Up to the present time the visit of Fanks to Taxton-on-Thames had been a complete failure. He had been thwarted by Hersham; he more than suspected that he had been tricked by Anne; and he saw no means of obtaining any information likely to lead to the elucidation of the mystery which enveloped the death of Sir Gregory Fellenger. It was in very low spirits that the detective returned to the Royal Arms, and after a good dinner, which somewhat cheered him, he sat down with a pipe to consider what he should do next.
He had no hope of obtaining any information from Hersham or Anne Colmer, as for some reason or another each of them declined to speak. Fanks thought they could put him on the right track if they pleased; but he saw no means by which he could force them to speak openly. In spite of his threats he could arrest neither of them, as he had not sufficient evidence to do so. Unable, therefore, to force or to flatter them into plain speaking, he was completely baffled in his efforts to solve the enigma in this direction. For the time being he was at a standstill.
In this dilemma he left the decision regarding his future movements to "chance," and, in the expectation of hearing something of value to his plans, he strolled into the tap-room of the hotel. Here he hoped to find the village gossips, and to gather from their idle talk information concerning Sir Louis Fellenger, Dr. Binjoy, and the negro servant. However, there was no one in the room save a bent and crooked old man, with a pair of keen eyes. He was seated in a corner of the settle, with a tankard of beer before him; and with garrulous complacency he introduced himself as Simeon Wagg, the parish clerk of Taxton-on-Thames. He had a long tongue and a fund of gossip at his disposal; and he was ready to afford Fanks all the information in his power about the parish and its inhabitants.
"I hev more edication than the most folk about here," piped this ancient. "Theer ain't much as I don't know if I do so choose. Thirty year, sir, hey I bin official in this yer church an' village; and I've buried an' married an' christened wi' five passons. They come, they go; but old Simeon he staay like t' church itself. He! he! he!"
"I suppose you know Sir Louis Fellenger?"
"I knaw Mr. Louis Fellenger," corrected the aged gossip. "He warn't no barrownit when I seed him. Now he hev gone inter th' 'Ouse of Lors, es I hev heard. But he was in the third 'ouse es you go down by Fox's Farm. Aw, yis, I knaws him; sold hisself to Ould Scratch, he did."
"What do you mean, Mr. Wagg?"
"Whoy, this ere Mister Fellenger he was a-pothicary an' a chimist, an' he raised the 'nemy of mankin', as the saaying goes. An' they do saay es the black maan wor a devil, from all of which Good Loord deliv'r us, es I ses i' t' church."
"Did you know Dr. Binjoy?"
"Aye! He were laarge an' beer-baarel like; aw, vis, an' the woords he sid, passon culdn't spake like he. He wint awaay wi' Mister Fellenger t' be a barrownit, es I hey heaard tell."
"Did the negro servant go with them?"
"Aw, no. T' blaack devil he was turned out o' doors on t' twenty first, he was. I know t' toime, I do, 'cause blaack maan he nearly run me over on his bikikle, he did."
Fanks pricked up his ears at this. It was on the twenty-first that the murder had been committed in London. He addressed himself with renewed attention to the task of extracting information from this piece of antiquity.
"How was it that the negro nearly ran over you on his bicycle?"
"Naow, I'll jes' tell ye, I will," said Simeon, settling himself for a long story. "This yere blaack maan--Caesar is his name--he worn a grean coat wi' brass buttons, he did. I knawed him in t' dark by that coat, I did."
"Was it in the dark that he ran over you?" asked Fanks.
"Aye; it jes' were, Mister. I was on t' Lunon Roaad, I was; about nine, es I cud tell by t' striking clock fro' t' church. An' this yere blaack maan he coom along, he did, on t' divil machine, an' he laaid me flaat on my back, he did; an' I bean't so yooung es I was, Mister. I shoated to he, but he niver saaid nothing, he didn't. He run on an' left me lying on my baack in t' durt, he did. I were main aangry, I were."
"I don't wonder at it, Mr. Wagg," said Fanks, amiably. "But how did you know it was the negro Caesar?"
"I seed his groan coaat, I tell 'ee; his face were muffled oop-like, but his coaat were plaain in t' gaas lamp, it were. I hev seen t' coaat heaps of times, I hev. An' t' nex' day he were sent away, he were."
This story made Fanks wonder if Caesar had been up to town on the twenty-first. A negro had committed the murder in Tooley's Alley between six and seven. So if he returned to Taxton-on-Thames on a bicycle there was plenty of time for him to come down before nine o'clock, or, as the old man said, after nine o'clock. A good wheelman could easily cover the distance between London and Taxton-on-Thames in two hours. Again, Mrs. Boazoph had sworn that the murderer had been arrayed in a green coat with brass buttons; and this description matched that of the negro who had so nearly run over Wagg on the London Road. Time and date corresponded; and then the negro had been dismissed the next day--he had been smuggled out of the way by his master. On the whole, Fanks thought that matters looked rather black against the stout doctor. He proceeded with his enquiries.
"Did Dr. Binjoy discharge his servant, or did Sir Louis?"
"Weel theer naow," said the aged one, taking the pipe out of his mouth, "blamed if I knaw who did give him t' kickout. Muster Fellenger, he were ill, he were, an' hed bin fur weeks; t' doctor he was wi' him, he was, an' I niver saaw one of 'en--an' naw one else es I heerd of did, fur daays an' daays. But Missus Jerusalem, she es is t' housekeeper t' Muster Fellenger, she said es haow Caesar hed bin turned awaay. He got off fro' t' village, he did; an' I niver see'd him since, I didn't. Then t' cousin of Muster Louis died, he did; an' Muster Fellenger he went awaay wi' doctor to be barrownit, he did."
