The Green Mummy

“Will she recover?” questioned Hope anxiously.

“I can’t tell you yet,” answered the doctor; and with Sir Frank he carried the heavy body of the widow into her bedroom. “How did it happen?”

“That is my business,” said Painter, who had followed, and who was now filled with importance. “You look after the body, sir, and I’ll question these gentlemen and the servant.”

“Servant yourself! Such sauce!” muttered Jane, with an angry toss of her cap at the daring young policeman. “I know nothing. I left my mistress in the parlor writing letters, and never heard anyone come in. The bell didn’t sound anyhow. The first thing I knew that anything was wrong was on hearing the screams. When I looked into the parlor the candles and the lamp were out, and there was a struggle going on in the dark. Then I cried out, very naturally, I’m sure, and ran straight into the arms of these gentlemen, as soon as I could get the front door open.”

After delivering this address, Jane was called away to assist the doctor in the bedroom, and along with Archie and Random the constable repaired to the pink parlor to hear what they had to say. Of course they could tell him even less than Jane had told, and Archie protested that he was quite unable to describe the man who had dashed out of the window.

“Ah,” said Painter sapiently, “he got out there; but how did he enter?”

“No doubt by the door,” said Random sharply.

“We don’t know that, sir. Jane says she did not hear the bell.”

“Mrs. Jasher might have let the man in, whomsoever he was, secretly.”

“Why should she, sir?”

“Ah! now you are asking more than I can tell you. Only Mrs. Jasher can explain, and it seems to me that she will die.”

Meanwhile, in some mysterious way the news of the crime had spread through the village, and although it was growing late – for it was past ten o’clock – a dozen or so of villagers came along. Also there arrived a number of soldiers under a smart sergeant, and to him Sir Frank explained what had happened. In the fainthearted way – for the mist was now like cotton-wool – the military and the civilians hunted through the marshes round the cottage, hoping to come across the assassin hiding in a ditch. Needless to say, they found no one and nothing, for it was worse than looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. The man had come out of the mist, and, after executing the deed, had vanished into the mist, and there was not the very slightest chance of finding him. Gradually, as it drew towards midnight, the soldiers went back to the Fort, and the villagers to their homes. But, along with the doctor and the constable, Hope and his military friend stopped on. They were determined to get at the root of the mystery, and when Mrs. Jasher became sensible she would be able to reveal the truth.

“It’s all of a piece with the sending of the emerald,” said Random to the artist, “and that is connected, as we know, with the death of Bolton.”

“Do you think that this man who has struck down Mrs. Jasher is the same one who strangled Sidney Bolton?”

“I should think so. Perhaps Mrs. Jasher sent the emerald after all, and this man killed her out of revenge.”

“But how would he know that she had the emerald?”

“God knows! She may have been his accomplice.”

Archie knit his brows.

“Who the devil can this mysterious person be?”

“I can only reply as you have done, my friend. God knows.”

“Well, I am certain that God will not let him escape this time. This will bring Gartley once more into notoriety,” went on Hope. “By the way, I saw one of the servants from the Pyramids here. I hope the fool won’t go home and frighten Lucy’s life out of her.”

“Go to the Pyramids and see her,” suggested Sir Frank. “Mrs. Jasher is still unconscious, and will be for hours, the doctor tells me.”

“It is too late to go to the Pyramids, Random.”

“If they know of this new tragedy there, I’ll bet they are not in bed.”

Hope nodded.

“All the same, I’ll remain here until Mrs. Jasher can speak,” he said, and sat smoking with Random in the dining-room, as the most comfortable room in the house.

Constable Painter camped, so to speak, in the drawing-room, keeping guard over the scene of the crime, and had placed the Chinese screen against the broken window to keep out the cold. In the bedroom Jane and Dr. Robinson looked after the dying woman. And dying she was, according to the young physician, for he did not think she would live much longer. Round the lonely cottage the sea-mist drifted white and thick, and the darkness deepened, until – as the saying goes – it could have been cut with a knife. Never was there so eerie and weary and sinister a vigil.

Towards four o’clock Hope fell into a doze, while resting in an arm-chair; but he was suddenly aroused from this by an exclamation from Sir Frank, who had remained wide awake, smoking cigar after cigar. In a moment the artist was on his feet, alert and quick-brained.

“What is it?”

Random made for the dining-room door rapidly.

“I thought I heard Painter call out,” he declared, and hastily sought the parlor, followed by Hope.

