Shortly after the conversation at Lincoln's Inn Fields Fanks took his leave of Garth. He was rather weary of the lawyer's company, and, moreover, he found such a third person a hindrance to the free speech he wished to induce from those with whom he conversed. In his own heart he was perfectly satisfied that Garth was connected in no way with the crime, for the test which he applied in the office of Vaud and Vaud entirely satisfied him. Nevertheless, he was not so certain that Garth would not be pleased to learn that his cousin--the sole person who stood between him and the Fellenger estate--was implicated in the affair.
On these grounds he therefore excused himself to the barrister, and walked off by himself, intent on his own business. Garth, who was suffering from a bad attack of detective fever, was not over pleased at being thus dismissed; still he thought it best to obey his friend, and so he departed, to think over the aspect the case had now assumed. In fact, he intended to do a little detective business on his own account, and, if possible, he wished to surprise Fanks by an unexpected discovery. There were now three different people following three different lines of action with respect to the case, so it was to be hoped that one of them at least would run down the assassin of Sir Gregory Fellenger, unless indeed all failed on the principle that too many cooks spoil the broth.
On leaving the barrister, Fanks took his way towards Tooley's Alley. It was his intention to see Mrs. Boazoph and to try an experiment on that astute lady. From her demeanour Fanks believed that the landlady of the Red Star knew more about the case than she choose to confess, and that she was anxious to screen the man or woman who had done the deed. Of this belief he wished to make certain.
Mrs. Boazoph received the detective with her customary composure. She was quite prepared for his visit, as she knew that her connection with the case was too patent to escape his vigilant eye. Anticipating a trying conversation, she directed Fanks to be shown into her private sitting-room, and she braced herself up to confuse and baffle him.
No one would have guessed the landlady's thoughts from the amiable manner in which she received her almost declared enemy. She was positively genial in her conversation and demeanour, and Fanks augured ill from this.
"Well, Mrs. Boazoph," said he, mildly, "I suppose you are wondering what brings me here?"
"Indeed I am doing no such thing, Mr. Fanks. You came to find out what I know about this crime."
"I congratulate you on your perspicuity, Mrs. Boazoph. And what do you know about it?"
The woman raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders.
"I know nothing at all," she replied. "I gave my evidence at the inquest; you heard it."
"Well?"
"Well, there is nothing more to be said."
"I beg to differ with you, Mrs. Boazoph; there is a great deal more to be said."
"Not by me," said Mrs. Boazoph, obstinately, closing her mouth. "If you think that I am going to assist you to find out who killed this wretched man, you are very much mistaken."
"Strange," said Fanks, in a musing tone, meant to reach her ear, "the same thing was said in almost the same words by Anne Colmer."
"What do you know about Anne Colmer?"
"More than you can guess. For instance, I know that she is the niece of--Mrs. Bryant."
With a start, instantly repressed, she looked to him in a hard and fixed manner, a disbelieving smile on her lips. "Mrs. Bryant," she repeated, "and who is Mrs. Bryant?"
"If you don't know, I am sure I do not."
"Speak plainly. I hate epigrams."
"So do I. They are such a bar to intelligent conversation. Well, Mrs. Bryant is a lady of birth, who married beneath her. Mr. Bryant was a bully, a sot, a spendthrift, and he lost all his money by fast living. When he became poor, his friends--for strange to say, this unpleasant person had some friends--set him up in an hotel. He was ashamed to stick his own name over his door; so he cast about for another. Perhaps you can tell me what that other name was?"
"No."
"What a singularly obstinate person you are," said, Fanks, shaking his head. "Believe me, it is no use our wasting time in discussing facts. Be sensible, Mrs. Boazoph, and admit that you are Mrs. Bryant."
"No."
"Mrs. Bryant, the sister of Mrs. Colmer, of Taxton-on-Thames, dressmaker, and decayed gentlewoman."
"I don't know her; I never heard her name."
"Really!" said Fanks, with gentle pity, "then I must inquire of Mrs. Colmer, of Taxton-on-Thames, how is it that her sister, Mrs. Bryant, is the notorious Mrs. Boazoph, of London."
"You are a fiend!"
"And what is Mrs. Bryant, alias Boazoph?"
"She is a most unhappy woman; a woman rather to be pitied than blamed."
"Ah!" said Fanks, drawing a long breath of satisfaction. "So you admit your identity at last."
"I can do nothing else. I do not wish my poor sister to know that I am Mrs. Boazoph. She thinks that I live on the money left to me by my late husband; she does not know that I keep this hotel; that I am the woman who has been mentioned so often in the papers, in connection with thieves, rogues, and detectives. Yes. I admit that I am Mrs. Bryant, the sister of Mrs. Colmer. Who told you?"
"Your niece, Anne."
"She had no business to do so."
"Very probably; but she could not help herself. I forced her to speak; how, it does not matter; but I extracted the truth out of her, Mrs. Bryant."
"Call me Mrs. Boazoph," flashed out the woman, "and relieve me of your presence as speedily as possible. What do you wish to know?"
"I wish to know the agreement you made with Dr. Binjoy, regarding this crime."
"Who is Dr. Binjoy?"
"Come now, Mrs. Boazoph, do not let us have another argument. I have neither the time nor the patience to endure one, I assure you. I know more than you think; and I can force you to speak if I so choose. I would rather not choose, if it is all the same to you. Let us conduct this conversation pleasantly, if possible. You know that Dr. Binjoy is the same as Dr. Renshaw?"
"Indeed, I do not. How can you prove it?"
