"What the deuce are you doing here?" asked the detective, angrily, "and why did you run away when you saw me?"
"As to my being here," replied Garth, sitting up and wiping his face, "I came down to watch my cousin, of whom I was suspicious; and I ran away because, on catching sight of you in the twilight, I took you for Louis Fellenger."
"Oh! And for what purpose are you down here?"
"I have told you. I suspect that my cousin, through his medical friend, is concerned in the murder of Sir Gregory."
Fanks frowned, and Garth having got on his feet, they walked on together. He wished that Garth would leave the case to him, and resented the presence of the young lawyer on the spot. "Where are you staying?" he asked, abruptly.
"At the Pretty Maid Inn. I suppose you are there also, as it is the only comfortable lodging in the village."
"Yes, I am there, and, now as I have dropped across you, we may as well go back to supper. I had intended having a look at the Hall, but on second thoughts I shall go back with you to pump Mrs. Prisom."
"I know Mrs. Prisom very well," said Garth; "she is an old servant of our family, but I do not see what you can learn from her."
"I may learn nothing, on the other hand I may learn a great deal. She was well acquainted with the father of the late baronet."
"And she was well acquainted with my mother, and with the father of the present baronet. But in what way do you expect her to help you?"
"Well, I'll tell you. I want to find out if there is anything in the family history of the Fellengers likely to have induced Sir Gregory to submit to that tattooing."
"I am a member of the family, and I don't know of any reason," said Garth.
"Mrs. Prisom belongs to a generation before you," replied Fanks, "and it is possible that she may know something. Of course, it is only fancy on my part. Still, a drowning man clutches a straw, and I am clutching at this. We may learn something."
Garth shook his head. He knew the history of his family, and there was nothing he could recall likely to touch on the subject of a tattooed cross.
Mrs. Prisom received them both with great dignity, and in half an hour they were seated at a well-spread table. Both did justice to the viands set before them; and during the progress of the meal they chattered about the case. While they were thus conversing Fanks elicited an important fact concerning Sir Louis.
"I don't know why you should suspect your cousin," he said, in reply to a remark of Garth's. "Mr. Vaud told us that both Sir Louis and Binjoy were at Taxton-on-Thames on the night of the murder. The first was ill, and the second was in attendance."
"True enough," replied Garth, frankly; "all the same, you proved that Binjoy was masquerading in London on the evening of the twenty-first."
"Yes; it is strange that Sir Louis should say that Binjoy never left his side. I suppose you suspect your cousin on that account?"
"By no means. I suspect my cousin because he was himself in London on that night."
Fanks leaned back in his chair, and stared at the barrister. "What is that you say?" he cried. "Was Sir Louis in Tooley's Alley on that evening?"
"Oh, I won't go so far as that. But Louis certainly went up to London on that night. I found that out from Mrs. Jerusalem."
"And who is Mrs. Jerusalem?"
"She was the housekeeper of Sir Louis at Taxton-on-Thames. When he came in for the title he brought her here. I saw her yesterday, and she inadvertently admitted that much."
"How did you get that out of her?"
"Well, it was a fluke. She is an old servant of our family, like Mrs. Prisom. I met her while out walking, and she recognised me. I made her promise not to tell Sir Louis that I was here."
"But what excuse did you make?"
"None," said Garth, coolly. "I'll tell you a secret, Fanks. Mrs. Jerusalem likes me and hates Sir Louis. She was a foster-sister of my mother's, and she desires to see me in the place of my scientific cousin."
"Indeed," said Fanks, eyeing Garth in a strange manner; "and has she done anything likely to forward your interest in that respect?"
"I suppose you mean to hint that she would like to clear Sir Louis out of my path by accusing him of the murder?" said Garth, coolly; "well, you are about right. Mrs. Jerusalem connects the absence of Sir Louis from Taxton-on-Thames with the death of Sir Gregory. She saw the report of the inquest, you know; she recognised--as she thinks--the description of Binjoy's servant Caesar, and, by putting two and two together, she told me yesterday that it is her firm conviction--on the slightest of proofs, remember--that Louis killed Gregory by means of the black man."
"Humph!" said Fanks, thoughtfully; "I must see this lady. But if she dislikes Sir Louis and Binjoy why does she stay in the service of the former?"
Garth shrugged his shoulders. "One must live," he said, "and Mrs. Jerusalem has a very easy time of it with my cousin. When my mother died, and we were as poor as rats, my father got Louis's father to take Mrs. Jerusalem into his service, and she has been there ever since. Oh, she will not tell my cousin that I am here," concluded Garth, with a satisfied nod.
"Mrs. Prisom may," suggested Fanks. "You may be sure that a good deal of gossip goes on between inn and Hall. How long have you been here?"
"About three days."
"Then you may be certain that your cousin knows of your presence in the village. If he has any danger to fear from you he will take his measures accordingly. I don't like your Mrs. Jerusalem, Garth; she ought to be true to her salt."
"I can't help that," retorted Garth, sulkily. "She would willingly keep house for me if I had a house to keep, but as I have not she stays where she is. But what do you think of her suspicions? Do yours point in the same way?"
"They did not," replied Fanks, promptly; "but your discovery of Sir Louis's visit to town on that night puts quite a different complexion on the case. All the same, I can come to no conclusion until I see this spy of yours."
"She isn't a spy," said Garth, gloomily. "I did not drag the information out of the creature. She thought that she was doing me a good turn by betraying my cousin. She thinks that if he killed Gregory he ought to suffer, and let me have the property."
"And what do you think?" asked Fanks, with a keen glance.