The room was empty, but the screen before the broken window had been thrown down, and they could see Painter’s bulky form immediately outside.

“What the deuce is the matter?” demanded Random, entering. “Did you call out, Painter. I fancied I heard something.”

The constable came in again.

“I did call out, sir,” he confessed. “I was half asleep in that chair, when I suddenly became wide awake, and believed I saw a face looking at me round the corner of the screen. I jumped up, calling for you, sir, and upset the screen.”

“Well? well?” demanded Sir Frank impatiently, and seeing that the man hesitated.

“I saw no one, sir. All the same, I had an idea, and I have still, that a man came through the window and peered at me from behind the screen.”

“The man who attacked Mrs. Jasher?”

“I can’t say, sir. But there was someone. At any rate he’s gone again, if he really did come, and there is no chance of finding him. It’s like pea-soup outside.”

Hope and Random simultaneously stepped through the window, but could not see an inch before them, so thick was the sea-fog and so dense was the darkness. Returning, they replaced the screen, and, telling Painter to be more on the alert, went back shivering to the fire in the dining-room. When they were seated again, Archie put a question.

“Do you think that policeman was dreaming?” he asked meditatively.

“No,” replied Random sharply. “I believe that the man who assaulted Mrs. Jasher is hanging about, and ventured back into the room, relying on the fog as a means of escape, should he be spotted.”

“But the man wouldn’t be such a fool as to return into danger.”

“Not unless he wanted something very badly,” said Random significantly.

Hope let the cigarette he was lighting fall.

“What do you mean?”

“I may be wrong, of course. But it is my impression that there is something in the parlor which this man wants, and for which he tried to murder Mrs. Jasher. We interrupted him, and he was forced to flee. Hidden in the fog, he is lurking about to see if he can’t obtain what he has risked his neck to secure.”

“What can it be?” murmured Archie, struck by the feasibility of this theory.

“Perhaps the second emerald,” remarked Sir Frank grimly.

“What! You don’t think that – ”

“I don’t think anything. I am too tired to think at all. However, Painter will keep his eyes open, and in the morning we can search the room. The man has been in the house twice to get what he wanted. He won’t risk another attempt, now that he is aware we are on the alert. I’m going to try and get forty winks. You keep watch, as you have had your sleep.”

Hope was quite agreeable, but just as Random composed himself to uneasy slumber, Jane, haggard and red-eyed, came hastily into the dining-room.

“If you please, gentlemen, the doctor wants you to come and see mistress. She is sensible, and – ”

The two waited to hear no more, but went hastily but softly into the room wherein lay the dying woman. Robinson sat by the bedside, holding his patient’s hand and feeling her pulse. He placed his finger on his lips as the men entered gently, and at the same moment Mrs. Jasher’s voice, weak from exhaustion, sounded through the room, which was dimly illuminated by one candle. The newcomers halted in obedience to Robinson’s signal.

“Who is there?” asked Mrs. Jasher weakly, for, in spite of the care exercised, she had evidently heard the footsteps.

“Mr. Hope and Sir Frank Random,” whispered the doctor, speaking into the dying woman’s ear. “They came in time to save you.”

“In time to see me die,” she murmured; “and I can’t die, unless I tell the truth. I am glad Random is there; he is a kind-hearted boy, and treated me better than he need have done. I – oh – some brandy – brandy.”

Robinson gave her some in a spoon.

“Now lie quietly and do not attempt to speak,” he commanded. “You need all your strength.”

“I do – to tell that which I wish to tell,” gasped Mrs. Jasher, trying to raise herself. “Sir Frank! Sir Frank!” Her voice sounded hoarse and weak.

“Yes, Mrs. Jasher,” said the young man, coming softly to the bedside.

She thrust out a weak hand and clutched him.

“You must be my father-confessor, and hear all. You got the emerald?”

“What!” Random recoiled in astonishment, “Did you – ”

“Yes, I sent it to you as a wedding present. I was sorry and I was afraid; and I – I – ” She paused again, gasping.

The doctor intervened and gave her more brandy.

“You must not talk,” he insisted severely, “or I shall turn Sir Frank and Mr. Hope out of the room.”

“No! no! Give me more brandy – more – more.” and when the doctor placed a tumbler to her lips, she drank so greedily that he had to take the glass away lest she should do herself harm. But the ardent spirit put new life into her, and with a superhuman effort she suddenly reared herself in the bed.