"Very easily. I followed Dr. Renshaw on his presumed journey to Bombay, and tracked him to Mere Hall at Bournemouth."
Mrs. Boazoph quailed, and shrank back. This man knew so much, that she did not know where she stood.
For the moment, she did not know what to do; but, unable to deny the identity of Renshaw with Binjoy, she admitted it.
"Good!" said Fanks, in a satisfied tone, "we are getting on. And the agreement you made with this man?"
"I made no agreement with him."
"Then why was he here on the night of the murder?"
"It was an accident. For some reason of his own, Dr. Binjoy, whom I met at Taxton-on-Thames, was in the habit of changing his name when in London. He usually stayed with Dr. Turnor, who is an old friend of his; and did his work when Turnor was absent. When I found out the murder, I sent for Dr. Turnor, he was away, and Dr. Binjoy came under his name of Renshaw. I was astonished to see him. I did not know that he was in town."
"Oh! Had you any reason to go to Mere Hall to see him?"
"Mere Hall!" stammered Mrs. Boazoph, "you saw me at Mere Hall?"
"I saw you with my own eyes; you cannot deny that."
"I have no wish to deny it," retorted Mrs. Boazoph, with asperity, "yes I was at Mere Hall. I went there to warn Binjoy against you."
"Indeed; and no doubt Binjoy assured you that he had baffled me by the pretended journey to Bombay."
"Yes, he said that."
"And did he say that he had sent his negro, Caesar, to Bombay, in his place?"
Mrs. Boazoph drew back and gasped, holding tightly on to the arms of her chair. "You know that?" she said, in alarm.
"I know that, and a great deal more," said Fanks, grimly. "In fact, I more than suspect that I know the assassin."
"Then you know that Caesar killed Sir Gregory?"
"You jump to conclusions, Mrs. Boazoph," said Fanks, noting the tone of relief in which she made this remark. "I do not know that Caesar killed Sir Gregory Fellenger. But I know that both you and Dr. Binjoy would like me to think so."
"Man! Man!" cried Mrs. Boazoph, with an hysterical laugh, "do you think that I had anything to do with this crime?"
"Why not; the man was killed in your house: you called in a doctor, who is the dearest friend of the present baronet; it was to Binjoy's interest that Sir Gregory should be got out of the way."
Again Mrs. Boazoph seemed relieved. "Then you suppose that Binjoy instructed Caesar to kill Sir Gregory?"
"No, I do not; Caesar had nothing to do with the commission of the crime."
"Then who was the black man who killed the baronet?"
"It was no black man."
"But it was," said. Mrs. Boazoph, angrily. "I saw him myself enter the room."
"You saw a white man disguised as a negro enter the room."
Mrs. Boazoph bounded to her feet. "What!" she cried, "do you mean to say that the black man was a disguised white man?"
"Yes, I do say so; although I daresay it is no news to you."
Mrs. Boazoph stamped her foot. "It is news to me, I tell you. I thought that Caesar killed Sir Gregory at the behest of Dr. Binjoy. When you entered the room I hoped to keep the fact from you; because I did not wish Binjoy to get into trouble. But you say that Caesar did not commit the crime, and so you have upset my ideas altogether. Now, Mr. Fanks, I tell you truly, that if this negro did not kill Sir Gregory, I do not know the name of the assassin."
Fanks looked puzzled. She evidently spoke in all good faith, and he could not but believe her. He wondered if she was right, and whether the negro of Dr. Binjoy had killed the baronet after all. "Did you recognise as Caesar the black man who came here on that night?" he asked.
"No; how could I? I never saw Caesar in my life. But I know that Binjoy had a negro servant; that he smuggled him off to Bombay; and that he was the friend of Sir Louis Fellenger. Therefore I thought this negro was the instrument Binjoy made use of to kill Sir Gregory."
"Do you know anything about a tattooed cross, Mrs. Boazoph?" asked Fanks, going on another tack.
The woman fell into her chair as pale as a sheet of paper. The mention of the tattooed cross had a most powerful effect on her mind, and she stared thunderstruck at the detective. Not a word could she utter for at least two minutes. When she spoke her voice was thick and unsteady. "What do you know of the tattooed cross?" she muttered.
"I know that Sir Gregory let this disguised man tattoo a cross on his left arm, and that the needle used was poisoned. Now, can you tell me why Sir Gregory let a cross be pricked on his arm?"
"No! no! I--I--can't tell you that."
"Does that mean that you won't tell me?"
"It--means that I--I--can't tell you," gasped Mrs. Boazoph. "I did not know Sir Gregory Fellenger."
"Do you know anyone else who has a cross tattooed on his left arm?" asked Fanks, preparing for his great stroke.
"No! Why do you ask me?" she muttered, in a terrified tone.
"Because the man who has that cross tattooed on his left arm was the disguised negro; he was the man who killed Sir Gregory."
"Ah Heavens! Oh, Edward Hersham?" moaned Mrs. Boazoph, and fell upon the floor in a faint.
When Fanks saw Mrs. Boazoph lying at his feet his first intention was to wait until she recovered. Later on he changed his mind, and when he had placed her in the hands of the servant he went home full of thought and dark surmises. It seemed to him that the case was centring in Ted Hersham; that the whole situation depended on the right reading of the tattooed cross riddle. Mrs. Boazoph knew something about the cross, she knew something about Hersham; but what it was Fanks could by no means make up his mind. It seemed to him that in exploring the depths of Mrs. Boazoph's mind he had found a still lower deep; and he was puzzled what to think.