"I don't want to build up my life on the ruins of another man's; it is a bad foundation. I know you believe that I wish to get my cousin into trouble, but you are wrong. I would help Louis to escape if I could."
"There may be no necessity for that; we have proved nothing against him as yet. I hardly think that a man who has committed a crime would put down money to hunt out himself, and thereby lose the benefit he gained by his wickedness. No, no, Garth, I do not believe Sir Louis is such a guilty fool. However, I shall give my opinion when I see him and question Mrs. Jerusalem."
"Will you tell my cousin that I am here?"
"Certainly. There is nothing to be gained by concealment. You only place your honour in the hands of that Jerusalem creature, and make yourself her accomplice. However, I am ready to bet you that Sir Louis knows you are here through Mrs. Prisom."
Garth made no reply, but stating that he was weary, went off to bed. The detective, left alone, thought over what he had been told, and found himself unable to come to any conclusion. He did not like the way in which Garth was acting, but, all the same, he believed that the lawyer had no ill intentions towards his cousin, despite Crate's opinion to the contrary. The young man laughed as he thought how he had picked up the trail of Garth when it had been lost by the astute Crate. "I am afraid that Crate will never make a success of the detective business," thought Fanks, lighting his pipe. "But I don't agree with him about Garth; and I don't agree with Garth about Sir Louis. Certainly, it is strange that Sir Louis should have feigned illness, and shielded Binjoy, and then have gone up to town on that night. What the deuce were he and his medical friend doing there? Dr. Turnor knows; I believe that Sir Louis was alone with Binjoy in the Great Auk Street house. It is odd, to say the least of it. I wonder if that negro was the actual Caesar, or Binjoy or Sir Louis in disguise. At all events, he wasn't Hersham, for that young man has exonerated himself clearly enough. H'm. I'll reserve my decision as to Mrs. Jerusalem's story till I see Sir Louis. Perhaps the secret of the crime is to be found at Mere Hall, after all. No, no, no!" said Fanks, getting on his feet with an emphatic stamp. "The secret is connected with that tattooed cross. I wonder who can tell us about it."
At, this moment, as if in answer to his query, the door opened, and Mrs. Prisom came in to clear away the dinner things. As a rule, she left this duty to the parlour maid, but as Garth, an offshoot of the great Fellenger family, was dining under her roof, she would let no one but herself attend to him. She looked surprised when she saw that Garth was not in the room. At once Fanks explained the absence of his friend.
"Mr. Garth has retired to bed," he said, "as he is very tired. I shall go myself soon, as your country air makes me sleepy, but at present I should like to have a chat with you, Mrs. Prisom."
Mrs. Prisom smiled in an expansive manner, and expressed the honour she felt at such a request, adding that she dearly loved a chat.
"All the better," thought Fanks, as she cleared away the dishes. "You will be the more likely to tell me what I want to know."
In a few minutes the table was tidy, and Mrs. Prisom, at Fanks' request, had brought in her knitting. He guessed that she would talk better with the needles clicking in her active hands, and herein he judged wisely, for thus employed Mrs. Prisom would gossip for hours, provided she had a good listener.
"I suppose you knew the mother of Mr. Garth?" said Fanks, plunging at once into the history of the Fellenger family.
"Miss Eleanor? Ah, that I did; but she was a proud young lady, and didn't care to play with me, even as a child, because I was the daughter of the steward. They were all proud, the Fellengers, except Sir Francis."
"That was Sir Gregory's father?"
"Yes. There was Sir Francis, the eldest and the merry one; Mr. Michael, the father of the present Baronet, Sir Louis, he was proud, too; and then Miss Eleanor, who married Mr. Garth. But I liked Sir Francis the best of all," concluded the old lady, with a sigh.
There was a look in her eyes as she said this, which made Fanks think that she had been in love with the gay baronet, in the old days.
"He was a bonny man, Sir Francis Fellenger," she resumed. "Never a maid but what he had a smile for, and many a kiss did he take without the asking," laughed Mrs. Prisom. "Oh, he was a merry blade. But all sailors have those ways."
"Was Sir Francis a sailor?" asked Fanks, suddenly.
"He was a Captain in the Navy before he came into the title," said Mrs. Prisom, "then he settled down and married Miss Darmer, a Shropshire lady. But she died, poor soul, when Sir Gregory was born, and it was five weeks after her death, that Sir Francis was killed by being thrown from his dog-cart."
"Sir Francis was a sailor?" asked Fanks, abruptly. "I suppose when he went to sea and came home a middy, he had anchors, and ships, and true lovers' knots, and such like things tattooed upon his skin."
"He just had," replied Mrs. Prisom, laughing. "He had quite a fancy for that sort of thing. He told me he learnt how to do it in Japan."
"He learnt how to do it," echoed Fanks, leaning forward in his excitement.
"Yes, yes; and very clever he was at drawing such pictures on the skin. I shall never forget how angered my mother was when Sir Francis--Master Francis he was then--insisted on pricking those blue marks on my arm."
"Did he do that?" demanded the detective, little expecting what would follow.
"He did, sir; the mark of it remains to this day," and Mrs. Prisom drew up the sleeve of her left arm. Fanks bent forward, and saw tattooed thereon--a cross. Was he then about to unravel the mystery of the tattooed cross which had puzzled him for so long?
Fanks restrained his joy at this important discovery; he was afraid lest Mrs. Prisom should cease to speak should she think that the revelation was of consequence to him. That she should have the same symbol as that possessed by Hersham, as that attempted on Sir Gregory, appeared to hint at its owning a certain significance. What that significance might be he now set himself to discover.