"You don't think that Dr. Binjoy was up in London on the night you met Caesar on the bicycle?"
"Noa, sir, I doan't. Whoy Muster Fellenger he were ill, he were; an' t' doctor he kep in t' sick room, he did. No one iver saaw him for daays, they didn't."
From this information, it seemed to Fanks as though there were an understanding between Sir Louis and the doctor. This old creature who represented the village opinion was quite sure that Dr. Binjoy had been in attendance on Fellenger on the night of the twenty-first. Yet Fanks knew by personal observation that Binjoy, under the name of Renshaw, had been in Tooley's Alley. He would not have returned to Taxton-on-Thames on that night, as the house in Great Auk Street had been watched. And yet Fanks had proved beyond all doubt that Renshaw and Binjoy were one and the same person. Was it possible that Sir Louis was telling a lie to screen Binjoy from the consequences of his being in town; and was it possible that the two had employed the negro, Caesar, to commit the crime, and then had smuggled him out of the way--say to Bombay--so that he should not betray them. In a word, were Fellenger and Binjoy guilty of the murder of the cousin of the former? It seemed impossible; and yet, as Sir Louis was employing Fanks to hunt down the assassin, it was hard to believe. The conversation of Simeon Wagg only introduced a new perplexity into this perplexing case.
There was nothing more to be got out of the old clerk; so Fanks retired to bed in a very melancholy frame of mind. He did not know which way to move in the midst of such contradictory information. The night brought counsel; and the next morning Fanks arose with a definite object. He would return to town and advertise for the negro. Caesar must have left his bicycle somewhere, so if he advertised for a negro in a green coat with brass buttons, he might find out something. Those with whom the bicycle had been left would be able to give a description of the negro who had arrived and departed with it; and so Fanks hoped to learn if the black murderer of Tooley's Alley was the same as the servant Caesar of Dr. Binjoy. Regarding the shielding of the doctor by Louis Fellenger, the detective resolved to leave that question until he went to Mere Hall and saw the two men together.
"I am afraid that Crate will have to go to Bombay, after all," said Fanks to himself as he left the hotel.
He did not go at once to town, as he wished to see both Hersham and Anne Colmer; also he was desirous of having an interview with the mother. Half-way down the street he met with the journalist, who saluted him in rather a sullen fashion.
"I was just about to call on you," said Hersham. "I wish to go to town by the midday train, if you have no objection."
"You can go as soon as you please," retorted Fanks, "you are not so much good to me that I care to keep you here."
"You need not make yourself so infernally disagreeable, Fanks," said the young man, tartly. "I have told you all I know, and so has Miss Colmer."
"As to that, I have my own opinion, Hersham. I certainly think that you and she have a secret between you which you will not share with me."
"It does not concern you."
"Ah, you have a secret, then?"
"Yes, I have, but it is private business, and has nothing to do with the death of that titled scoundrel."
"I should like to judge of that for myself," said Fanks, coldly. "However, I daresay I'll find out all I wish to know without your assistance."
Hersham came forward, and laid his hand on the arm of the detective. "I say, Fanks," he observed, earnestly, "I know I'm not treating you well, but you must make allowances for the natural fear I feel at being brought into contact with the law. I know something; and I should like to tell it to you, but I can't make up my mind to do so--yet. Still, I give you my word of honour that if you ask me again next week I shall tell you all; I shall place my life and liberty in your hands."
"Good heavens, man!" cried the startled Fanks. "You don't mean to say that you are concerned in the murder?"
"No, I am not, but when I tell you all, you will see why I did not speak before. Give me a week to make up my mind."
"I'll give you the week," said the detective, briefly, and without further speech, Hersham took his leave in an abrupt manner, evidently relieved to be so dismissed.
On presenting himself at Briar Cottage, Fanks was at once admitted, and was shown by the servant--a neat-handed Phyllis--into a different sitting-room from the one he had seen before. In a large chair by the window which looked out on the garden, an old lady was seated. She was dressed completely in white; and the lower part of her body was swathed in a shawl of Chinese crape. Her face was pale and careworn, and her eyes were red-rimmed as from constant crying. An open Bible lay on her lap, and from this she raised her eyes as Fanks entered. He had little hesitation in guessing that this was Mrs. Colmer, the paralytic mother of the living Anne and the dead Emma.
"You must excuse my rising to receive you," she said in a low and sweet voice, "but I am unable to move hand or foot. Doubtless, my daughter has told you of my affliction. My daughter will see you presently."
Fanks bowed, and there was a silence between them for a few moments. He glanced round the neatly furnished room; at the pictures and photographs; but among them all he could not see one of the dead Emma.
At the elbow of Mrs. Colmer, on a small table, stood a pile of photographs, at which she had evidently been looking prior to his entrance, and Fanks surmised that a portrait of Emma might be there. He was anxious to discover one, if possible, as Anne had denied that there was a photograph of her sister in existence save the one which she had sought at Sir Gregory's chambers. Fanks thought that if he could find another in the pile at Mrs. Colmer's elbow he would be able to convict Anne out of her own mouth, and expose the falsity of the motive she gave for her visit. He cast about for some means whereby to accomplish his purpose.
"You will excuse me, Mrs. Colmer," he said, rising from his seat, "but that is an excellent picture of the Bay of Naples."