"Confound the woman," he thought, meditating over a pipe; "I said that we should find her at the end of the path which leads to the discovery of the mystery, and it seems that I was right. She screened Binjoy for some reason which I cannot discover; she will now attempt to save Hersham, lest he should fall into my clutches. Why should she take all this trouble for those two men? And what does she know about the tattooed cross? Does Binjoy know about it also? And was it he who made the obliterating mark? I can't think Hersham guilty, and yet things look black against him. But no," said Fanks, rising, "the disguised man who slew in Tooley's Alley and Hersham are two different people; I proved that conclusively to Garth. What's to be done now?"
It was difficult to decide. At first he almost resolved to return to Mrs. Boazoph and urge her confession; again, he thought it best to wait until he heard what Hersham had to say. It might be, he thought, that Hersham's confession would throw some light on his relation to Mrs. Boazoph. The hints of Anne Colmer, the terror of Hersham, the fainting of Mrs. Boazoph were all of a piece, and Fanks felt confident that beneath these perplexities lay the key to the riddle. It was not that he had no clue; he was in reality quite bewildered by the multiplicity of clues, so bewildered that he did not know which clue to seize first. At length he came to the conclusion that it would be best to wait till he saw Hersham and heard what he had to say, and afterwards to follow up the clue placed in his hands by the fainting of Mrs. Boazoph.
"I'll write to Hersham, and remind him that he promised to see me in a few days and tell the truth." said Fanks, going to his desk; "and if he reveals all I am certain that his confession will contain the information that Mrs. Boazoph wrote and warned him against me."
He was confident, as he said, that she would do this. If she tried to save Binjoy, she would certainly try to help Hersham; but her reason for doing the one was as inscrutable as her reason had been for acting in the way she did towards Binjoy. The further he went into the case the darker it grew; and in sheer despair Fanks wrote his reminder to Hersham, and did nothing more for the next few days but meditate over the tangle in which he found himself involved. His meditations led to no result, and when Hersham called on him at the Duke Street chambers in three days, the detective was at his wit's end how to proceed.
However, he was delighted to see Hersham, as he had doubted whether the young man would fulfil his promise. Now that he had come to do so there might be some chance of seeing a gleam of light. Fanks did not tell the journalist what he had discovered concerning his movements on the night of the twenty-first, as he wanted to see if Hersham would confess as much. If he did so, such frankness would confirm his belief that the young fellow had nothing to do with the commission of the crime. If, on the other hand, Hersham concealed the proven facts Fanks intended to force him into confession by revealing what he had heard from Berry Jawkins. By the result he would be guided in his future movements. The ensuing conversation was likely to prove as interesting and important as that which he had held with Mrs. Boazoph.
"I am glad to see you, Hersham," he said, in a gentle tone, "as I hope what you have to tell me may throw some light on the darkness of this Tooley Alley crime."
"I can throw no light on the cursed thing," said Hersham, gloomily. "I am only here to exonerate myself."
"From what? What do you mean?"
"Why should you ask me that?" said Hersham, angrily. "Is it not you who suspect me of killing this man?"
"Decidedly not. I do not think you killed Fellenger. As I told you before I do not believe you had anything to do with it."
"Then why did you have me watched?" demanded the young man.
"Ask that of yourself," said Fanks, coolly. "You roused my suspicions; you hinted that you knew something; you thwarted me with regard to Anne Colmer. Cast your mind back to our first conversation, man; you will say that I had every reason for acting as I did. If you had told me the truth at first; had you become my ally instead of my enemy, you would not have had all this trouble. But, for all that, I do not suspect you of being a murderer. Had I done so," finished Fanks, "you would have been in a cell long e'er this."
"I held my tongue because I was afraid of you," said Hersham, sullenly.
"If you are innocent, there is no reason to be afraid of me."
"I am innocent; and yet I am afraid of you. Yes, I am dreading to tell you what I am about to reveal."
"Why so?"
"Circumstances may so close round an innocent man," continued Hersham, not heeding the interruption, "that it would seem as though he were guilty. Think yourself, Fanks. Innocent men have been hanged e'er now, because circumstantial evidence was strong against them."
"True enough," replied Fanks. "I suppose it is natural that you should be afraid. No man would run the risk of putting his head into the noose if he could help it. You say that circumstances are strong against you. What are these circumstances?"
Hersham bit his lip, and turned a wan face on his friend. "I place my life in your hands, mind you," he said, hoarsely.
"It will be safe there," replied Fanks, getting up and fetching a decanter of brandy from the sideboard. "Nothing will induce me to believe that you had anything to do with the commission of this crime."
"Will you swear to that?" cried Hersham, stretching out a shaking hand.
"Certainly if it will comfort you. Here, my friend, drink this, and tell me what you know. It may help me to nab the person I have my eye on."
Hersham drank the brandy. "Have you found out who killed Fellenger?"
Fanks shrugged his shoulders. "I think so," he said, "but who can tell; I may be wrong."
"Is it a man or woman?" asked Hersham, quickly.
"I shan't tell you."
"Is it--"
"I shan't tell you, my friend. But I shall tell you this for the quieting of your fears, that it is not you whom I suspect. Now sit down again, and let me hear what you have to say."
Hersham resumed his seat obediently, and began his recital. He confessed exactly what Fanks expected he would confess; what Fanks already knew, but the detective listened to this twice-told tale with the keenest attention. Thereby he hoped to learn some new detail which had been overlooked by the zealous Berry Jawkins.