“Come here, Hope – come here, Random,” she said in a much stronger voice. “I have much to tell you. Yes, I took the emerald after dark and threw it into the sentry box when the man wasn’t looking. I escaped your spy, Random, and I escaped the notice of the sentry. I walked like a cat, and like a cat I can see in the dark. I am glad you have got the emerald.”

“Where did you get it?” asked Random quietly.

“That’s a long story. I don’t know that I have the strength to tell it. I have written it out.”

“You have written it out?” said Hope quickly, and drawing near.

“Yes. Jane thought that I was writing letters, but I was writing out the whole story of the murder. You were good to me, Random, you dear boy, and on the impulse of the moment I took the emerald to you. I was sorry when I got back, but it was too late then to repent, as I did not dare to go near the Fort again. Your spy who watched might have discovered me the second time. I then thought that I would write out the story of the murder, so as to exonerate myself.”

“Then you are not guilty of Bolton’s death?” asked Sir Frank, puzzled, for her confession was somewhat incoherent.

“No. I did not strangle him. But I know who did. I have written it all down. I was just finishing when I heard the tapping at the window. I let him in and he tried to get the confession, for I told him what I had done.”

“Who did you tell?” asked Hope, much excited.

Mrs. Jasher took no notice.

“The confession is lying on my desk – all the sheets of paper are loose. I had no time to bind them together, for he came in. He wanted the emerald, and the confession. I told him that I had given the emerald to you, Random, and that I had confessed all in writing. Then he went mad and flew at me with a dreadful knife. He knocked over the candles and the lamp. Everything went out and all was darkness, and I lay crying for help, with that devil stabbing – stabbing – ah – ”

“Who, in heaven’s name, is the man?” demanded Random, standing up in his eagerness. But Mrs. Jasher had fallen back in a faint, and Robinson was again supplying her with brandy.

“You had better leave the room, you two,” he said, “or I can’t be answerable for her life.”

“I must stay and learn the truth,” said Random determinedly, “and you, Hope, go into the parlor and find that confession. It is on the desk, as she said, all loose sheets. No doubt it was the confession which the man she refers to tried to secure when he came back the second time. He may make another attempt, or Painter may go to sleep. Hurry! hurry!”

Archie needed no second telling, as he realized what hung on the securing of the confession. He stole swiftly out of the room, closing the door after him. Faint as was the sound, Mrs. Jasher heard it and opened her eyes.

“Do not go, Random,” she said faintly. “I have yet much to say, although the confession will tell you all. I am half sorry I wrote it out – at least I was – and perhaps should have burnt it had I not met with this accident.”

“Accident!” echoed Sir Frank scornfully. “Murder you mean.”

The sinister word galvanized the dying woman in sudden strong life, and she reared herself again on the bed.

“Murder! Yes, it is murder,” she cried loudly. “He killed Sidney Bolton to get the emeralds, and he killed me to make me close my mouth.”

“Who stabbed you? Speak! speak!” cried Random anxiously.

“Cockatoo. He is guilty of my death and Bolton’s,” and she fell back, dead.

CHAPTER XXV. THE MILLS OF GOD

In the cold gray hours of the morning, Hope and his friend left the cottage wherein such a tragedy had taken place. The dead woman was lying stiff and white on her bed under a winding sheet, which had already been strewn with many-hued chrysanthemums taken from the pink parlor by the weeping Jane. The wretched woman who had led so stormy and unhappy a life had at least one sincere mourner, for she had always been kind to the servant, who formed her entire domestic staff, and Jane would not hear a word said against the dead. Not that anyone did say anything; for Random and Hope kept the contents of the confession to themselves. There would be time enough for Mrs. Jasher’s reputation to be smirched when those same contents were made public.

When the poor woman died, Random left the doctor and the servant to look after the corpse, and went into the parlor. Here he met Hope with the confession in his hand. Luckily, Painter was not in the room at the moment, else he would have prevented the artist from taking away the same. Hope – as directed by Mrs. Jasher – had found the confession, written on many sheets, lying on the desk. It broke off abruptly towards the end, and was not signed. Apparently at this point Mrs. Jasher had been interrupted – as she had said – by the tapping of Cockatoo at the window. Probably she had admitted him at once, and on her refusal to give him the emerald, and on her confessing what she had written, he had overturned the lights for the purpose of murdering her. Only too well had the Kanaka succeeded in his wickedness.