He had crossed over to the other side of the room to look at the picture, and so found himself standing by the small table which held the sundry pictures. In turning away he pretended to stumble, and so knocked over the table and photographs.
"Thousand apologies," said Fanks, in confusion, stooping to pick them up.
He looked in vain for the face he sought; but he made a discovery which startled him not a little. The last photograph which he picked up off the carpet was one of--Mrs. Boazoph.
Before Fanks could remark on the strangeness of this discovery, the door opened and Anne entered the room. With characteristic quickness she recognised the photograph in the hand of the detective. At once she came forward, and signed to him to be silent. At the same time she spoke to her mother.
"Mr. Fanks has been shown into this room by mistake," she said, hurriedly; "so with your permission, mother, I shall conduct him into the next room."
"As you please, Anne; you know best."
Accepting this permission Anne drew Fanks quickly into the passage, and led him into the apartment he had seen on the occasion of his last visit. He still held the photograph in his hand; and at this she looked anxiously as she signed to him that he should take a seat. Fanks placed himself in a comfortable armchair; Miss Colmer took up her position opposite to him, and both prepared for a difficult conversation. As was natural from her late action, she made an observation on the picture of Mrs. Boazoph.
"I see that you recognise that face," said Anne, coolly; "no doubt you wonder how that photograph came to be in this house?"
"I do wonder. Am I to hear the truth from you, Miss Colmer?"
"Certainly; there is no reason why I should tell you a lie."
Man and woman looked directly into one another's eyes, and a look of mutual distrust passed between them. It was Fanks who first took up the unspoken challenge.
"I think you would tell me a lie if there was anything to be gained or concealed by it," said the detective, dryly.
"You are not far out there," returned Anne, coolly. "I am above petty moral doubts in such circumstances. But in this instance, Mr. Fanks, I have nothing to gain or to lose by telling a falsehood. You saw Mr. Hersham this morning," she added abruptly and irrelevantly.
"Yes. Have I you to thank for the alteration in his demeanour?"
"You have; I persuaded him to tell you all. Has he done so?"
"No; he has postponed the confession for a week."
"What foolish weakness," muttered Anne, with a sigh. "I wish he had told you this morning."
"Do you? Why?"
"Because you may find out that which he wished to hide before he can brace his mind to a confession. I love Edward Hersham dearly, Mr. Fanks; but I can see his faults and weakness of character as plainly as you can. I entreated him to tell you all at once. He consented; yet you see when it comes to the point his feebleness makes him shrink from the ordeal."
"You hint at danger to Hersham. May I ask if it is connected with the committal of this crime?
"No, you may not, Mr. Fanks. Edward can tell you the truth for himself in a week; he is foolish but he is not guilty."
Fanks was at once piqued and delighted with this woman. She was so clever and so inscrutable that he could not help respecting her. For the first time for many days he had met with a woman with the mind of a man; and he felt that he would need all his intelligence to beat her. On the other hand, he was not unprepared to expect defeat in place of victory.
"What would you say, Miss Colmer, if I told you that I had found the assassin of Sir Gregory?" he asked, craftily.
"I should at once congratulate you, and doubt you," was the quick response. "No, Mr. Fanks, you are not yet successful, else you would not come to see me, nor would you be astonished at seeing the photograph of Mrs. Boazoph."
"You know her, it seems?"
"I do; but my mother does not know her under that name."
"What do you mean?"
Miss Colmer made no immediate reply. She compressed her beautiful lips tightly together, and looked out of the window.
"I see that I shall have to make a confidant of you, sir," she said, slowly, "although I do not recognise your claim to demand an explanation."
"Pardon me, Miss Colmer," said Fanks, with the utmost politeness, "the law gives me every right. By your visit to Half-Moon Street where the murdered man lived you implicated yourself in the matter. I can see by the hints of yourself and Hersham that you both know more than you choose to tell; and as I am deputed to search out the truth, I can call on you to reveal all you know."
"I made my confession yesterday."
"Was it the truth?"
"It was the truth so far as it went."
"Ah! then there is more to tell?"
"Yes," said Anne, after a pause; "there is more to tell; but not yet, not yet."
Fanks leaned forward and looked into her eyes. "Miss Colmer," he said in a low tone, "tell me who killed Sir Gregory?"
"I do not know; I swear I do not know. See here, Mr. Fanks," she cried, suddenly, "I do not know the truth, but I have an inkling of the truth; I may be wrong; I fervently trust that I am wrong; still I am doubtful; very, very doubtful. I can't tell you of my suspicions: they might get an innocent person into trouble."
"Are you alluding to Hersham?"
"I decline to say; by my advice Mr. Hersham is about to tell you all he knows; I cannot take the words out of his mouth; he would never forgive me; and I do not wish to lose his love."
"Then you mean Mrs. Boazoph?"
"I refuse to speak; I shall leave you if you ask further questions," she said, almost fiercely. "You nearly discovered what I think is the truth in those chambers; I did not know that you were there, but I went up to Half-Moon Street to prevent the truth being discovered, if I could. I failed because you were present."
Fanks sat up alertly. She had given him a clue. "Is the truth to be discovered in Half-Moon Street?" he asked, eagerly.
Anne moistened her dry lips, and turned away her face. "Yes! I believe it is," she murmured, "and I hope you will never discover it."
She was so moved that Fanks thought she was about to faint. With considerable dexterity he left the question alone for a time and turned the conversation toward the subject of Mrs. Boazoph.
"You have not yet told me about this portrait," he said, gently.