"About the beginning of June," said Hersham, in a hesitating voice, "I was engaged on a series of papers for the 'Morning Planet' on Street Music. To gain the information I required, I thought it would be an excellent plan to go about the streets of London in guise, and to get at the root of the matter. I told my editor that I would burnt-cork my face and go with some street minstrels. He approved of the idea, and I did so."
"And how were you dressed?"
"In a great coat with brass buttons. I also wore brown boots. Now, you can see why I was afraid to tell you. That is the dress the negro you are looking for wore."
"Yes!" said Flanks, perplexedly, "I know that; but I do not see why you should have been afraid to tell me. You can explain your movements on that night."
"That is exactly what I can't do," said Hersham, his face growing dark.
"I don't understand."
"I shall explain. On the night of the twenty-first I intended to go out in the streets in disguise. Before doing so, I told the office boy that if a telegram came for me he was to bring it at once to me; I expected a wire about six o'clock; and I told the boy that I would be in the Strand near St. Clements Church."
"From whom did you expect the telegram?"
"From Anne Colmer. That day I had received a letter from her, saying that she was greatly worried about something; what it was she did not tell me; but she said that if she wanted me she would wire, and that I was then to come down at once to Taxton-on-Thames."
"Go on," said Fanks, greatly interested in the introduction of Anne's name.
"Well, I blacked my face, and went out with the genuine niggers to sing and play. About six, or a little after, I was near St. Clement's Church, and there the office boy came to me with a telegram."
"Why did you expect the telegram at six?"
"Because I was in the office about five, and it had not come then. I thought it might come after I left, so I appointed St. Clement's Church as the meeting-place where the boy might find me."
"And you obeyed?"
"What was in the telegram?"
"A request that I should come down to Taxton-on-Thames at once."
"Yes, there was no reason why I should not. I thought that Anne was in trouble; I went down at once on my bicycle."
"Why did not you go by train? It would have been easier."
"Not for me. I was in the habit of running down to Taxton-on-Thames on my machine; it is only two hours' run."
"Had you your machine in town?"
"Yes; I had left it at a shop in the Strand where I usually leave it; though sometimes I ride it on to the office in Fleet Street. On this occasion it was in the Strand. As soon as I got the telegram I left my troupe and went off on my bicycle.
"Didn't you wash your face?"
"Not at that time; I was in such a hurry and so anxious to learn what was the matter with Anne, that I did not think of doing so. I rode along until I was recalled to the spectacle I must have presented, by the laughing, and the guying of the boys. Then I thought that I might startle Anne, and I determined to wash myself."
"And did you?"
"Not immediately. On the way to Richmond I had an accident, and the tyre of my back wheel was punctured. The air escaped, and I was over an hour mending it. Then I had to go slowly, and did not get to Richmond till after eight o'clock. I went into the hotel called the Eight Bells, and had a drink and a wash. Then I came out a white man to the astonishment of the barman, and went on down to Taxton-on-Thames. I got there shortly after nine o'clock."
"Didn't you nearly run over a man as you neared the village?"
"Yes, I did," said Hersham, in some astonishment. "But how do you know that?"
"I'll tell you later on," replied Fanks, smiling. "But about the result of your trip to Taxton-on-Thames?"
Hersham's face fell. "There was no result," he said, in a low voice. "When I arrived I went at once to Briar Cottage and asked for Anne. I was told that she had gone up to town by the five o'clock train."
"Gone up to town!" repeated Fanks. "That is curious. Why did she go up to town after sending you a wire to bring you down?"
"I can't say. She returned by the night train, and I was at the station to meet her. I asked her why she had gone to town, and she refused to tell me. She merely said that she had sent the wire shortly before five o'clock, and that she had found occasion to go up by the five train."
"Can you conjecture what took her to town?"
"No; and she will not tell me."
Fanks said nothing. He was meditating on the strange story told to him by Hersham, and on the stranger conduct of Anne Colmer. The mystery concerning this young lady, which had begun in the chambers of Sir Gregory, seemed to be thickening. Fanks was puzzled and gloomy.
On concluding the recital of his movements on the night of the twenty-first of June, Hersham looked anxiously at Fanks to see what the detective thought of the matter. The latter made no immediate comment, whereupon the journalist, impatient of the silence, made the first observation.
"I have told you all," he said; "now what is your opinion?"
"Let me think for a minute or two," replied Fanks, holding up his hand. "I must consider."
Thereupon he thrust his hands into his pockets and strolled to the window, where he stood looking absently at the adjacent chimney-pots. Hersham eyed him with continued anxiety, but he did not dare to interrupt, so that Fanks had ample time to reflect over the strange story which had been related to him.
He had heard the main facts of it before from Berry Jawkins, and these corresponded entirely with the narrative of the journalist. Still, the additional evidence concerning Anne Colmer disquieted Fanks not a little. Her behaviour was strange, to say the least of it, and far more suspicious than that of Hersham. Why had she sent a telegram to withdraw her lover from London at the very time of the committal of the crime? And why had she--so to speak--nullified that telegram by going herself to town almost immediately after she had despatched it. Such conduct was decidedly suspicious; and it looked as though she was implicated in the matter in some underhand way. Why had she behaved in so mysterious a fashion, and why had she refused to reveal her reason for so acting to Hersham?
So far, so good; but there remained a greater mystery. It was Anne Colmer herself who had instructed Hersham to confess to Fanks; yet she must have known that her very extraordinary conduct would need explanation. But would she explain? Fanks thought not. He recalled his conversation with her; how she had refused to speak lest her evidence--whatever it was--should be detrimental to an innocent person. Clearly that innocent person could not be Hersham, for he had established his innocence in the eyes of the detective. Then if the person in question was not Hersham, who could he--or she--be? Mrs. Colmer, Dr. Binjoy, Anne, or Caesar, the missing negro?