Archie slipped the confession into his pocket before the policeman returned, and then left the cottage with Random and the doctor, since nothing else could now be done. It was between seven and eight, and the chilly dawn was breaking, but the sea-mist still lay heavily over the marshes, as though it were the winding sheet of the dead. Robinson went to his own house to get his trap and drive into Jessum, there to catch the train and ferry to Pierside. It was necessary that Inspector Date should be informed of this new tragedy without delay, and as Constable Painter was engaged in watching the cottage, there was no messenger available but Dr. Robinson. Random indeed offered to send a soldier, or to afford Robinson the use of the Fort telephone, but the doctor preferred to see Date personally, so as to detail exactly what had happened. Perhaps the young medical man had an eye to becoming better known, for the improvement of his practice; but he certainly seemed anxious to take a prominent part in the proceedings connected with the murder of Mrs. Jasher.

When Robinson parted from them, Random and Hope went to the lodgings of the latter, so as to read over the confession and learn exactly to what extent Mrs. Jasher had been mixed up in the tragedy of the green mummy. She had declared herself innocent even on her death-bed, and so far as the two could judge at this point, she certainly had not actually strangled Sidney Bolton. But it might be – and it appeared to be more than probable – that she was an accessory after the fact. But this they could learn from the confession, and they sat in Hope’s quiet little sitting-room, in which the fire had been just lighted by the artist’s landlady, with the scattered sheets neatly ranged before them.

“Perhaps you would like a cup of coffee, or a whisky and soda,” suggested Archie, “before starting to read?”

“I should,” assented Random, who looked weary and pale. “The events of the night have somewhat knocked me up. Coffee for choice – nice, black, strong, hot coffee.”

Hope nodded and went to order the same. When he returned he sat down, after closing the door carefully, and proceeded to read. But before he could speak Random raised his hand.

“Let us chat until the coffee comes in,” he said; “then we shall not be interrupted when reading.”

“All right,” said Hope. “Have a cigar!”

“No, thanks. I have been smoking all the night. I shall sit here by the fire and wait for the coffee. You look chippy yourself.”

“And small wonder,” said Archie wearily. “We little thought when we left the Fort last night what a time we were going to have. Fancy Mrs. Jasher having sent you the emerald after all!”

“Yes. She repented, as she said, and yet I dare say – as she also said – she was sorry that she acted on her impulse. If she had not been stabbed by that damned Cockatoo, she would no doubt have destroyed that confession. I expect she wrote that also on the impulse of the moment.”

“She confessed as much,” said Hope, leaning his head on his hand and staring into the fire. “She must have been cognizant of the truth all along. I wonder if she was an accessory before or after the fact?”

“What I wonder,” said Random, after a moment’s thought, “is, what Braddock has to do with the matter?”

Hope raised his head in surprise.

“Why, nothing. Mrs. Jasher did not say a word against Braddock.”

“I know that. All the same, Cockatoo was completely under the thumb of the Professor, and probably was instructed by him to strangle Bolton.”

“That is impossible,” cried the artist, much agitated. “Think of what you are saying, Random. What a terrible thing it would be for Lucy if the Professor were guilty in such a way as you suggest!”

“Really, I fail to see that. Miss Kendal is no relation to Braddock save by marriage. His iniquities have nothing to do with her, or with you.”

“But it’s impossible, I tell you, Random. Throughout the whole of this case Braddock has acted in a perfectly innocent way.”

“That’s just it,” said Sir Frank caustically; “he has acted. In spite of his pretended grief for the loss of the emeralds, I should not be surprised to learn from that,” he nodded towards the confession on the table, “that he was in possession of the missing gem. Cockatoo had no reason to steal the emeralds himself, setting aside the fact that he probably would not know their value, being but a semi-civilized savage. He acted under orders from his master, and although Cockatoo strangled Bolton, the Professor is really the author and the gainer and the moving spirit.”

“You would make Braddock an accessory before the fact.”

“Yes, and Mrs. Jasher an accessory after the fact. Cockatoo is the link, as the actual criminal, who joins the two in a guilty partnership. No wonder Braddock intended to make that woman his wife even though he did not love her, for she knew a jolly sight too much for his peace of mind.”

“This is horrible,” murmured Hope desperately; “but it is mere theory. We cannot be sure until we read the confession.”

“We’ll be sure soon, then, for here comes the coffee.”