"I will do so now," said Anne, recovering her nerve, "Mrs. Boazoph is my mother's sister; she is my aunt."
"Oh!" said Fanks, considerably astonished, "then how is it that your mother does not know the name of Boazoph?"
"Because she only knows her sister as Mrs. Bryant."
"But I do not understand," said Fanks, rather bewildered.
"The matter is easy of explanation. My mother is a gentlewoman, although we keep a shop; and she is very proud of her birth and blood. The behaviour of my sister nearly killed her. You can, therefore, guess what she would think of my aunt, Mrs. Boazoph, did she know that she kept a notorious hotel in Tooley's Alley; and was so well known to the police as she is."
Fanks looked at this woman in astonishment. It was so strange to hear her speak in this manner of her own flesh and blood. Anne noticed his astonishment; and a faint blush crept over her cheek. "I see what you are thinking of, Mr. Fanks. But I know my aunt; she has told me all about her unhappy life. Believe me, she is more to be pitied than blamed."
"Like Hersham?" said Links, dryly.
"Yes, like Mr. Hersham," she retorted, defiantly. "My aunt made an unhappy marriage with a man far beneath her. His name was Bryant, not Boazoph, so my mother only knows her sister by that name. Bryant lost all his money, and was set up by some of his friends in the Red Star, in Tooley's Alley. There, from some shame at his fall, he called himself Boazoph. When he died, my aunt carried on the business; and I daresay you know all the rest of her life."
Fanks nodded. "I suppose Mrs. Boazoph visits you occasionally, as Mrs. Bryant?" he said, inquisitively.
"She comes once or twice in the year; and, for my mother's sake, I see her; but I do not approve of Mrs. Boazoph's misguided life, and I am not what you would call friendly with her."
"Yours is indeed an unfortunate family," said Fanks, bluntly, and with less of his usual courtesy. "Your sister driven to her death by that dead scoundrel; your aunt one of the most notorious women in London; your mother paralysed; your lover mixed up in this murder."
Anne lost her temper at this brutal speech, which was just what Fanks wished her to do, and why he had made it. Inherently a gentleman, he would never have thought of taunting the poor girl with the crime and follies of her family had he not desired to get the better of her; but in this instance he desired to make her angry; and took this way--an unworthy way it must be confessed. With a burst of indignation, Anne rose to her feet.
"I always understood that you were a gentleman, Mr. Fanks," she said bitterly, "but I see I am mistaken. If you think to trap me into helping you by insulting my family, you are mistaken. I shall tell you nothing--now."
"Perhaps I may force you to help me," said Fanks, looking very wicked.
"I am afraid not. In what way do you hope to accomplish so impossible a task?"
"Why," said Fanks, keeping his eyes fixed on her face, "by arresting your lover."
"You dare not."
"I dare! I dare anything. Look you here, Miss Colmer, I am growing tired of being in the dark; and rather than remain in it any longer, I shall resort to strong measures. In some way--of which you know--Hersham is mixed up in this crime. If you won't be persuaded to tell, you must be forced to speak out, if only to save Hersham from being tried for the crime. I shall arrest him."
"Do so; and you will only be the loser by so rash an action."
Fanks walked to the door. "Good day, Miss Colmer, I shall do as I say; and the blame will lie at your door."
Anne said nothing; but, very pale and very determined, she stood looking at Fanks. He admired her for the way in which she was fighting, and he privately considered that if the way to the truth lay through Anne Colmer, there was small chance of it being discovered. He made one more attempt to induce her to speak.
"Come," he said, pleadingly, "be advised; save yourself and Hersham, by telling the truth."
"I don't know the truth, I only guess it."
"Your guess may be the correct one; let me know what it is?"
"No, no, no!"
"You won't speak?"
"No. Not for worlds."
It was plain that whatever she knew she would not reveal, so Fanks, shaking his head, left the room. When he was out of the door, Anne broke down, and, falling into a chair, she burst into tears. Yet she had no idea of yielding: for better or worse the die was cast, and if Hersham was arrested, at her door would lie the ruin and disgrace of his life. Truly, it was a powerful reason which made Anne conceal the truth at the expense of her lover's liberty, and--it might be--of his life.
As for Fanks, he went off to the station, and caught the train to town. He had gone to Taxton-on-Thames full of hope of success; he left it beaten on every point--and by a woman. His sole chance of learning anything further lay in advertising for the negro; and in the chance that Hersham would confess next week. Anne Colmer was as silent as the Sphinx; all the same, Fanks had not done with that young lady.
It may be here mentioned that Fanks had no intention of arresting Hersham at the present time, he had threatened to do so in order to induce Anne to speak out; but this having failed, he thought no more about the matter. The journalist was being watched, and he could be arrested at any moment; so Fanks was quite at his ease on that score. The slightest false step, and Hersham would find himself within the walls of a jail; but up to the present time Fanks had not collected sufficient evidence against him to warrant any magistrate authorising his imprisonment. The confession of the next week might bring about the intervention of the law, but till then Fanks left Hersham under the eye of the watching detective, and devoted himself to searching for the mysterious negro who had worn the green coat with brass buttons.
It may seem strange to the reader that so astute a man as Mr. Fanks should advertise for a negro, when he was confident that the only negro connected with the matter was in Bombay. But this apparent riddle will be explained when Mr. Fanks receives the expected answer to his paragraph in the "Morning Planet." This appeared two days after he left Taxton-on-Thames, and read as follows:--
"Ten pounds reward will be given to any person who can inform advertiser of the whereabouts of a black man dressed in a green coat with brass buttons. Twenty pounds will be given to anyone who can give information as to the movements of the said black man on the night of the twenty-first of June last, between the hours of six and nine. Apply Messrs. Vaud and Vaud, Lincoln's Inn Fields."