Not the first, thought Fanks, decidedly not the first, for Mrs. Colmer was confined to her room by paralysis, and could not take an active part in the business. Scarcely the second, for Anne could have no reason to screen the doctor--at least no reason that Fanks could even guess at. If the third--and seeing that Mrs. Boazoph was her aunt it might be so--the motive might be that Anne desired aid to carry out a scheme of revenge against the destroyer of her sister. As to Caesar, Fanks had quite settled in his own mind that the negro was innocent, and that his personality was being made use of merely to screen the chief actor or actors in the tragedy.
The result of Fank's meditations therefore resulted in his having an increased suspicion of Mrs. Boazoph. Her behaviour at the time of the discovery of the murder, her visit to Mere Hall, and her fainting at the mention that Hersham was the probable criminal--all these things were suspicious; and now the probable visit of Anne Colmer to her aunt--although such visit was not yet proved--clinched the matter. All the interest of Fanks now centred in Mrs. Boazoph; and he addressed himself again to Hersham in the hope of learning something tangible, likely to connect her more intimately with her niece either in London or at Taxton-on-Thames. He was right to act in this way; an indefinable instinct had placed him on the right path.
"I wish you had told me of this before," he said to Hersham, as he resumed his seat. "It would have saved me a lot of trouble."
"I did not wish to tell you. I was afraid to speak lest I should inculpate myself. I am sure my movements on that fatal night must appear very suspicious to you. What is your opinion of me now?"
"The same as before. I am satisfied that you have told me the truth. No, Hersham, it is not you whom I suspect."
"Then who is it?" asked the young man, eagerly.
"I'll tell you that later on," replied Finks. "In the meantime you must answer a few more questions. I am not yet quite clear on some points. How did you obtain your disguise?"
"Oh, that was Miss Colmer's suggestion."
"The deuce it was!" said Fanks, rather startled at this admission.
"Yes! I told her of my idea to disguise myself in order to obtain a thoroughly realistic description of street music, and of those who make it. I asked her how she thought I should dress. In a half-laughing way she advised me to take Binjoy's servant Caesar as my model."
"Which you did?"
"Certainly. I thought the suggestion a good one. Caesar was rather an oddity in his way, and dressed with that mixture of vivid colours which is so dear to the black race. When off duty he usually wore a red neck scarf, a brown felt hat, black trousers, and a long green coat with large brass buttons, quite a noticeable garb in fact. He had several of these quaint garments, and he had brought one to Anne's establishment to get yellow velvet cuffs and collar sewn on to it. On the promise that I would not keep it more than a fortnight Anne lent me the coat, which I wore for my purpose."
"Strange," said Fanks, thoughtfully. "So you wore the very coat of the man whom we suspected in the first instance?"
"I did. It is odd now that you mention it."
Fanks considered. "Did anyone suggest your disguising yourself as a negro for this street music business, or was it your own fancy?"
"It was the suggestion of Dr. Binjoy."
"Oh, was it? Humph! I am beginning to see daylight."
"Why, you don't think----?"
"I think nothing at present," said Fanks, quickly; "matters are in too crude a state."
This observation was hardly true, for Fanks was beginning to think that the affair of the green coat looked singularly like a conspiracy. He was unwilling to communicate his suspicions to Hersham, because of necessity they included Anne Colmer; therefore he passed the matter off as before mentioned. Nevertheless, he thought it doubtful that the disguise was the result of an accident. That Binjoy should suggest the idea of blackening the face, that Anne should induce Hersham to dress up in the very clothes of Caesar, both these things seemed suspicious and quite impossible to understand. He could guess Binjoy's object, presuming that Binjoy had designed the murder--it was to avert suspicion from himself and servant by throwing it on Hersham. But what Fanks could not see was why Anne should act as she did, when Hersham was her lover. She surely did not wish to implicate Hersham in the matter--if it could be presumed that she was connected with it herself, of which Fanks was by no means sure--and yet Fanks was honestly puzzled to understand the action, so at variance with her position. With his usual sense he therefore abandoned the subject for the present, and re-addressed himself to the examination of Hersham.
"Did you know Dr. Binjoy?"
"I did, and disliked him greatly. I don't think he liked me either," added Hersham, smiling, "for I was his successful rival."
"With Miss Colmer?"
"Yes! Fancy, that old man fell in love with Anne and wished to marry her; asked her to be Mrs. Binjoy four or five times, in fact. Like his impudence, wasn't it? However, Anne told him that she was engaged to me, and sent him off with a flea in his ear. I don't think he liked me any better for my triumph."
"No," said Fanks, dryly. "I have no doubt he would do his best to injure you."
"Fanks, do you think he designedly induced me to act as a duplicate of Caesar?"
"That I can't say. It looks suspicious. His being at the Red Star on the night of the murder under an assumed name is still more suspicious. All the same he has managed the business so cleverly that I can bring nothing home to him."
"Do you think that he designed the murder of Fellenger so as to get the estates for Sir Louis?"
"His actions bear that interpretation," said Fanks, scratching his chin; "but I have no proof as yet. I may find out at Mere Hall."
"Are you going there?"
"Next week. I wish to see my employer, Sir Louis, and tell him what I have done; at the same time I intend to observe Binjoy. By the way," added the detective, "did you like Sir Louis?"