"Why did Sir Francis choose a cross to tattoo on your arm, Mrs. Prisom," he asked, as the old lady pulled down her sleeve.
"I cannot say, Mr. Fanks. I fancy it was because he could draw a cross better than anything else. You see it is St. Catherine's cross, with four arms and a wheel--at least, that is what Sir Francis called it."
"It is St. Catherine's cross," said Fanks, recalling the mark on Hersham's arm. "Perhaps Sir Francis attached some meaning to it. Do you know if he tattooed anyone else with the same symbol?"
At this remark Mrs. Prisom suddenly desisted from her occupation, and not only refused to speak but taxed Fanks with trying to fathom her meaning for some ill purpose. "Why should you come down here, and ask questions about Sir Francis Fellenger?" she asked, with a troubled look; "why do you wish to know all these things?"
There was no help for it. If Fanks wished to learn the truth he would have to tell her the real purpose of his visit; and then out of love for the memory of Sir Francis she might do what she could to aid him to discover the person who had murdered Sir Gregory. Resolving to risk all on the casting of this die, he spoke out boldly and to the point. Yet he approached the old lady with a certain amount of caution.
"I have an important reason for asking you these questions," he said, in an earnest tone, "and I shall tell you my reason shortly. But first say if you regretted the death of Sir Gregory."
"I regretted it because he was the son of his father, but I did not care over much for him. He was a bad man, Mr. Fanks, a very bad man. I loved the father as an old playmate, and as one who was always kind to me and mine; but the son--ah!" Mrs. Prisom shook her head and sighed.
"You know that he was murdered?"
"Yes; but they never found out who murdered him."
"No; they are trying to find out now. You may be able to help me to do so."
"Help you?" said the old lady, in a frightened tone. "Who are you, sir?"
"My name is Fanks, as, you know, Mrs. Prisom. But what you do not know is that I am a detective, anxious to learn who killed Sir Gregory."
"I know nothing of the murder, sir. I am a simple old body, and cannot help you in any way."
"Oh, yes, you can, Mrs. Prisom. You can help me by relating all you know about this tattooing."
"But what can the death of Sir Gregory have to do with an old story of man's treachery and woman's folly?"
"More than you think. The whole secret of the death lies in the explanation of that tattooing. Come, Mrs. Prisom, you must tell me all you know."
Mrs. Prisom thought for a moment, and then made up her mind. "I'll do what I can," said she. "Those who are concerned in this tale are dead and gone; and, so long as it does not hurt the living, I see no reason why I should not gratify your curiosity; but I must ask you not to repeat what I tell you, unless you are absolutely obliged to do so. It is no good spreading family scandals, but as you have appealed to me to help you to revenge the murder of my old, playfellow's son, I will confide in you."
Fanks assured Mrs. Prisom that he would be as reticent as possible about her forthcoming history, and would not use it unless compelled to do so. Satisfied on this point, Mrs. Prisom commenced; at the same moment Fanks took out his note-book to set down any important point.
"The other person who was tattooed," said Mrs. Prisom, "was Madaline Garry." Fanks whistled softly and made a note in his book. "Only a thought which struck me," he explained. "Madaline Garry; was she also tattooed with a cross?"
"Yes, sir. Madaline and Jane Garry were the daughters of old Captain Garry, a retired naval officer, who lived in Damington. I knew them both very well, as we used to meet on terms of equality in parish work. Jane was the quiet one, but Madaline was a flighty girl, fond of admiration and dress. She attracted the attention of Sir Francis, and it was thought at one time that he would marry her. However, he did not do so, but brought home the lady from Shropshire to Mere Hall. Still, Madaline must have been fond of him, for she let him tattoo on her arm a cross similar to this one of mine, I saw it one day while she was changing her dress, and remarked it. She said Sir Francis had pricked it on her arm as a sign that she was engaged to him, and that it was like a wedding ring. I warned her against Sir Francis, and mentioned the lady of Shropshire to whom he was said to be paying his addresses. She laughed at this, and said Sir Francis would marry her. 'If he doesn't,' she added, 'I shall know how to avenge myself.'"
"Did she know that you had a cross on your arm also?"
"Oh, yes, I told her; but I never expected to marry Sir Francis, and he did me no harm. I can't say the same of Madaline. He acted badly towards her. I don't say that Sir Francis was a good man," added Mrs. Prisom, in a hesitating manner; "but he was good to me. He certainly should have married Madaline Garry."
"Did he go about tattooing all the girls he was in love with?"
"He was not in love with me," rejoined Mrs. Prisom, with dignity, "and I only let him tattoo me because I was a schoolgirl and his old playfellow. I knew no better then; but Madaline was a grown woman when he loved her, and marked her with the cross. I suppose it was to bind her to him;--not that it did much good, for shortly afterwards he married Miss Darmer, and in a rage at his desertion Madaline took up with an old admirer--Luke Fielding was his name--and she married him almost on the same day that Sir Francis led his bride to the Hall."
"Did she ever forgive him?"
"She said she did," replied Mrs. Prisom, with hesitation; "but I have my doubts of that. At all events, she was stopping at the Hall within the year of her marriage."
"How was that?"
"Well, you see, sir, in nine months after the marriage Mr. Fielding died, leaving Madaline with no money and a little child. About the same time Lady Fellenger died at the birth of the dead Sir Gregory. Somebody was wanted as a nurse, and Madaline asked Sir Francis if she could come. She was poor, you see, and wanted money, although after the death of her husband she was living with her father. At first Sir Francis would not let her come--feeling ashamed-like, no doubt--but in some way she prevailed against him, and went to the hall as the nurse to the heir."