This last remark Random made when a timid knock came to the door, and a moment later the landlady entered with a tray bearing cups, saucers, and a jug of steaming coffee. She was a meek, reticent woman who entered and departed in dismal silence, and in a few moments the two young men were quite alone with the door closed. They drank a cup of coffee each, and then Hope proceeded to read the confession.

The story told by Mrs. Jasher commenced with a short account of her early life. It appeared that her father was a ruined gentleman and a gambler, and that her mother had been an actress. She was dragged up in a Bohemian sort of way until she attained a marriageable age, when her mother, who seemed to have been both wicked and hard-hearted, forced her to marry a comparatively wealthy man called Jasher. The elderly husband – for Jasher was not young – treated his wife very badly, and, infected with the spirit of gambling by her father, lost all his money. Mrs. Jasher then went with him to America and performed on the stage in order to keep the home together. She had one child, but it died, much to her grief, yet also much to her relief, as she was so miserable and poor. Mrs. Jasher gave a scanty account of sordid years of trouble and trial, of failure and sorrow. She and her husband roamed all over America, and then went to Australia and New Zealand, where they lived a wretched existence for many years. Finally the husband died of strong drink at an advanced age, leaving Mrs. Jasher a somewhat elderly widow.

The poor woman again took to the stage and tried to earn her bread, but was unsuccessful. Afterwards she lectured. Then she kept a boarding establishment, and finally went out as a nurse. In every way, it would seem, she tried to keep her head above water, and roamed the world like a bird of passage, finding rest nowhere for the sole of her foot. Yet throughout her story both the young men could see that she had always aspired to a quiet and decent, respectable existence, and that only force of circumstances had flung her into the whirlpool of life.

“As I said,” remarked Random at this stage, “the miserable creature was more sinned against than sinning.”

“Her moral sense seemed to have become blunted, however,” said Archie doubtfully.

“And small wonder, amidst such surroundings; but it seems to me that she was much better under the circumstances than many another woman would have been. Go on.”

In Melbourne Mrs. Jasher made a lucky speculation in mines, which brought her one thousand pounds. With this she came to England, and resolved to make a bid for respectability. Chance led her into the neighborhood of Gartley, and thinking that if she set up her tent in this locality she might manage to marry an officer from the Fort – since amidst such dismal surroundings a young man might be the more easily fascinated by a woman of the world – she took the cottage amidst the marshes at a small rent. Here she hoped to eke out what money she had left – a few hundreds – until the coveted marriage should take place. Afterwards she met Professor Braddock and determined to marry him, as a man more easy to manage. She was successful in enlisting Lucy on her side, and until the green mummy brought its bad luck to the Pyramids everything went capitally.

It was in connection with the name of Bolton that the first mention was made of the green mummy. Sidney was a clever young man, although very lowly born, and having been taken up by Professor Braddock as an assistant, could hope some day to make a position. Braddock was educating him, although he paid him very little in the way of wages. Sidney fell in love with Mrs. Jasher, and in some way – she did not mention how – gained her confidence. Perhaps the lonely woman was glad to have a sympathetic friend. At all events she told her past history to Sidney, and mentioned that she desired to marry Braddock. But Sidney insisted that she should marry him, and promised to make enough money to satisfy her that he was a good match, setting aside his humble birth, for which Mrs. Jasher cared nothing.

It was then that Sidney related what he had discovered. Braddock, when in Peru many years before, had tried to get mummies for some scientific reason. When Hervey – then known as Vasa – promised to procure him the mummy of the last Inca, Braddock was extremely pleased. Hervey stole the mummy and also the copy of the manuscript which was written in Latin. He sent this latter to Braddock – who was then at Cuzco – as an earnest of his success in procuring the mummy, and when the Professor returned to Lima the mummy was to be handed to him. Unfortunately, Braddock was carried into captivity for one year, and when he escaped Vasa had disappeared with the mummy. As the Professor had deciphered the Latin manuscript, he knew of the emeralds, and for years had been hunting for the mummy – sure to be recognized from its peculiar green color – in order to get the jewels, and thus secure money for his Egyptian expedition. All through, it seems, the Professor was actuated by purely scientific enthusiasm, as in the abstract he cared very little for hard cash. Bolton told Mrs. Jasher that Braddock explained how much he desired to get the mummy, but he did not mention about the jewels. For a long time Sidney was under the impression that his master merely wanted the mummy to see the difference between the Egyptian and Peruvian modes of embalming.