Hersham shrugged his shoulders. "So, so," he replied. "He is a dry stick, wrapped up in his scientific studies. He passes most of his days with Binjoy in the laboratory making experiments. A tall, stout fellow, he is, not at all like a dry-as-dust savant."
"Humph!" said Fanks, twisting his ring; "a tall stout creature. Dr. Binjoy is also tall and stout?"
"Yes! and so is the negro, Caesar. The trio are all fat and healthy."
"Humph!" said Fanks again. "I wonder--but that is impossible."
"What is impossible?"
"Something that came into my head. What it is, does not matter. I shall no doubt prove its impossibility at Mere Hall."
"You suspect Sir Louis?"
"Such a suspicion did cross my mind. But, as Sir Louis is employing me to hunt down the murderer, he would hardly act in such a way. Never mind that at the present moment, Hersham, but tell me if you have written to your father?"
"About the tattooed cross? No, I have not done so yet. I don't see how my father can help you."
"I am of another opinion," said Fanks, dryly. "It is my firm conviction that the whole secret of that murder in Tooley Alley lies in the explanation of that tattooed cross. Do not look so scared, Hersham. I do not suspect your father."
"I should think not," said Hersham, fiercely.
Fanks laughed indulgently, in nowise offended with the indignant tone adopted by the young man. Indeed, he rather admired him for being so ready to take up the cudgels on behalf of his parent. Nevertheless, he stuck to his point, as he was determined to fathom the meaning of the tattooed cross, and he saw no one was so likely to help him to an interpretation as the Rev. George Hersham, Vicar of Fairview, Isle of Wight.
"You must do as I ask," he said, "and write to your father. I must know why he had that cross tattooed on your arm."
"I don't believe my father had anything to do with it," said Hersham, angrily. "However, as you insist on it, I shall go home and see him. If he tells me, I shall tell you. If he refuses, as he has done before--"
"In that case I'll come down to Fairview and see him myself."
"As you please," said Hersham, with a feigned air of indifference, but real vexation. "I'll do my best; I can do no more."
"Don't be angry, old fellow. I don't wish to vex either you or your father, but you must see that it is important that I should know the meaning of this cross. You will go and see Mr. Hersham?"
"Yes; before the end of the week. Will that content you?"
"Yes," replied Fanks, in his turn. "And now, before you go, just tell me if you received a letter from Mrs. Boazoph, and if you have brought it with you?"
"Now it is strange that you should have guessed that," said Hersham, in astonishment. "I did get a letter from Mrs. Boazoph; I brought it to see what you thought of it. It quite slipped my memory till you spoke of it. Here it is. Came yesterday from Fairview."
"From Fairview!" repeated Fanks, making no attempt to take the letter which Hersham held towards him. "Was it sent to that address?"
"Yes, care of my father, who forwarded it on to me. See for yourself."
"Did Mrs. Boazoph know of your address in the Isle of Wight?"
"No, that's odd," added Hersham, staring at Fanks. "How did she get it?"
"From Miss Colmer."
"I have never given any but my London address to Miss Colmer. I had my reasons for not doing so."
"So Mrs. Boazoph knew of your address without your telling her," said the detective, stretching out his hand for the letter. "Queer! If I am not mistaken I--By Jove!"
"What is the matter?"
"Wait. Wait," said Fanks, in great excitement. "Let me read the letter first. My word, here is a discovery."
"What discovery?" asked Hersham, staring at the letter.
But Fanks paid no attention to him. He was already devouring the communication from the landlady of the Red Star, which ran as follows:--
"Dear Mr. Edward Hersham,--Come and see me at once. Important business, and, in the meantime, hold no communication with the man who calls himself Fanks. I will explain when we meet.--Yours, Louisa Boazoph."
"I wish you had shown me this before," said Fanks.
"I was so anxious about what I had to confess, that I forgot, Fanks. Is it important?"
"I should think so. You must see her at once, and tell me what she says. We may find the key to the whole business in her conversation."
"Do you think Mrs. Boazoph has anything to do with it?"
For answer, Fanks got out the photograph of the dead Emma Calvert, and the envelope which had contained the red star. He pointed out the handwritings on both to Hersham.
"You see that," he said, eagerly. "The handwriting on the back of the portrait, and that on the envelope are the same as that on your letter."
"True enough," said Hersham, examining the three objects closely, "but what of that?"
"Only this. That Mrs. Boazoph addressed the envelope, and enclosed the red cardboard star, which lured the late Sir Gregory Fellenger to his death on the evening of the twenty-first of June."
Fanks was rather astonished when he learned that Mrs. Boazoph had contrived the lure which had drawn Fellenger to his death. He had given the landlady credit for more cleverly concealing her scheme, and that she should have carried out a plan so compromising, in so open a manner, seemed to him to be the height of folly. Nevertheless, he was pleased that he had discovered who had directed the fatal envelope; and he was still more pleased that Mrs. Boazoph had sent for Hersham. If possible he intended to learn her reason for seeking an interview, and to ascertain why she had fainted at the intelligence that Hersham was likely to be arrested for committing the crime. A true report of that conversation--and Fanks had no doubt that Hersham would repeat it faithfully to him--might afford the clue to the mystery. At the present moment Fanks was convinced that the landlady of the Red Star could unravel the riddle if she chose, and he was resolved to force her to do so. But here an element on which Fanks had not calculated came into play.