"And what about her own child?"
"She took him also, by permission of Sir Francis."
"Oh! was the child of Madaline a son?"
"Yes. Her son and that of Sir Francis were born almost on the same day; she insisted that her son should come to the Hall also, so Sir Francis agreed in the end."
"And Madaline Garry nursed the heir--that is, the late Sir Gregory?"
"She did," assented Mrs. Prisom. "Till Sir Francis was killed, as I told you, five weeks after the death of his wife. His body was brought home and buried; but, almost immediately after the funeral, Madaline disappeared with her child. She was never heard of again; and I have no doubt that by this time she is dead."
"How long ago is it since she disappeared?" asked Fanks.
"Twenty-eight years, sir. Where she and the child went, I do not know; for she had no money. Poor soul; I was sorry for her."
"And her sister and Captain Garry?"
"Captain Garry died soon after. Madaline was his favourite child; he never held up his head after she disappeared. When the Captain died, Miss Jane went to some relatives in Scotland."
"And the heir?"
"Sir Gregory? Oh, Dr. Binjoy got another nurse for him."
Fanks glanced up in astonishment. "Dr. Binjoy!" he repeated. "Was he here?"
"Of course he was, sir," replied Mrs. Prisom, with a slight shade of surprise, "he was at the births of both Madaline's child and Sir Gregory. Afterwards, when the father of Sir Louis died, he asked Dr. Binjoy to look after his son, who was sickly. The doctor agreed; and he has been with Sir Louis ever since."
"Yet now they are about to part."
"It seems strange, doesn't it, sir?" said Mrs. Prisom, "but ever since Dr. Binjoy has been here with Sir Louis, they have got on badly. I think it was the chemistry which kept them together; for their characters are quite unlike one another."
"You like Sir Louis?"
"Yes. But I don't like Dr. Binjoy. No. Not though I have known him for so many years. He was a lover of Madaline Garry also, but she would have nothing to do with him. I am glad he is leaving Sir Louis."
"Was Binjoy friendly with Sir Gregory?"
"I can't say, sir. I do not think he had much love for him; because he was the heir and kept Sir Louis out of the property."
"Oh; and no doubt Binjoy wanted Sir Louis to have the property, so that he could get a share of the money."
"I think so, sir. They said that Dr. Binjoy was always very gay; and used to go to London to lead a fast life."
"Who said that? Did you ever go to Taxton-on-Thames?"
"No, Mrs. Jerusalem told me. You know she was the housekeeper of the late Mr. Garth; and, after his death, she went to keep house for Sir Louis at Taxton-on-Thames. When Sir Louis came in for the property he brought her here."
"Is she a native of this village?"
"Oh, yes; she was a school friend of mine, though I never liked her over much. I believe she was in love with the late Mr. Garth. At all events, she is devoted to his son. I wonder she left him to keep house for Sir Louis. But, as poor, young Mr. Garth had no money, I suppose she had to do the best she could for herself."
In Fanks' opinion, the love of Mrs. Jerusalem for the late Mr. Garth explained why she was so anxious to benefit the son; but it did not indicate why she should hate Sir Louis. Mrs. Prisom's next words enlightened him on this point.
"It is more strange," pursued Mrs. Prisom. "Because Mr. Michael, the father of Sir Louis, treated Mrs. Jerusalem very badly. Yes, almost as badly as Sir Francis did Madaline Garry."
"I wonder Sir Francis was not afraid that Madaline Garry would avenge herself for his treatment," said Fanks, now satisfied as to the cause of Mrs. Jerusalem's hatred for Sir Louis.
"I think he was afraid," replied Mrs. Prisom, rising and rolling up her work. "I can't explain what he said to me in any other way."
"What was that?" said Fanks, eagerly.
"I was at the Hall one day, shortly after the death of Lady Fellenger," said the landlady, "and I saw him in his study. He was grieving greatly for the death of his wife; but he also told me how pleased he was at the birth of an heir. While he was talking, Madaline entered, and spoke about something; then she nodded to me, and went away. As the door closed after her, Sir Francis looked anxious. 'Nancy,' he said, turning to me--he always called me 'Nancy,'" said Mrs. Prisom, in parentheses. "'Nancy,' he said, all in a flutter like, 'if it should chance as I die, and anything goes wrong about my son, remember that cross I tattooed on your arm; and if you want any further proof, look in this desk.' Just then, we were interrupted, and he did not say any more. I never saw him again," added Mrs. Prisom, with emotion, "for he was brought home dead that day week."
"Can you understand what he meant?"
"No, sir," said Mrs. Prisom, rising. "I can only say from the look he gave the door, that he was afraid of Madaline. What he meant by the cross and the desk I know no more than you do. But he was wrong in thinking that Madaline would harm his child--for that was what he thought, I'm sure--for she went away a week after his death with her own, and Sir Gregory grew into a fine, young gentleman, though wild, very wild."
After which speech, Mrs. Prisom, exclaiming that it was close on ten o'clock, left the room; and Fanks sat meditating over the strange history he had heard, far into the night. Already he saw a connecting link between the story of Madaline Garry and the tragedy of Tooley's Alley.
The outcome of Fanks' midnight meditations, was that he resolved to devote himself entirely to following the clue afforded by Mrs. Prisom's story of the tattooed cross. The dead father had chosen the symbol of St Catherine's martyrdom for some unknown purpose; the murdered son had perished while the same emblem was being tattooed on his arm. For some reason he had wished to be marked in such a way, and the murderer had taken advantage of the wish to inoculate the blood of his victim with a deadly poison. If then, Fanks could learn the significance of the cross, he might be able to fathom the mystery of the death. The question he asked himself was, whether he could find out the truth concerning the cross in the study of the late Sir Francis.
