Colmer?" he asked.
"No, that is Emma Calvert."
"Then these photographs are those of two different women?"
"Certainly. The one is Emma Calvert who committed suicide in Paris. The other is Anne Colmer who is alive and engaged to me."
Fanks considered for a minute. "I now begin to see light," he said, in a sober tone. "Am I right in assuming that Emma is the sister of Anne?"
"You are perfectly right. She is the twin-sister."
"Ah! That accounts for the resemblance."
"It does," replied Hersham, with a nod, "the two sisters were so exactly alike that apart you could not tell one from the other--at least, so I have been told."
"Oh! Then you never saw the two sisters together?"
"I did not. I never saw Emma in my life."
"Of course you know her sad story," said Fanks, after a pause.
"Anne's mother told it to me. I know that Emma married Fellenger secretly, and was driven to her death by his brutality. Now, you can see why I reminded you of our friendship before telling you the truth."
"No!" said Fanks, sharply, "I can't see."
"Why! I am engaged to the sister of the dead girl; so I thought--"
"That I might accuse you of killing Sir Gregory out of revenge?"
"Well, I did have that thought in my head; and then the coincidence of the cross, you know."
Fanks laughed, and took the hand of Hersham. "My dear lad," he said. "I have no idea of accusing you of the crime; your engagement to Miss Colmer is no proof that you killed the man who acted so badly towards her sister. Do not, therefore, hesitate to tell me all you know. How Emma Calvert came to London; how she met with Sir Gregory; and how she was loved by Herbert Vaud?"
"What!" cried Hersham. "You know that also?"
"I know more than you think, Hersham; therefore, if you attempt to deceive me I shall find you out. Now go on with your story."
"I do not want to deceive you," replied the journalist, "but you must understand that I only speak from hearsay. If you want the tale first-hand you must see old Mrs. Colmer, at Taxton-on-Thames."
"Hum!" said Fanks, remembering his theory regarding the directing of the envelope which contained the cardboard star. "What kind of a person is the lady in question?"
"An invalid," said Hersham, promptly. "A paralytic; she has not moved hand or foot for years."
"Confound it!"
"What is the matter?"
"Nothing. Only your information has upset a theory. Never mind; go on."
"There isn't much to tell," said Hersham. "Mrs. Colmer is a decayed gentlewoman, whose husband died and left her with two little girls. To support these she set up a dressmaker's establishment at Taxton-on-Thames. When the children grew up, Mrs. Colmer was smitten with paralysis and laid on the shelf. Anne and Emma carried on the business, and thus supported their mother. Emma came to London to gain experience in a fashionable dressmaker's establishment; and Anne remained behind to look after the shop at Taxton-on-Thames. While in London, Emma met with young Vaud at the house of a friend of her mother's. He fell in love with Emma and wished to marry her. She liked him, but she did not love him; nevertheless, for her mother's sake, she accepted his offer. Then in an unlucky hour Herbert introduced Fellenger to Emma; she loved him, or was attracted by his title. At all events, she ran away with him to Paris and became his wife."
"She was married in a London office. Registrar's."
"I did not know that," said Hersham. "Emma told her mother that she was married, but she did not write where. Well, young Vaud had an attack of brain fever, and afterwards he went on a sea voyage. On his return he crossed to Paris to learn what had become of Emma. He ascertained that she was dead and buried; in some way he learned the whole miserable history. Vaud returned to England to see Fellenger; but before he could meet with him the baronet was killed in Tooley's Alley; and the fate of Emma was avenged by an unknown hand. That is the story, Fanks; you can make what use you like of it."
"It is a wretched story," replied Fanks. "I can now understand the hatred which young Vaud bears towards the memory of his false friend; and I can understand also how I mistook Anne for Emma. But," added Fanks, with emphasis, "I cannot understand why Anne came to the chambers of Fellenger, and why she ran away when she saw me."
Hersham looked jealous, and frowned. "I cannot understand that myself," he said. "She hated Fellenger as much as did Herbert Vaud; and I do not know why she should go to the rooms of the scoundrel."
"She asked for the valet."
"Robert, the whimpering, pitiful dog?"
"Anne might have gone to see him to ask for particulars of her sister's death."
"Well, yes," replied Fanks, thoughtfully; "but that does not explain why she went away when she saw me."
"I can only surmise that she did not wish to explain what brought her there, and so tell the tale of her sister's death to a stranger."
"No, there is more in it than that," said the detective, remembering that Anne had been among the crowd on the night of the murder; "but we will talk of this hereafter. In the meantime, let us return to the main object of my visit, and show me this famous cross."
Hersham made no objection to this request, and removed his coat. Rolling up his sleeve he exposed the cross tattooed on the flesh of the left forearm. It was a St. Catherine cross, the size of a florin, and Fanks examined it long and carefully. "Did you get that tattooed at school?" he asked when Hersham had resumed his coat.
"I did not get it done at all. I have had it ever since I can remember; and I have asked my father often about it, but he cannot, or will not, give me any information."
"He will not most probably. Are you sure that there is no story attached to the tattooing?"
"None that I know of; but my father might be better informed."
"Would your mother know?"
"I have no mother; she died when I was a baby."
"Strange," muttered Fanks, pensively; "it is strange that you should have this mark on you and yet be ignorant of its significance. I wish you would speak to your father about it."
"He won't tell me anything; I have asked him before."
"You have no idea why a cross similar to this should have been tattooed on Sir Gregory's arm by a negro?"
"Certainly not. I did not even know Sir Gregory."
"I wonder if your father could tell me?"
"I don't know. He might or he might not. Do you think that this cross has anything to do with the murder you are investigating?"
"That is just what I do think," retorted Fanks. "The man was killed by means of a poisoned needle used to prick in a cross similar to that on your arm."
"But that insinuates that I am mixed up in the matter."
"It does nothing of the sort. Don't be an ass."
But Hersham was not content with this friendly assurance. "You think that I have something to do with the crime," he said obstinately.
Fanks looked at his agitated face, at his trembling hands, and a strange suspicion entered his mind. "I'll tell you what I do think," he said in an abrupt tone; "I think that you have not told me all the truth."
Hersham trembled still more, and clasped his hands together. "I cannot," he muttered, shrinking away from Fanks; "I dare not."