As instructed by the detective, Hersham duly called at the Red Star only to be informed that Mrs. Boazoph was dangerously ill, and could not see him. This he reported to Fanks, and at first the detective deemed the illness an excuse to postpone the interview, the more especially as Dr. Turnor was the medical man in attendance. He mistrusted Turnor as much as he did Binjoy, and thought that the former had persuaded Mrs. Boazoph to relinquish the idea of seeing and confiding in Hersham. Such confidence might prove as fatal to Turnor as to Binjoy; and if so there was no doubt that Turnor had compelled Mrs. Boazoph to hold her tongue lest she should compromise him. Thus Fanks argued out the situation; and he sought Tooley's Alley to ascertain if Mrs. Boazoph was really ill, or merely feigning at the order of Turnor.
A view of the sick woman showed him plainly that he was wrong. Mrs. Boazoph was laid on a bed of sickness, incapable almost of speech, and Fanks concluded promptly that there was no chance of learning anything until she recovered. The result of the last interview had shaken her terribly, and she was thoroughly worn out with nervous prostration. Turnor, more like a ferret than ever, eyed Fanks complacently, and seemed relieved that things were going so badly for the case. Fanks questioned him, but could learn nothing definite, for, if the detective was clever, the doctor was cleverer, and defeated Fanks on every point. Indeed, he carried the war into the camp of the enemy.
"I suppose I am right in ascribing this illness to you, sir," he said, with a sly smile. "It seems that my patient fainted at her last interview she had with you."
"She did. I said something which startled her."
"That was very wrong of you, Mr. Fanks. Mrs. Boazoph is a woman of delicate organisation, and a sudden shock might bring about her death. She has a weak heart."
"I am sorry to hear so, sir," retorted Fanks, gloomily. "I counted on gaining some information from her. Do you think she will soon recover?"
"Not for some time," said Turnor, in a satisfied tone. "I presume you wish to learn something from her, relative to the case you have in hand?"
"You are quite right. I do wish to learn something relative to the murder which took place in this hotel. But if Mrs. Boazoph cannot tell me what I wish to know, you may be able to do so."
Dr. Turnor spread out his hands in a deprecating manner. "I, my dear friend," he said, "what can I know about the case?"
"As much as Dr. Renshaw could tell you," retorted Fanks, fixing Turnor with his keen eye.
"Dr. Renshaw told me nothing, because he knew nothing."
"I have my own opinion about that, Dr. Turnor."
"Really; I thought you were satisfied that my friend had nothing to do with the matter. He went to India, you know."
"Are you sure he went to India, Dr. Turnor?"
"Oh, yes; he will be soon be at Bombay. I got a letter from him at Aden, where he changed into the 'Clyde.'"
"No doubt," said Fanks, affably, "I expect you will hear from him when he is settled in Bombay."
"Certainly; Renshaw and I are great friends."
"I am sure of that. You confide your secrets to one another, and work in unison."
"What do you mean by working in unison, Mr. Fanks?" said Turnor, drawing himself up.
"I don't think I need afford you any explanation, Dr. Turnor. You are playing a dangerous game, sir."
"You insult me, sir."
"Is it possible to insult you, Dr. Turnor?" sneered Fanks.
"I'll make you prove your words," said Turnor, with rather a pale face.
"There will not be much difficulty in doing that--at the proper time."
The ferret of a man eyed Fanks nervously and savagely. "Do you think I have anything to do with the matter of Sir Gregory's death?" he burst out.
"I'll tell you that when I return from Mere Hall," was Fank's reply.
"Mere Hall?" repeated Turnor, betraying himself, which was the reason Fanks had mentioned the name; "what do you know of Mere Hall?"
"That is just what I wish to ask you. What doyouknow of Mere Hall, sir?"
"Nothing, nothing. I merely repeated your words."
"In a very singular fashion, doctor."
The little man turned away with a scowl. "I shall defend myself from your insinuations," he said, in a stifled voice, "if you suspect me, say so."
"Suspect you of what?" asked Fanks, innocently; "you speak in riddles."
Turnor pointed to the woman lying on the bed. "Perhaps Mrs. Boazoph can solve them," he said.
"Perhaps she can," retorted Fanks, with equal coolness; "and I trust it will not be to your disadvantage when the answers come."
"I can look after myself, Mr. Fanks," said Turnor, and left the room without the detective making any effort to detain him.
Fanks was suspicious of Turnor, from his connection with the so-called Renshaw; and this conversation went a long way towards confirming these suspicions. However, as he wished to go to Mere Hall and follow up the Binjoy clue, he had no time to attend to the Turnor matter. Nevertheless, on leaving Tooley's Alley he sought out Crate, and instructed him to look after the doctor.
"Find out his financial position," said Fanks; "what kind of practice he has, how he lives, what kind of character he bears, and all about him."
"Very well, Mr. Fanks." said Crate, noting the instructions down, "and what about Mrs. Boazoph?"
"Keep an eye on her, and should she recover so far as to see Mr. Hersham or to journey to Taxton-on-Thames, let me know. You can write or wire me at the Pretty Maid Inn, Damington."
"That's near Mere Hall, ain't it, sir?"
"A quarter of a mile away. I shall stay there some time to watch Binjoy and Sir Louis Fellenger."
"Do you suspect him, Mr. Fanks?"
"If you remember the name I mentioned, you would not ask me that, Crate."
The underling was abashed and said no more, but turned the conversation to the subject of Garth. "What am I to do about him, sir?"
"Oh," said Fanks, dryly, "you think he is guilty, so I will leave him to you. But do not neglect my interests to look after that business. I tell you, Crate, the man is innocent."