The warning which the dead man had given to Mrs. Prisom, seemed strange to the detective. That it was dictated by fear of Madaline Garry, he felt sure; but as she had passed away, and had foregone her vengeance it would seem that the warning was useless. Nevertheless, Fanks resolved to see the desk referred to by Mrs. Prisom, and to search for the evidence hinted at by Sir Francis. Also, for reasons of his own, which the reader may guess, he wired to Hersham at the Fairview vicarage, to seek an explanation from his father relative to the cross tattooed on his arm. The tale of the Reverend Hersham might show why the special symbol of Sir Francis was figuring on the skin of a young man who had nothing to do with the Fellengers and their mad freaks. After concluding the first part of his scheme by despatching this letter, Fanks proceeded to the second, and walked to Mere Hall to see the desk referred to by Mrs. Prisom. Garth had refused to accompany the detective to the Hall; and gave his reason for such refusal. "It is no good my going," he said, "I don't wish to see my cousin; and if, as you think, he knows that I am here, there is no longer any reason why I should stay in Damington. I shall go up to town by the midday train, and leave you to find out if he has anything to do with the crime."
"Well, as I know all you know, and a great deal more besides, I don't think it is necessary for you to stay," said Fanks, dryly. "I'll follow up the clue afforded by the malice of Mrs. Jerusalem. Return to town by all means, and if you want anything to do, just join Crate in watching the Red Star Hotel in which Mrs. Boazoph lies ill."
This Garth promised readily enough, much to the amusement of Fanks, as the latter was simply throwing him into the society of Crate in order to afford that person a chance of learning the connection--if any--of Garth with the crime. He was assured in his own mind that Garth was innocent, but he was willing to afford Crate some innocent amusement, by setting him to find the mare's nest of his own imagination. When Garth, therefore, departed, Fanks smiled in his own quiet way; and went off to solve the more difficult riddle which awaited him at Mere Hall.
When he was nearing the Hall, a woman stepped out of a gap in the hedge almost in front of him. She was dressed in a black silk dress with lavender coloured shawl over her shoulders; and she wore also a bonnet of grey velvet made Quaker fashion, and close fitting over the ears. But it was not at her dress that Fanks looked; he was staring at the most malignant countenance he ever saw in his life. She was pale and thin-lipped; her hair and eyes and eyebrows were of a light, sandy hue; and she had a stealthy, observant way with her, which made Fanks mistrust her on the instant. Like an apparition she arose from the ground; and laid one thin hand on his breast to detain him.
"One moment, Mr. Fanks," she said, in a perfectly unemotional voice. "You must speak to me before you go to Mere Hall."
"Why must I?" demanded Fanks, with a stare, "and how is it you know my name?"
"Mr. Garth told me your name and your errand."
"Oh!" cried Fanks, remembering Garth's excuse for retiring to bed on the previous night. "So you are Mrs. Jerusalem?"
"That is my name; and I wish to tell you--"
"I wish to hear nothing," said Fanks, roughly. "Mr. Garth had no business to speak about me. What is there between you and him that he should act in this underhand way without telling me? He said he was going to bed last night. Instead of that, he sneaks out and sees you."
"There you are wrong," replied Mrs. Jerusalem, still without a trace of emotion. "Mr. Garth did not come to me. On the contrary, it was I who came to him at the inn while you were talking to Mrs. Prisom. He came out of his bedroom to see me for a few moments; and then I went away."
"And why did he not tell about this meeting?" asked Fanks, angrily.
"Because I asked him not to. I wished to take you by surprise. If you had heard of my midnight visit, you might mistrust me; as it is--"
"As it is, I mistrust you still. Well, Mrs. Jerusalem, we will waive the point. I know you accuse Sir Louis of this murder. Is it to betray the master whose bread you eat, that you have sought this meeting?"
"That is just why I am here," was the quiet reply. "I hate my master--"
"Because his father, Michael Fellenger, treated you ill. I know all about that, Mrs. Jerusalem."
"Ah!" said the woman, coldly. "I see you employed your time with Mrs. Prisom to good purpose. Well, you can understand that I hate Sir Louis, and I would gladly see Francis Garth sit in his place?"
"And for this purpose you have concocted a story against Sir Louis."
"I have concocted no story. I tell the truth. Sir Louis and Dr. Binjoy went up to London on the night of the murder; although they now pretend that the one was ill, and the other attended him. They sent me out of the house on that night; but I suspected, I watched, I discovered. Do you know why the pair went up to London?" she continued, grasping Fanks by the arm. "To kill Sir Gregory. Do you know why they killed Sir Gregory? To get money for their scientific experiments. Do you know how they killed Sir Gregory? Ask them about the poisoned needle. Yes. They made use of their scientific knowledge to slay the man whose money they wanted."
"Who put the advertisement in the paper?"
"Ask Mrs. Boazoph, she knows."
"Does she?" said Fanks, disgusted with her malignity, "and perhaps you know about the tattooed cross?"
"No, I don't know about the tattooed cross," said Mrs. Jerusalem, "but I daresay Madaline Garry can tell you."
"Madaline Garry? Do you know her? Is she still alive?"
"I know her, she is still alive. See Sir Louis, Mr. Fanks," said the woman, stretching out her lean hand, "tear the mask off the lying face of Dr. Binjoy who loved Madaline Garry and ask him where she lives; and what evil he has worked with her aid?"