It cannot be said that this advertisement was a masterpiece of composition, but the clumsy wording was due to Crate, and Crate not being a scholar had written it in such a fashion. Fanks commented on its prolixity to the author himself on the morning of its appearance.
"You could have shortened that advertisement considerably," he said, smiling. "I never saw so roundabout a request for information."
"What does it' matter?" replied Crate, growing rather red. "I ain't no scholar, Mr. Fanks, and I did the best I could. If, the fish bites, sir, that is all you want."
"I hope the fish will bite, Crate," said Fanks, fretfully; "if not, I do not know what I shall do. Never have I been so unlucky as over this case. Everything seems to go wrong with me. But if I can find anyone who saw this negro on the night of the murder we my hear strange things."
"About Mrs. Boazoph and Dr. Binjoy?"
"About Miss Colmer and Hersham. Though to be sure such information may run me into a blind alley. By the way, did Mr. Garth call to see me in my absence?"
"Twice, sir."
"The deuce!" muttered Fanks, with a frown. "I wonder why he is so anxious over this case?"
"I think I can tell you that, sir."
"And I think I can guess what you are about to say," retorted Fanks. "However, let me hear your theory."
"Well, I may be wrong," said Crate, modestly, "but it seems to me that this Mr. Garth is anxious to find out that Sir Louis Fellenger is concerned in the murder of his cousin, because----"
"Because he wants to inherit the Fellenger title and property as next heir," finished Fanks, smartly.
"Exactly, sir; what do you think of my theory?"
"There may be something in it, Crate," replied Fanks, thoughtfully; "of course, Mr. Garth comes into the Fellenger estates on the death of the present baronet. But," he added, emphatically, "we know that this negro actually killed Sir Gregory, so Louis could only be associated with the case as an accessory before the fact. Therefore he could not be hanged, even if the case were proved against him. Where would Mr. Garth be then? In such an event the estates would probably be thrown into Chancery while Sir Louis was undergoing imprisonment, and would not come to Garth for years. Your idea is a good one, Crate, but I do not see how it would benefit our friend."
Crate scratched his chin. "I suppose that Mr. Garth is lawyer enough to know all that," he said, grudgingly, "and wouldn't risk his neck for the mere chance of such a thing. He----"
"Ah! now you are on another track. Mr. Garth may be anxious to prove the case against Sir Louis, but I do not think he killed Sir Gregory himself."
"Oh, I know who you think is guilty, Mr. Fanks. All the same, I do not agree with you; and I should not be surprised if this Garth turned out to be the real criminal."
"Garth isn't a negro."
"I guess you have your own ideas about that negro, Mr. Fanks."
The detective smiled and rose from his seat. "I guess I have, Mr. Crate. You are improving, my friend; and you are beginning to see further than your nose. I should not wonder if I made something of you yet. So you suspect Garth?"
With becoming modesty, but a good deal of emphasis, Crate asserted that he did, and moreover said that if permitted by his superior officer he would have great pleasure in proving his case against the barrister. To this Fanks assented readily enough.
"Prove your case by all means, Crate," he said, dryly. "I do not agree with you in the least; all the same I am always open to correction. One thing only I ask. You must tell me all you do, all you discover, as I do not wish you to cross my trail."
This Crate assented to without demur, and Fanks departed to Duke Street, where he changed his clothes for the more stylish ones of Rixton. Thence he went to the Athenian Club, and, as he expected, found Garth in the smoking-room. The lean lawyer looked so haggard and worn out that Fanks wondered if there might not be more in Crate's theory than appeared at first sight. But he rejected this idea almost as soon as it crossed his mind; he was confident that the true assassin of Sir Gregory was--but that revelation comes later. In the meantime he greeted Garth with his customary coolness, and sat down beside him with a view to learning all that had transpired during his absence.
"Were you waiting for me here?" he asked, lighting a cigarette.
"Not exactly," replied Garth, with some hesitation. "I hoped that you would come in here sooner or later, and I wished to see you. But at present I am waiting for Herbert Vaud."
"Really! Do you expect him shortly?"
Garth looked at his watch. "He ought to be here now."
"What do you wish to see him about?" asked Fanks, eyeing his companion keenly; "anything about this case?"
Garth nodded. "Yes; young Vaud knew Emma Calvert, and I wish to learn if she is really dead."
"You can set your mind at rest on that point," said Fanks, coolly. "Emma Calvert is six feet below the soil of Pere la Chaise."
"But the woman who appeared at my cousin's chambers; the woman whom Robert said was she."
"That is Anne Colmer, the twin sister of the dead woman."
"Anne Colmer! She is engaged to Ted Hersham."
"She is. I have been down to Taxton-on-Thames, and I have found out all the family history."
"Have you found out who wrote on the back of the photograph; who directed that envelope?"
"No," said Fanks, gloomily, "I have not discovered anything yet about that."
"Do you think that Anne Colmer wrote it?"
"I am certain from personal observation that Anne Colmer did not."
"Did her mother?"
"Impossible. Mrs. Colmer is a hopeless paralytic."
"Then who wrote it?"
"That is just what I have to learn. I am no further in the case than I was when I saw you last. Have you discovered anything?"
"No; but I had hoped to have learned about Emma from Herbert."