"I have my own opinion about that."
"Then keep to your opinion, but mind my instructions."
"Well, I will tell you one thing, sir," said Crate. "Mr. Garth has left town."
"You don't say so," said Fanks, frowning, "he did not say that he was going away. Where has he gone to?"
"I can't tell you that, sir, I lost him. But I'll tell you where he hasn't gone--and that is to Taxton-on-Thames."
"I didn't expect he would go there, but it does not matter. I have my hands full without thinking of Garth. I leave him to you. In the meantime, goodbye; I am off to Hampshire."
Fanks arrived at Damington about five o'clock, and put up at The Pretty Maid Inn as he had done before when following Binjoy in the disguise of a parson. But thanks to his cleverness in "making up," no one at the inn suspected that he was the same man. The landlady--a genial soul with a plump person and a kindly face, quite an ideal landlady of the Dickens type--welcomed him without suspicion, as a gentleman come down for the fishing, and detailed all the gossip of the neighbourhood. She was especially conversant with the affairs of Sir Louis Fellenger.
"Such a nice gentleman," said Mrs. Prisom, "rather melancholy and given to hard study, which ain't good for a young man. But he comes here and takes a glass with a kind word and a smile always."
"Does Dr. Binjoy come over with him?" said Fanks.
"Oh yes, sir; I am sorry to see that the doctor ain't well lately, he looks pale and mopey-like. Seems as if he had something on his mind."
"And what do you think he has on his mind, Mrs. Prisom?"
"Well, it ain't for me to say, sir; but I should think as he was sorry he and Sir Louis did not get on so well as they might."
"What makes you think they do not get on well?" said Fanks, pricking up his ears.
"It is the way they look at one another," said Mrs. Prisom, reflectively. "And they say Dr. Binjoy is going away; though what Sir Louis will do without him, I don't know."
"Dr. Binjoy going away," murmured Fanks, rather startled, "now what is that for?"
Mrs. Prison could not tell him; she could only say that the doctor was departing from Mere Hall that day week; and that it was reported in the village that he had quarrelled seriously with Sir Louis. "Though of course," added Mrs. Prisom, "it may not be true."
"I must see to this," thought Fanks. "I wonder if this sudden departure has anything to do with the murder. Is it a case of thieves falling out; I must keep my eyes open." After which resolution, he asked the landlady if she was well acquainted with the Fellenger family.
"I should think so," said Mrs. Prisom, with pride, "I knew that poor, young man who was murdered in that wicked London, as well as I know myself. A noble gentleman, but wild; ah me!" sighed Mrs. Prisom, "just like his father."
"Did you know Sir Gregory's father?"
"Did I know Sir Gregory's father," echoed Mrs. Prisom, contemptuously, "do I know the nose on my face, sir? The late Sir Francis and myself were playmates. Yes, you may well look astonished, sir, but it is the truth. I was the daughter of the steward at Mere Hall, and I was brought up with the late Sir Francis almost like brother and sister. I could tell you many a good story of him," finished Mrs. Prisom, with a nod and a smile.
"You must do so," said Fanks, returning the smile, "I am fond of stories."
The fact is, he was wondering if he could find the motive for the murder in the family history of the Fellengers. Many great families had secrets, which, if divulged, might lead to trouble; and it might be that the Mere Hall folk's secret had to do with the tattooed cross. If it proved to be so, then Fanks thought there might be a chance of penetrating the mystery of Sir Gregory's death. The family secret and the death in Tooley's Alley were widely apart; but there might be a connecting link between them, at present hidden from his gaze. At all events, it was worth while examining Mrs. Prisom, and hearing her story.
This Fanks resolved to do that evening; but in the meantime he left the garrulous landlady, and went out for a stroll in the direction of Mere Hall. It was not his intention to see Sir Louis on that evening but rather to wait till the morning. Nevertheless, he had a desire to look again at the splendid mansion of the Fellengers, more to pass away the time than with any ulterior motive. In the calm twilight he strolled along, and soon left the village behind him. His way lay through flowery hedges, bright with the blossoms of summer; and, under the influence of the hour and the beauty of the landscape, Fanks quite forgot that he was at Damington for the purpose of unmasking a murderer. From his dreams he was rudely awakened, and brought back to real life.
As he sauntered along, swinging his stick, he saw a man ahead, whose figure and gait seemed to be familiar. In the clear, brown twilight he could see fairly well; and so it appeared could the man he was looking at; for the figure made a pause and jumped over the hedge. Fanks wondered at this, for he had noted that the figure was that of a gentleman, or, at all events, someone other than a labourer. With his usual suspicion, and as much out of curiosity as anything else, Fanks jumped over the hedge also; whereupon the stranger began to run across the fields. By this time, Fanks was thoroughly convinced that something was wrong; so he gave chase at once, with a chuckle of delight at the excitement of the adventure.
Across the green meadow they raced, and Fanks saw the man fading into the dim twilight. He redoubled his sped; so did the fellow, but in the next field Fanks found that he was gaining. The fugitive sprang over another hedge; with Fanks close on his heels. But when the detective landed he could see nothing of the stranger. A backward glance showed him that the man had doubled, and was running along beside the hedge. The next instant, Fanks was following on his trail; and, although the mysterious figure made the greatest efforts to escape, Fanks drew closer. Then an accident brought the race to an end, for the man stumbled over a clod, and rolled on the grass. The next moment Fanks, panting for breath, stood over him.
The detective peered down, to see who it was he had caught, and, to his surprise, he recognised Garth.