More Fanks would have asked, but with a sudden movement she eluded his detaining hand, and before he could recover from his astonishment she was far down the road to the village, gliding like an evil shadow into the sunny distance. Fanks thought of following her, but on second thoughts he pursued his journey to the Hall. "Sir Louis and Binjoy first," he muttered, "afterwards Mrs. Jerusalem and Madaline Garry."
Despite his belief in the evidence of Mrs. Jerusalem, which was obviously dictated by a malignant spirit, he caught himself wondering if she was really right, and if, after all, Sir Louis was guilty. But the moment afterwards he rejected this idea, as it was incredible that Sir Louis would commit a crime and then offer a reward for the detection of the assassin. Still Fanks admitted to himself that if Sir Louis was not frank, he would find it difficult to come to a decision touching his innocence or guilt.
On sending in his card at Mere Hall, the detective was admitted into the study of Sir Louis Fellenger. Here he found not the baronet but his old acquaintance Dr. Renshaw, who advanced boldly and introduced himself as Dr. Binjoy. In place of wearing a thick brown beard he was clean-shaven, and his face looked young, fresh-coloured, and smooth. For the rest he was as tall and burly as ever, as unctuous in his speech; and to complete the resemblance between himself and the doctor of Tooley's Alley, there lurked an unmistakable look of anxiety in his grey eyes. It was impossible to think how he hoped to deceive so clever a man as Fanks by so slight a change in his personal appearance; but he evidently thought Fanks knew nothing of the truth, for he came forward with a bland smile, prepared to carry on the comedy.
"My dear sir," said Binjoy, with magnificent pompousness, "your card was brought to Sir Louis, but he has been busy in his laboratory, and is rather untidy in consequence, he deputed me to receive you. Pray be seated."
Fanks smiled slightly and sat down, while Dr. Binjoy, rendered uneasy by the silence, carried on a difficult conversation.
"I presume, Mr. Fanks, that you have come to report your doings to Sir Louis touching this unfortunate death of my friend's predecessor in the title. May I ask if you have any clue to the assassin?"
"Oh, yes," said Fanks, quietly; "you will be pleased to hear, Dr. Binjoy, that I have every hope of arresting the right man."
Binjoy turned grey and looked anything but delighted. Indeed an unprejudiced observer would have said that he looked thoroughly frightened. But he controlled himself so far as to falter out a question as to the name of the guilty man. Fanks mentioned the name of Renshaw, and thereby reduced his listener to a state of abject terror.
"Renshaw is innocent, sir," said the doctor, tremulously, "I would he were here to defend himself; but he is in India at present, at Bombay. I received a letter from him, dated from Aden."
"How strange," said Fanks, innocently; "Dr. Turnor got a letter from him also."
Binjoy saw that he had over-reached himself, and bit his lip. "We need discuss Renshaw no longer," he said, coolly. "Let us talk of other matters till Sir Louis enters."
"By all means," said Fanks. "Let me ask you, Dr. Binjoy, what you were doing at Dr. Turnor's in Great Auk Street on the night of the twenty-first?"
Binjoy went pale again, and stammered out a denial. "I was not in town on that night," he protested. "I was attending on Sir Louis, who was ill. I never left the house at Taxton-on-Thames."
"Oh, yes, you did. You went up with Sir Louis."
"Prove it, prove it," gasped Binjoy, with white lips.
"I can prove it by the mouth of Mrs. Jerusalem. She saw you leave; she saw Sir Louis return alone."
"A lie! A lie!"
"It is not a lie, and you know it. It is time to have done with this farce, Dr. Binjoy. I know who you are. I know all about your impersonation and disguise. I know why you called yourself Renshaw. I traced you to Plymouth and saw you disembark; I followed you to this place, and now I have you."
Binjoy stared wildly for a moment at seeing his mask of lies fall away from him, and then sank back in his chair with a shiver, moaning and crying. "It is a lie, a lie," was all he could gasp.
"It is not a lie," said a voice at the door, and Fanks turned to see Sir Louis. "It is not a lie," repeated the baronet. "Binjoy is Renshaw; he went up with me to town on the night of the twenty-first. If you want to know who killed my cousin, Mr. Fanks, there is the assassin."
Silence ensued after this astounding statement had been made by Sir Louis, during which time Fanks narrowly observed the personality of the speaker. The baronet was a tall, and rather stout young man, with a round face, destitute of beard and moustache. He was shabbily dressed in an old tweed suit. He wore spectacles, and his shoulders were slightly bowed as from constant bending over a desk. His appearance was rather that of a studious German than that of a young Englishman, but Fanks, from this hasty observation, judged him to be of a sensible and reflective nature. Such a man would not make so terrible an accusation unless he was able to substantiate it on every point.
Binjoy arose to refute the accusation of his quondam pupil. "That man," he said, pointing an unsteady hand at the baronet, "is lying. He hates me because I know his secrets. For their preservation he seeks to destroy me. But if I fall he falls also; if I am guilty he is doubly so. Let him speak and admit that our sin is mutual."
"I admit nothing of the sort," retorted Sir Louis, coming forward. "You tell your story, and I shall tell mine. Mr. Fanks can judge between us."
"You had better be careful, Louis," said Binjoy, with an attempt at bravado. "I hold you in the hollow of my hand."
"We will see," said Fellenger, coldly. "Be seated, Mr. Fanks. Before you leave this room you shall hear my story, and decide as you think best. I refuse to be the accomplice of that man any longer."
"Louis, I implore you."