"Well," said Fanks, with a sigh, "we know all about Herbert Vaud; we are aware of the identity of Emma Calvert. It is not in that direction we must search. Our only chance of finding out the truth, lies in discovering this negro."
"I saw your advertisement in the 'Morning Planet.' Anybody who can give information is to call at the office of Vaud and Vaud, I see."
"I thought it best that they should receive the information," said Fanks, "seeing that they are the solicitors of Sir Louis. I hope that something will turn up; but I am doubtful; I am very doubtful."
At this moment the waiter brought in a telegram to Mr. Garth. The barrister opened it, and uttered an ejaculation of surprise. After a pause, he handed the telegram to Fanks. "Queer, isn't it?" he said.
Fanks looked at the message, which ran as follows: "Cannot see you to-day; have to wait in to see Fanks about advertisement. H. Vaud."
"Humph!" said Fanks, rising briskly to his feet, "it is strange that I should be here with you; and stranger still that the advertisement should be answered so promptly. I told Vaud to write to Scotland Yard should anything turn up; but this will save me a journey."
"Can I come with you?"
"If you like; I must call at my room first," said Fanks. "By the way, my friend," he added, turning sharply on Garth, "you don't know anything about this very apropos telegram?"
"Good Lord, no! How should I? You don't think that I sent it?"
"No, I don't. But it is--no matter. Let us get on; there is no time to lose."
As a matter of fact, Fanks did not like the look of things at all. He was naturally suspicious of this telegram, fitted in so very neatly with the subject of their conversation, that he thought Garth might know more of it than he had chosen to say. But a moment's reflection convinced him that he suspected the lawyer wrongly. Garth did not know that he was coming to the Athenian Club; therefore, he could not have made such an arrangement. Fanks dismissed the matter from his mind; and allowed Garth to come with him to his room.
In Duke Street he picked up a photograph, and placed it in his pocket. Garth saw the face of the picture, and whistled. "You don't think that person has anything to do with it?" he asked, anxiously.
"This person has to do with the present matter," said Fanks, smartly, "but I can't say if the person has anything to do with the death in Tooley's Alley. I am only taking this portrait on chance; I may be wrong. However, we shall see," and not another word would Fanks say, until he arrived at Lincoln's Inn Fields.
Here they found Herbert in his father's room with an apology. "I have to take the place of my father to-day, Mr. Fanks," said the young lawyer, who looked ill, "he is not well, and deputed me to see after this matter."
"Touching the advertisement?" said Fanks, eagerly.
"Yes. A man turned up this morning in answer to it. He is waiting in the next room; and he says that he knows all about the negro you are in search of."
"Good. Let us have him in. You do not mind my friend, Mr. Garth, being present, I hope?"
"Not at all," replied Herbert, coldly; "that lies more in your hands than mine. Show in that man who came about the advertisement," he added to a clerk who entered.
The gentleman in question entered. A dried-up little man, brisk and keen-eyed, with a horsey look about him. He glanced sharply at the three men, pulled his forelock, and proceeded to ask about the reward.
"I want thirty puns," he said, calmly.
"Oh, no, you don't," retorted Fanks, "you want ten or twenty. The two rewards are separate; you must not add them together."
"But I can tell of the whereabouts of this negro; and I can tell his movements. I know all about him, so I ought to get both rewards."
"You'll get either the ten or the twenty," said Fanks. "Now no more talk; what is your name?"
"Berry Jawkins; I am barman at the Eight Bells public on the Richmond Road."
"Ho; Ho!" muttered Fanks, "I thought as much."
"On the twenty-first a nigger came riding a bicycle about eight o'clock; he came into the bar; and had a drink. He wore a green coat with brass buttons. After he had his drink, he asked if he might wash his face. I sent him out to the pump in the back yard; he washed and came in. Then gents," said the little man, with emphasis, "I got a surprise, I can tell you."
"What kind of surprise?" demanded Garth, with an astonished look.
"Why, sir; that nigger weren't no nigger at all; he were a white man; as white as you make 'em."
"A white man," said Fanks, producing the portrait from his pocket.
"A white man with a smile and a moustache; a very good-looking sort of feller," added the barman, "he explained how it was he--"
"Wait a moment," said Fanks, "is that the man you saw?"
Berry Jawkins started back in surprise, the moment he set eyes on the photograph which Fanks had thrust under his nose. "My gum, here's a start," said Mr. Berry Jawkins. "That's the very identical person who washed himself at the Eight Bells. How did you come to know of him, sir?"
"I suspected it for some time," said Fanks, "do you recognise the face, Mr. Vaud?"
Herbert looked at the face, and his countenance reflected the astonishment of Berry Jawkins and of Garth.
"Why!" exclaimed the young solicitor, starting back, "it is Ted Hersham."
Although Fanks quite expected this revelation, he was, nevertheless, rather astonished at its unexpected confirmation. From that bicycle ride of Hersham's to Taxton-on-Thames to thwart his designs on Anne Colmer, Fanks had deduced certain suspicions; the hesitation of the journalist had confirmed those suspicions. Frankly speaking, he had no reason to connect Hersham with the negro; but he had been satisfied from the evidence of Simeon Wagg that Caesar--Dr. Binjoy's servant--had not been away from the Surrey village on that fatal night. Failing the real negro someone must have personated the black man; from the behaviour of Hersham, Fanks thought he might be the person in question. His random shot had hit the bull's-eye; it was quite an accident that it had done so.