But Fellenger turned a deaf ear to the voice of the charmer, and sat down near Fanks, to whom he addressed himself. "For the sake of Binjoy I concealed the truth; out of pity for him I held my tongue; but when he strives to make me an accomplice in the crime, when he attempts to blackmail me by threatening to inform you of our doings on the night of the twenty-first of June, I prefer to forestall him, and let you know the worst of myself."
"You were listening to our conversation, Sir Louis?" said Fanks.
"I was," replied the baronet, coldly. "I know what Mrs. Jerusalem thinks; I know how Binjoy has been lying to you; and I am sick of living on the verge of a precipice, over which that man and my housekeeper threaten to push me. At any cost you shall hear the truth so far as I am able to tell it to you. Ask what questions you like, Mr. Fanks, and I shall answer them; when I fail no doubt the worthy doctor there will come to my aid, and shield himself if possible at my expense."
"I shall say nothing," said Binjoy, wiping his lips. "My only desire is to save myself from the consequences of your falsehoods. I wish you no harm."
"Just hear him!" cried Louis, in a mocking tone. "Would you believe that my friend there threatened to blackmail me last week by saying he would denounce me to the police. Well, Binjoy, here is a representative of the law. You can now speak. I give you full power to do so."
Binjoy did not accept this challenge. He sat back in his chair to listen to the forthcoming conversation, and to defend himself if necessary.
"Well, Sir Louis," said the detective, "I have heard your accusation and the denial of Dr. Binjoy. Until I hear your story and his I attach no value to either."
Binjoy drew a long breath of relief. "I can defend myself," he said, in a defiant tone. "I can prove to you that Louis lies."
"You shall have ample opportunity of doing so," replied Fanks, coldly; "in the meantime I shall hear what Sir Louis has to say."
"I must begin at the beginning," said Louis, quietly. "That man Binjoy was the doctor in this village of Damington. When my father died leaving me an orphan--for my mother had died some years before--he asked Binjoy to look after me."
"And I have done so," broke in Binjoy, "and this is my reward."
"This is your reward for trying to blackmail me," said Fellenger, dryly. "You did your best to ruin me, and to put bad thoughts into my heart as to Gregory's wealth and my own poverty. See here, Mr. Fanks," added Louis, turning to the detective, "I am a man of science; I am devoted to my work. I wanted neither money nor title, and I would not have lifted a finger to obtain either. I did not like Gregory; he was a brutal and wicked boy, and when we were playmates together he treated me like a dog. I never saw him for years. We never corresponded or treated each other as relatives, but for all that I did not wish him evil; I did not desire his death; least of all did I desire to rob him of his titles and lands. Do you believe me, sir?"
Fanks looked at the open face of the young man, and glanced at the scowl which rested on the countenance of Binjoy. Drawing his own conclusions, he replied quietly, "I believe you, Sir Louis; proceed, if you please."
"Binjoy," pursued Louis, "was always lamenting that I was not the owner of the Fellenger estates; and now that I am he hopes to make me pay him large sums of money to purchase his silence."
"What does he threaten to accuse you of?" said Fanks.
"Of murdering my cousin under the disguise of the negro Caesar, but I am innocent, Mr. Fanks, as I hope to prove to you. I was trapped by that man and his accomplice, Dr. Turnor."
"Ah!" murmured Fanks, while Binjoy scowled. "I was sure that the ferret had something to do with the matter."
"Of that you shall judge for yourself," said Fellenger. "Have you heard of Mithridates, Mr. Fanks?"
The detective was rather astonished at this apparently irrelevant question; but having some knowledge of ancient history, he said that he had heard of the monarch. "He was a king of Pontus, wasn't he; who lived on poisons?"
"Exactly. He accustomed himself to taking poisons for so long that in the end the most deadly had no effect on him. I always thought that this was a fable and I wanted to see if I was right. For this purpose, I tried experiments on dogs. I inoculated an animal with a weak poison, and gradually increased the dose. Whether I was successful does not matter; it has nothing to do with my story. But I may tell you this, that, with the aid of Binjoy, I prepared a very powerful vegetable poison for my final experiment; with this I impregnated a needle."
"Oh!" said Fanks, "now I am beginning to see. Was it an ordinary needle?"
"No, it was not an ordinary needle," replied Fellenger. "In the first place it was silver; in the second, it was hollow; in the third, it was filled with this deadly vegetable poison, of which I told you."
"Prepared by Dr. Binjoy?"
"Prepared by both of us," said Binjoy, savagely. "Let him take his share of the guilt."
"I am not guilty. Mr. Fanks can judge of that for himself when I tell him what I know," retorted the baronet. "Well, Mr. Fanks, we prepared this needle and placed it in a case; for the least prick with it meant death by blood poisoning. We intended to use it on the dog, when the animal was sufficiently saturated with weaker poisons to admit of the experiment being made. You may be sure, sir, that I was very careful of that needle; I placed it in my cabinet. Dr. Binjoy had access to that cabinet."
"I had not," contradicted Binjoy.
"Yes, you had; you possessed a key as well as myself," retorted Sir Louis, sharply.
"I did not," said the doctor, obstinate in his denial.
"Don't lie, Binjoy, I found you with it opened one day; the day Anne Colmer was with you, and I was so angry."
"Oh, Anne Colmer knew about this needle?" said Fanks.
"I can't say," said Fellenger. "While I was living at Taxton-on-Thames, Miss Colmer sometimes came to the house. But I was angry at Binjoy for opening that cabinet in her presence, as there were a lot of dangerous drugs in it."
"She touched none of them," growled. Binjoy.
"Oh!" said Fanks, sharply. "Then you admit that you showed Miss Colmer the cabinet of poisons."
Binjoy scowled, and grew a shade paler; as he saw that he had over reached himself. However, he said nothing, lest he should make bad worse; and, with a significant glance at Fanks the baronet resumed his story.
"One day, in the middle of June," said Fellenger, "I found the needle missing; and Binjoy told me he had given it to Turnor."
"I did not say that," exclaimed Binjoy, wrathfully. "I said that I missed it one day when Turnor was in the laboratory; and I thought that he might have taken it. As it proved, he did not. I know no more than yourself who took it."
"We will see," said Louis. "I was ill at the time: and when Binjoy hinted that Turnor had it, I determined to go up to London, and get it again. I rose from my bed of sickness and went up to London on the evening of the twenty-first."
"But was it necessary that you should have gone up?" said Fanks, "would not a line to Dr. Turnor have done?"
"Probably. But the preparation of the poison was a secret, and when I heard that the needle was in Turnor's possession, I was afraid lest he should analyse the preparation. I went up to town with Binjoy post haste to recover it again. This haste may appear strange to you, Mr. Fanks; but you do not know how jealous we men of science are of our secrets. But, at all events, we went up to town that evening. Do you deny that, Binjoy?"
"No, I don't deny it," retorted Binjoy, gloomily. "Mr. Fanks tracked me to Plymouth; he knows that I am Renshaw."
"I do. May I ask, Dr. Binjoy, why you took a false name?"
Binjoy pointed to his friend. "It was to save that ungrateful man," he said, in a tragic voice. "When I saw you at the Red Star, and found out that it was Sir Gregory who had been murdered, I foresaw how you might suspect Louis as the cousin of the dead man. Mrs. Boazoph sent for Dr. Turnor, I came instead of him, leaving Turnor with Louis. I had been to the Red Star before, and Mrs. Boazoph knew me as Renshaw."
"And you wore a false beard. How was that?"
"I used to go up to London to enjoy myself," said Binjoy, apologetically, "and I did not want any rumours to creep down to Taxton-on-Thames concerning my movements. This is why I adopted the false name; and disguise."
"Did you know of this?" said Fanks, turning to Louis.
"I do now, I did not then," said he, promptly. "When I arrived in town, I went with Binjoy to Dr. Turnor's house in Great Auk Street. Turnor denied possession of the needle. Shortly afterwards, a message came that the landlady of the Red Star wanted Turnor. I would not let Turnor leave the room; as I felt sure that he had the needle, and thought that he might make away with it. Binjoy went in his place; but he had no disguise on when he went out of the house."
"I put it on outside," explained Renshaw, alias Binjoy. "I did not tell you all my secrets, as you were always so straight-laced, you might have objected to my enjoying myself."
"I should certainly have objected to your disguising yourself, and going under another name," said Louis, coldly, "I do not like such underhand doings. I did not know that you went to the Red Star as Renshaw; when you came back I had gone."
"Ah!" murmured Fanks, "that accounts why we didn't catch you. The house was not watched till Binjoy came back. Did you return to Taxton-on-Thames?"
"Yes. I returned without the needle, which Turnor denied having. I felt very ill, and got into bed at once."
"Was Mrs. Jerusalem in the house, then?"
"Yes. Binjoy, as I afterwards learned, had sent her out. It was part of the trap. He wanted to make out that I had got rid of the woman so that I could go up to town and kill my cousin."
"When did you hear of your cousin's death?"
"The next day. Turnor came down; and said that Binjoy could not return as he was being watched by detectives."
"Quite so. And Turnor told you about your cousin's death?"
"He did; and then he said that if I did not hold my tongue, and pretend that I had not left Taxton-on-Thames that night, I should be in danger of being accused of the crime. What could I do, Mr. Fanks; I saw my danger, I held my tongue."
"Yes," said Fanks. "I can see why you were afraid. You were in a dangerous position."
"I was in a trap," retorted Louis. "Can't you see, Mr. Fanks. Gregory was killed with a poisoned needle. I had talked about that needle to many people. Many scientific men knew that I was experimenting with it. I was in Turnor's house at the very time that the crime was committed."
"And you were thereby able to prove an alibi."
"Indeed, no. Turnor told me that he needed money; and he swore that he would deny that I had been in his house; that he would denounce me as the murderer of my cousin, if I did not give him a cheque. I could do nothing, I was afraid; the circumstances were too strong for me. I would have told the police; but in the face of Turnor's denial; in the face of Binjoy's treachery in luring me into that house at the very time of the murder, I dreaded lest I should be arrested and condemned on circumstantial evidence. And the negro, Binjoy's servant, was smuggled off to Bombay by Binjoy, to close the trap more firmly on me."
"That's a lie," said Binjoy. "I sent the negro away to Bombay to avert suspicion. I feigned a voyage to Plymouth for the same reason. I ordered Caesar to meet me at Plymouth; and sent him to Bombay in my place."
"I know you did," said Fanks, "you no doubt did that when I lost you in the town after you disembarked."
"Well, you see, Mr. Fanks," said Louis, "that I am innocent. I held my tongue, and lied about Binjoy, because I was afraid of the circumstantial evidence which might be brought against me. Thanks to Binjoy and Turnor, I was in a trap; I was at their mercy. I have told you all because Binjoy tried to blackmail me last week. Now what do you say?"
"Say, Sir Louis. I believe that you have told the truth. You are innocent of this crime. But the question is, what does Dr. Binjoy say?"
"I say that there is not one word of truth in the whole story," said the doctor, with a scowl.