"I expected as much," said Fanks, again restoring the photograph; to his pocket-book. "I told you, Garth, that I was right to trust to my instincts. This discovery explains the extraordinary conduct of Hersham."
"In what way?"
"I shall tell you later on. In the meantime let us hear what this man has to say."
He turned towards Berry Jawkins as he spoke, and waited for him to speak. The barman looked rather downcast, and when he did open his mouth it was to revert to the subject of the reward.
"I'm a poor man, gentlemen," he said, in a whining tone, "and I hope you mean fair about this thirty puns."
"We mean fair about the twenty pounds, man," said Vaud, sternly. "You heard what Mr. Fanks said."
"Oh, yes, I heard fast enough," retorted Berry Jawkins, "and I don't hold with him; the rewards added together make thirty puns."
"No doubt they do; but then the rewards are not to be added together," said Fanks. "You had better tell all you know, Mr. Berry Jawkins, or I'll look into the matter myself, and then you'll get no reward."
"Ah you'd go back on me. Well, d'y see, I shan't tell anything."
Fanks shrugged his shoulders. He had no desire to quarrel with the man or to waste time in arguing. The only way to induce speech from this obstinate creature was to pay him the money, which, after all, he had earned fairly enough. The detective therefore advised Herbert Vaud to fulfil the terms of the advertisement, which was accordingly done, and Mr. Jawkins found himself the richer by twenty pounds.
"Though it should have been thirty puns," said the obstinate creature; "but there ain't no chance of getting what's fair out of the aristocracy. I am a Radical, I am, and I goes----"
"We don't want to have your political opinions, man," said Fanks, sharply. "Come to the point."
"I'm coming to it," grumbled Berry Jawkins. "On the night of the twenty-first I was in the bar. Business was bad that evening, gentlemen, and there was not a blessed soul in the bar but myself. Just about eight o'clock I thought as how I might shut up, when the door opened and in came a black man. He said, 'I've left my bike outside: I want a drink of Scotch cold,' he ses. And, mind you, I twigged that he wasn't a nigger when he spoke, and I saw as he was a gent by the peculiar refinement of his jawing. But as it wasn't my business, I said nothing till he asked to wash his face. Then I told him to go round to the pump in the back yard, 'tho'' ses I, 'a gent like you will want hot water.' 'I ain't a gent,' ses he, 'I'm only a poor strolling Christy Minstrel,' he ses. Then I laughs, seein' as he was lying; but he scowls and bolts out to the back. When he comes back his face was white--as white as you or me--and he had a moustached like the feller in that photo. In fact, gents, he is the feller in that photo, as I can swear to in any court of law. Well, he comes back clean, and finishes his Scotch cold, and goes out. I thinks his manner queer-like, and goes to the door. He gets on his bike, and goes off down the road like a house on fire."
"Which way did he go? To London or down the country?"
"Oh, down the country, for sure, gents. Well, I didn't say anything about all this, for I thought as he might be a gent doing a bolt in disguise; but it wasn't any of my business to split, perticular as he had given me two shilling, just for fun like. But, all the same, I keeps my eye on the papers to see if there was anyone wanted. Then I comes to this Tooley Alley murder, and a description of the negro in a green coat and brass buttons. 'That's my man,' I ses, 'but hold hard, Berry Jawkins, and don't say nothing till you see as there is a reward.' So I waits and waits, till in this morning's paper I sees a reward of thirty puns----"
"Twenty pounds!"
"Very well, gents all, we'll say twenty, tho' to my mind it ought to be another tenner. But, as I ses, I sees this reward, and comes up to get it. I have got it," said Jawkins, slapping his pocket, "tho' not the amount I did expect; now, having told all, I goes, hoping you'll catch that black-white nigger and hang him, for I think he is a aristocrat, and I hates them, they being my natural enemies."
Having heard this history, Fanks let Berry Jawkins go, as there was no reason why he should be detained. First, however, he found out that Mr. Jawkins was always to be heard of at the Eight Bells in his capacity of barman. The man having left the room, Fanks turned towards Garth and Herbert to see what they thought of the revelation which had been so unexpectedly made. They returned his gaze, and Garth was the first to break the silence.
"Well," he said, in a low tone, "so Hersham is the culprit after all?"
"Pardon me, Garth; but I do not think that we have proved that yet. What do you say, Mr. Vaud?"
"I can say nothing," replied Herbert, coldly. "I have no opinion in the matter. As my father is absent I am attending to the case by his desire; but, personally speaking, I would not lift one finger to discover the assassin--or rather, the punisher of Gregory Fellenger."
"You hated him then?" said Fanks, quietly.
"I hated him; I still hate him; even though he is dead. You wonder at my speaking in this way, Mr. Fanks, but--"
"No!" replied Fanks, with a certain pity in his tone. "I do not wonder; your father told Mr. Garth here the story of Emma Calvert; and Mr. Garth repeated it to me. I know you hate the very memory of that dead scoundrel."
"Can you wonder at it?" said Herbert again. "I loved her; she did not love but she might have grown to do so in time. But he came with his lies and money to drag her away from me. He married her certainly, but he drove her to suicide; and if he had not met with his death by this unknown hand, he would have had to reckon with me for his baseness."
"You would have killed him yourself, perhaps?"
Herbert Vaud opened and shut his hand convulsively. "I don't know what I should have done," he said in a thick voice. "But he is dead, so what does it matter. But if I had my way, the assassin of Gregory Fellenger should go free."
"He may go free after all," said Fanks, quietly, "we have not yet solved the problem of his death."
"We have proved that Hersham was disguised as the negro," said Garth, impetuously.
"We have proved that Hersham was disguised asanegro," replied Fanks, making the correction with point, "but we have not proved that he was--that he is--the negro who killed your cousin in Tooley's Alley."
"If he did not, why was he blacked up on the very night the murder was committed. He must have had some reason for so masquerading."
"I have no doubt he had a reason; and I have no doubt that he will explain his reason to me when I see him. But, on the face of it, I do not think that he is the negro of Tooley's Alley."
"Why not?" said Garth, impatiently. "Look here, Fanks. The skein runs out as clean as a whistle. Hersham has a cross tattooed on his arm. The death of my cousin was caused by a similar cross being pricked on his arm. Hersham is engaged to Anne Colmer; you tell me that she is the sister of the girl, Emma Calvert, who committed suicide in Paris, as the victim of Sir Gregory. The envelope, making the appointment comes from Taxton-on-Thames; Anne Colmer comes from the same place; she lives there. Hersham was disguised as a negro on the very night of the murder--at the very time the murder was committed. What is more reasonable than to suppose that Hersham was inspired by Anne Colmer to kill the man who had deceived her sister. There, in a few words you have the motive of the crime; and the way in which it was carried out. Oh, there is no doubt in my mind that we have the real man at last. Were I you, I should arrest Hersham without delay."
"If you were in my place, you would do what I intend to do," said Fanks, quietly, "and take time to consider the matter. I admit that you have made a very strong case out against Hersham, but there is one important particular which you have overlooked."
"What is that?" asked Garth, "it seems to me that there is not a link missing."
"That comes of being too confident. Can you see the missing link, Mr. Vaud?"
The young lawyer reflected for a few moments in a composed and careless manner, then looked up, and professed his inability to amend the case as set out against Hersham. Fanks shrugged his shoulders at their lack of penetration, and explained his theory.
"The negro who was in Tooley's Alley had no moustache," he said, slowly, "as was proved by the evidence of Mrs. Boazoph. Hersham, on the contrary, both as negro and white man, had a moustache; as has been proved by the story of Berry Jawkins."
"It might have been a false moustache," said Garth, still sticking to his point.
"It was not a false moustache," retorted Fanks, shaking his head, "if Hersham intended a disguise he would have worn a beard. A moustache would disguise him little. But for the sake of argument, we will grant that the moustache was intended as a disguise. If so, why did he retain it when he washed the black off his face; or, if it was part of his disguise, why did he wear it both as the black and the white man. No, no. I am sure that Hersham wore his own moustache; and not a false one. And again," added Fanks, with an afterthought, "I saw Hersham shortly after the murder--within two or three days in fact--he then wore a heavy moustache; and you can trust me when I say it was not a false one. If then Hersham was the Tooley Alley negro, who we have agreed committed the murder, how did he manage to grow his moustache in so short a period. The thing is impossible," finished the detective, "that one point alone assures me that Hersham is guiltless of the crime."
"Mrs. Boazoph may have made a mistake," suggested Garth, "remember she did not see the negro go out."
"She saw him go in, however. Mrs. Boazoph is too clever a woman to make a mistake of that sort. The black man who committed the murder had no moustache; our friend, masquerading as a Christy Minstrel, had one. Against the evidence of Mrs. Boazoph we can place the evidence of Berry Jawkins; the one contradicts the other; and both evidences conclusively prove that Hersham had no hand in the commission of the mysterious tragedy."
"And another thing," said Herbert, suddenly. "Mr. Garth couples the fact of the murder with the name of Miss Colmer. As a friend of the family, I protest against that. I know Mrs. Colmer, I know her daughter; and I am certain that neither of these unfortunate people have anything to do with the death of that scoundrel."
"Nevertheless the envelope which contained the appointment of the Red Star in Tooley's Alley as the rendezvous bore the Taxton-on-Thames postmark. Mrs. Colmer and her daughter live at Taxton-on-Thames."
"What of that? Sir Louis Fellenger and his medical friend lived at the same place. You might as well say that the new baronet committed the crime so as to succeed to the title and estates. The one theory is as feasible as the other."
"Very true," said Fanks, in a desponding tone; "I am as much in the dark as ever. At the present moment we can build up a theory on anything. For instance, I might say that our friend Garth here killed his cousin."
"The deuce!" cried Garth, aghast.
"You are startled," said Fanks, keenly watching the effect of his speech on the young man. "I don't wonder at it. I merely say this to show how slow you should be in condemning Hersham."
"But I don't see how you could bring me in," stammered Garth.
"It is easy enough. You are the heir, failing Sir Louis; you know the purport of that tattooed cross. You might have killed your cousin, and have sent the appointment from Taxton-on-Thames to implicate Sir Louis in the matter, and so have removed the two people between you and the title at one sweep."
"But I don't want the title."
"Possibly not; but you want money. But do not look so afraid, Garth. I don't think you committed the crime; you are no doubt as innocent as Mr. Herbert here."
"If I had committed the crime I should not deny it," said Herbert, gloomily. "I should glory in causing the death of such a scoundrel. If Fellenger had not been killed by the negro in Tooley's Alley, Mr. Fanks, you might have had to arrest me as the cause of his death. As it is, my revenge has been taken out of my hands. But the same end has been arrived at. I am glad the blackguard is dead."
Here the argument ended, and Fanks went out arm in arm with Garth. Both of them were sorry for the unhappy Herbert Vaud, and both of them were more puzzled than ever over the case. As yet all evidence had failed to throw the least gleam of light on the subject.